Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,102

spell it out for me to know she left due to the hostile work environment. It still pisses me off that we lost a great talent because of his attitude, and I resent that Dad has been protecting him. Paul would watch his mouth more if he knew he’s worth about as much as a pen to me.

Something moves in my peripheral vision. I turn and see Jo standing at the door, her eyes wide.

Damn it. Did she hear what I just said?

“Well, if you’d been here,” Dad says, “maybe we could’ve discu—”

“Gotta go.” I hang up and get out of my chair. Anxiety is tightening its grip. Paul deserves every bit of my contempt, but Jo doesn’t know who he is or anything about the situation.

For some reason, Jo’s opinion of me matters at the most fundamental level. The way your parents’ opinion mattered when you were a child, or your first girlfriend’s.

“Um…pizza’s here,” she says.

I search her face, her open expression. There doesn’t seem to be any condemnation. Perhaps she’s gotten over the shock and decided to hide her feelings.

Somehow that makes it worse. It reminds me of my family. We simply didn’t discuss anything that doesn’t make the family look good and in control.

But I’ve seen Jo and her family. They’re nothing like us Blackwoods. They talk things out, react honestly.

Shivers run through me. I feel like I’m being pushed out of that circle of warmth.

“Jo…” I pause, unsure how to explain it all. My dad is a genteel sexist, who believes he’s helping women with his subtle discrimination. If that isn’t bad enough, he’s trying to get back with my cold, amoral mother because he’s decided he loves her after all and despite the divorce. Meanwhile, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you away from them. I don’t want you anywhere near the toxic ugliness of my family or to turn into someone like my mom.

But the words get stuck. A lifetime of conditioning is a bitch to overcome. The Blackwoods do not discuss certain things.

Even if the other person is the mother of my child, the woman I plan to marry.

“Look, you don’t have to explain.” Jo comes over and runs her fingers across my forehead. The touch feels amazing, and I let out a sigh. The throbbing in my head lessens. “You should frown less,” she says. “It’s not good for you. Makes you tense.”

That’s all she has to say? “Did…you hear what I said on the phone?”

She nods.

“Weren’t you…” I hesitate, suddenly feeling ridiculous and needy. I shove my hands into my pockets.

She shrugs. “It wasn’t all that nice, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard. You should hear what Rafael, Jorge and Rinaldo say to their people when they slack off or give excuses for poor performance.”

“But you seemed surprised.”

“Because it’s a little weird that you can maintain such control even when you’re mad. I could see the tendons in your neck. But you didn’t raise your voice, not even once.”

The knot in my gut eases. “It doesn’t do much good to raise one’s voice on the phone.”

She smiles. “That’s right. Besides, it might hurt your throat. And I’m very partial to your voice, Mr. Blackwood.”

Her playful tone makes me almost smile, and the day’s irritation melts away. “Are you, now?”

“Uh-huh. You’re totally hot, don’t get me wrong, but it was the voice that sealed the deal for me.”

She isn’t the first to compliment me on it, and I never once cared one way or the other. A voice is a voice, and it isn’t like I ever dreamed of having a singing career. But I like it that she likes it.

Man, it sounds like you are starting to fall for her. Suddenly, it’s like Tony and Court are whispering in my head.

“Come on. Let’s have the pizza before it gets cold,” Jo says, tugging at my hand. “I got a sausage mushroom and a pepperoni with pineapple.”

I link our fingers together and kiss the soft skin on the back of her hand. “That sounds positively appalling.”

I let her lead me downstairs to the kitchen, since she’s right about us needing to eat. It’s dinner time.

Her cheeks flush as she laughs. “I know, but when I saw the pineapple on the topping section, I couldn’t help myself. It was calling my name.”

“The way a well-made purse calls your name? Is pepperoni a new Italian designer?”

She stiffens in shock, her eyes wide. “Oh my God… Was that