Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,93
Dame leaves.
All five of the Jaeger women speak at once.
And I start grinning.
Because god, I’ve missed having people in my house.
“Australia can wait, Grammykins,” I say.
“It cannot—”
“It’s a bad investment. It can.” I twirl out of my seat—I’m not behind my desk, because my grandmother commandeered it this morning—and cross the floor to West’s family. “Hi. I’m Daisy. And I can’t wait to meet all of you.”
“Oh my god, she’s real,” the shortest one says. We’re about eye level.
“Of course she’s real,” the one with blond highlights replies.
“I can’t tell if she’s slept with him yet,” the one with West’s hazel eyes says.
“She’s not sleeping with West,” the one with the darkest hair and plain chocolate eyes replies. “He’s all business first. Probably hasn’t even noticed her since she’s competing with this adorable little bundle of fluff. Hi, you cranky little cranky-pants. You need hugs from Aunt Allie, don’t you?”
“Family.” I’m grinning as I shoo them all out of the office. “There’s more froyo in the kitchen. Peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches, anyone?”
“Daisy Imogen—” my grandmother starts again.
“I’ve got her,” Alessandro says with a sigh.
“You know you’re my favorite.”
“Next week’s my anniversary.”
“And you know you’re getting a good raise even if you don’t deal with her.” I peck him on the cheek and gesture for West’s family to follow me to the kitchen, where we find the man himself hunched over a massive plate of cheesy scrambled eggs.
His dark hair is sticking up at odd angles. There are dark circles under his eyes. And even his shoulders look tired.
But he still leaps to his feet, fully wide awake, as soon as we parade in. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters.
“Go back to bed.” I go up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek too. “I’ve got ‘em.”
“But—they’re—fuck,” he finishes again.
“Westley. That’s no way to greet your mother.” His mom’s eyes are twinkling like flying down to Miami where her son inherited a baby with me is just another day in the life, and she can’t wait to whip out his baby pictures and swap embarrassing tales with my mom.
“I was talking about them.” He gestures with his fork to his sisters, who are all pretending to be talking to the baby in my mom’s arms while they eyeball all of us.
“They were worried about you.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “They wanted to meet Daisy.”
“That too,” the short one says. “Initial indications are that we could get along, but so far, I’ve only been promised frozen yogurt.”
“My grandmother’s in my office,” I murmur to him. “But all is not lost. I keep spare tubs in the freezer.”
“That freezer?” he points to my built-in Subzero.
“Nope. This one.” I pull open a cabinet under the island, which is half-stocked with pre-mixed frozen margaritas, and half-stocked with froyo.
Remy starts crying all over again.
And West’s sisters step up to the challenge.
“Does he have gas?”
“Does he need to poop?”
“One time, Mia screamed for six hours because she’d gotten a hair tied around her toe.”
“The twins used to take turns screaming like that. They’d feed off each other. Be glad you only have one.”
“My oldest used to scream anytime we held her facing outward.”
“My oldest would scream anytime we held him facing inward.”
“Babies are so complicated.
“And different.”
“He’s probably freaking out because there are seventeen million new people in here.”
“How much is he eating every day? Is he having a growth spurt?”
“Which kid was it who had their teeth come in at two months?”
“Oh, look, he’s lifting his head!”
West looks at them.
Looks at me.
Shakes his head with a half-smile. “You love this.”
“They’re. So. Awesome.”
He bends over, grabs a container of froyo, and finds a spoon. “They’re all yours. Come find me later.”
I lift a brow.
He just chuckles and keeps going.
He pauses to hug each of them, kisses each of them on the tops of their heads. But when he heads for the door, none of his family stops him.
They notice he’s going.
But his sisters trade grins that say they understand.
“Long night?” his mom asks me. She has a way of wording the question that makes me think she’s talking about more than just Remy not sleeping.
“The longest,” I reply. And I think I’m getting red in the cheeks.
Which makes my mom grin so big, her cheeks are about to crack.
And the weird thing is, I don’t think I mind that she’s hearing wedding bells.