Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,99

sun’s starting a slow descent in the late afternoon sky.

And all is right in the world.

I mean, as right as it can be right now.

He drops into the seat across from my desk, a dainty, round ivory spinny chair that his large, masculine frame should look ridiculous in, but he blends in everywhere from the pool to my bed to sitting under my mom’s dick art, so I shouldn’t be surprised he looks right here.

I take a slow bite of caramel froyo—I swear, he always knows exactly what I’m in the mood for—and then I burst into tears, which startles the cat so badly she darts out of the room.

“Margot hired a hitman to take out Julienne,” I sob.

West’s eyes go wide, and then he’s one big blur of motion, leaping across my desk, clearing the froyo without any danger of sending it flying, lifting me out of my chair, and pulling me close, my ear to his heart, his lips pressing kisses to my crown.

“Ah, Daisy,” he whispers.

“She’s—in jail—and I—” I stop, hiccup, and don’t even try to continue.

There was so much more my grandmother said.

Restraining order filings.

Lawsuits.

Private eye reports on Anthony Roderick.

But it all comes down to one thing: Remy’s safe.

Margot’s in jail.

Anthony’s being investigated for tax fraud, and all appearances are that he’s fled the country.

My grandmother’s family lawyers filed to have the Rodericks’ challenge to the will dismissed, but it’s a mere technicality.

Remy’s safe, and he’s ours.

And the emotions are too big for me to handle on my own. The relief. The joy. The love.

“I’m okay,” I babble to West’s chest. “It’s all—it’s—”

“Too much,” he finishes.

I nod and reach for my phone and open my email. The full message from The Dame is on top, so I click it open and pass it to him.

The details—I don’t want to think about the details.

I want to go hug Remy. And my mom. And West’s sisters and his mom. And then go tell Luna and Cam and Emily. And throw a party. And hug and kiss Remy.

But more, I want to stay right here.

Snuggled up to West.

Except maybe naked.

Out on the beach.

Yes.

“You read this?” he asks me softly.

I freeze. “Oh, fuck. Did she say we have to get rid of you now? She’s such an asshole. Ignore her. I’ll handle her. She tries to get rid of my mom and my Uncle Jethro at least three times a year too.”

He chuckles. “I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. So long as you do.”

“I love you.” I gasp and slap a hand over my mouth, because I wasn’t supposed to tell him like that.

There were supposed to be candles. Flowers. Peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. Vanilla froyo, which is his favorite, sometimes with a light layer of rainbow sprinkles.

And me in a hot pink teddy.

His arms tighten around me. “I love you too, Daisy,” he whispers. “And it scares the fuck out of me, because love’s never been kind, but I can’t help myself. You’re so damn easy to love.”

I blink up at him, and he’s watching me with the most serious expression I’ve seen since the night I asked him to come back and help me with Remy.

He’s offering me his whole heart.

That whole, perfect, bruised but still beating, gentle giant heart.

I touch his cheek. Smooth his brow. Let my fingers trace his lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I love you,” I whisper again. “I don’t deserve you, but I love you.”

His smile is everything.

Everything.

And I can’t resist kissing that smile until I’m breathless and hungry and pulling him to the floor beneath my desk to love him the way he deserves.

Forever.

It’s always been for other people.

But only because I hadn’t yet met my West.

Thirty-Seven

West

The only thing better than watching my baby brother kill it on the ice on a Saturday night?

Having my family—and Daisy’s chosen family of her billionaire besties and their boyfriends—with me while we cheer and holler and raise the fucking roof in the arena while he does it.

The Miami-based half of our crowd cheers for the home team too, but they also join us in celebrating Ty’s goal in the third period.

Remy’s not a fan of all the yelling, but he loves the attention that comes from getting passed around the box to everyone who’ll hold him, from my sisters to Daisy’s friends’ boyfriends.

For someone as popular as she is, Daisy’s not on her phone often. Usually just an hour a night, catching up before bedtime, unless it’s her mom or