Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,33

how to lift weights.”

“Get him started right,” I agree, even though I’m hardly known for working out right.

Emily always tells me I should take better care of my feet when I show up to do the elliptical in my stilettos.

But could I rock carrying a baby in stilettos if I didn’t work out with them on?

I don’t think so.

West suddenly freezes beside me as a strawberry blonde I don’t recognize waves from the front of Fish Tails.

“Oh! Is that Becca?” I wave back at her while West turns a what the hell have you done? look at me.

I smile, because what I’ve done is a huge favor.

Not every temporary co-parent of mine is lucky enough to get the Daisy Carter-Kincaid matchmaking treatment. And today, we’ll find out if she’s worthy and smart enough to snag a man who’d take on a baby that supposedly isn’t his, or if she doesn’t deserve him.

My eye starts to twitch at the idea that she’d take him, but really, that would be for the best.

I’m not taking him. For one, he knows my real name and where I live. Plus, he’s been very clear that he’s only here as a short-term favor. And god knows getting laid is good for the soul. And the grumpies.

So maybe this favor isn’t entirely for him. I’ll make that up to him later too. If I need to.

“Don’t be mad,” I tell the glaring retired Marine. “My grandmother’s background check on you was a little bit thorough. We went through and added all of your friends and family to the guest list, and when my assistant called Becca, she mentioned having diapers and formula as a baby gift, so we invited her to join us. Your family should feel free to drop by Miami anytime too. Cam really wants to meet your mom.”

He doesn’t answer me, but instead walks stiffly toward the woman and bends to give her an awkward peck on the cheek.

“Thanks. For the help,” he grunts out like a caveman.

“Of course! That’s what friends are for!” Her smile is awkwardly strained, and she keeps glancing toward me, then away, like staring at me straight-on might make her blind.

I make a quick wardrobe check.

Yep, I’m definitely wearing pants today. A skirt, actually—my favorite blue tropical print wrap skirt. I got it in a tourist shop in Antigua after my luggage fell overboard on the cruise down to the island—don’t ask—and when my grandmother told me it made me look like a tourist whose better fashion sense got baked out by sunstroke, I decided it was a keeper.

Oh, and I’m wearing a white tank top too, so while I look awesome and am showing some cleavage, I’m not likely to cause permanent eye damage like the sun would.

“Becca?” I ask, sticking my hand out to shake. “Hi. I’m Daisy. West has told me so much about what an awesome friend you are.” I tell the lie while beaming up at him and while she continues to stare at me star-struck, which is a little uncomfortable, because it’s not like I’ve cured cancer or written an earworm song, which are both equally impressive accomplishments in my book.

Also, I’m rapidly getting the feeling that the note in Gram-gram’s background check that West was dating Becca just might’ve been wrong.

Way wrong. “Oh! Looks like our table’s ready. Care to join us?”

She babbles something that sounds like a yes, and West takes her by the shoulders and steers her into the cozy restaurant with its palm frond fans and Jimmy Buffet music playing in the background, dropping his hands back to his own pockets as soon as she’s pointed in the right direction following the hostess.

They are so wrong together.

For one, she’s wearing jean shorts and a buttoned-up sleeveless blouse, which is a perfectly acceptable Miami outfit, except for the part where West himself is so buttoned-up this morning that he needs someone more like Luna.

Free-spirited with a touch of a wild side. Luna also has a huge heart, which West probably also needs. Because don’t we all? Not that you can judge a person’s heart size by what their clothes say about their personality.

But I can judge compatibility by clothes. Usually.

And my matchmaker instincts—which are admittedly rusty, since I rarely put much time into matchmaking—say these two are so wrong, and that ship has sailed.

Dammit.

Maybe all isn’t lost. Maybe I can salvage this for them. And then West will be happily dating someone, and I can mark him officially on

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