Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

Hilary immediately starts a Zoom chat with Kim and Yuna, and since it’s easier for me to multitask that way, I join the call but leave the camera off. No need to traumatize my friends with my messy home.

“What happened to Aaron? Isn’t he going to freak out and embarrass your dad with the video?” Yuna asks, not letting me get away with omitting the incident. She’d make a great interrogator for some clandestine government organization.

“It doesn’t matter.” I put all my latest clothes into boxes. I should’ve brought more so I could take the rest of my Dior and Chanel. Having to decide which ones to take and which to leave behind for the moment is both cruel and unusual. It’s like being forced to decide which one of my parents is my favorite while they’re dangling over a precipice. “Edgar took care of him.”

“And the sex tape?” Hilary asks.

“Also apparently taken care of,” I say.

“I wish my family was in the weapons-contracting business. Then we could’ve launched a drone strike against Aaron.” Yuna sounds positively mournful.

I laugh. “You can’t do that, and even though I love the idea of him getting his ass kicked, I don’t want him dead.”

“Maybe a very small drone…”

I try not to laugh. It’s only going to encourage her. She might even ask her dad to buy her a drone manufacturer, and he might say yes.

“How come your camera’s off?” Kim asks.

“Because I’m packing. I’m moving in with Edgar, remember? And my apartment is a war zone, worse than it normally is.”

“Do you need help?” Hilary asks.

“And we should do a housewarming party!” Yuna adds quickly.

“I have a cousin who’s coming by, thanks. And I really don’t need a party,” I say hurriedly. I don’t want to presume, especially about Edgar’s schedule. He might have to leave town to attend a meeting or conference.

“You sure? It’s such a tradition,” Yuna says with a forlorn sigh.

“I’m sure. Besides, I’m really too tired these days to move and plan a party. I sleep way too much, and I can’t seem to make myself get up at my normal time.” This is a pretty ridiculous way to pull out the Pregnancy Card, but nothing less is going to thwart the bulldozer.

“Maybe you should take a couple of days off,” Hilary says.

“And hang out with us,” Kim adds. “So we can take care of you.”

Yuna looks off into the distance. “I should book us a session at a spa.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” I say, not wanting to impose. Although a spa does sound lovely… Maybe later. I make a mental note to check my calendar.

“My mom told me she got a three-hour-long prenatal massage every week. She said it worked wonders. You should, too,” Yuna says. “Makes for a healthy and happy baby.”

“I’ll look into it.” I need to placate her quickly. I can’t quite afford to spend three hours a week on prenatal massages, not when I don’t know how much time doctor’s visits are going to suck out of my life. I’m pretty certain regular medical checkups trump massages.

“Let me know when you’re going to do it,” Kim says. “I’d love to join you for some pampering.”

“Me too,” Hilary adds.

Yuna raises a hand. “Me three.”

“Okay, then. We’ll have a ladies’ spa day soon,” I say with a big grin. “Anyway, I need to get back to packing.”

“If you need anything, let us know!” Kim says.

“Most definitely,” Hilary says.

“Thanks, girls.” I hang up, feeling better after talking with them. They can get a bit nosy at times, but I know it’s because they care.

I look at all the taped-up boxes. Since there’s no way I’m leaving any of my Chanel and Dior behind, I go to a craft store nearby. A teenage cashier with too much mascara and eyeliner pops her bubble gum and tells me I can take all the boxes I want because she’d rather not return to the back alley.