Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

Oh man. For the first time, I’m tempted to move in with someone. And the feeling surprises me. I’m not a real estate girl or a Martha Stewart type. Ever since I moved out, home is where I rest, recuperate and make myself presentable for work. That’s it.

“The building has its own gym and pool for residents, but you have your own on the second level. People who can afford this shouldn’t have to share. Shall we see the owner’s suite?” Rick says. “I know you’re concerned about the walk-in-closet and dressing room, so let’s get that sorted first.”

Edgar nods.

Those must be pretty impressive for Rick to sound so confident. On the other hand, he’s not a fashion guy, so I’m curious to see what they’re like.

We go upstairs. Edgar places a hand at the small of my back. It’s a protective gesture, and sexy as hell. I glance at him, wondering what’s going on behind the gorgeous, inscrutable face of his. He said he doesn’t love me, but everything he’s done is considerate and caring. If he hadn’t said what he said, I might’ve thought he liked me a lot, at least.

Maybe he’s nice and polite to everyone, and he’s just treating me the way he’d treat any other woman. Although I should be happy he’s not a jerk, part of me is vaguely irritated. I want him to treat me just a tad more special. Okay, maybe a lot more if he wants me to move in and eventually marry him. It’s an irrational annoyance, but I can’t seem to stop myself from feeling it.

Must be the baby hormones. I’m usually more levelheaded.

“If you get too far along in your pregnancy,” Rick says, “the elevator will take you to the upper levels too. The original owner thought of everything.”

“Were they pregnant, too?” I ask.

“No. Late parties, if you know what I mean.”

I know exactly what he means.

On our way up, I see the gym and the pool. Holy… It has everything you’d find at a commercial gym, except without duplicates of the same machines. And, of course, it has the ubiquitous windows and mirrors.

We reach the top level. Rick opens the double door at the end and gestures for us to go.

Edgar and I step inside. I crane my neck, looking around. Holy cow. The bedroom alone is bigger than my entire apartment. It has a tray ceiling too, like the one we saw before. But unlike that one, it has a huge art deco smoked-glass mirror in four different shades of gray in the center. The previous owner must’ve really loved to look at herself to put those in.

Two adjacent walls have multiple large smoked-glass mirror panels in gray with gold veins. The walk-in closet is just as big as the bedroom, and the dressing room is sizable as well. The en suite bathroom boasts a huge, round sunken tub and a sizable walk-in shower with nine shower heads. I cock an eyebrow at a fireplace near the tub.

“Extravagantly luxurious and modern. It had four other suites, but smaller than this, of course,” Rick says, somehow reminding me of a pleased sea lion after a particularly difficult trick.

“Do they have a lot of mirrors, too?” Edgar asks, his tone inscrutable.

“No. They’re just normal.”

Edgar and I go to make sure, but of course Rick is right. They’re just your standard rooms with normal walls. Edgar looks relieved. “At least there’s nothing for a baby to hurt herself on.”

“Might be a boy,” I say, hoping he isn’t going to be weird about the baby’s gender. Some men are.

He gives me a long, steady look that makes my pulse accelerate. “I’d prefer a girl who looks like you.”

Air catches in my throat. It’s gotta be illegal for him to say things like that in such a serious voice after he told my family he doesn’t love me. It’s exactly the kind of thing a man who loves his woman might say. But my heart is a foolish thing, because it’s doing overexcited cartwheels.

“What a great sentiment.” Rick voice cuts into the moment. “So. What do you think?”

“It’s nice, but feels too cold and sterile,” Edgar says.

I would have used almost exactly those words. The man has an excellent taste.

He adds, “I don’t want a dull and boring home.”

Even though his tone is as even as always, I’m sensing just a small bit of vulnerability there. Do a lot of people call him dull and boring? If so, that’s terrible, since Edgar is anything but.

“I agree, but I think the place has potential,” I say. “With some color—art prints, rugs, pictures—the place could look sophisticated and welcoming.”

Edgar looks skeptical.

“I’m not an interior designer, but I’m good with colors. You have to admit that, right?”