Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,13
walks inside with a big bag full of something that smells divine and nudges the door shut with his elbow.
I eye the bag, trying to sniff inconspicuously. “Doesn’t your boss make you work anyway?”
“She’s taking time off. She works too much.” The smile on his face dims a bit. “I worry about her.”
Oh, please. Samantha is one of the most capable human beings on earth, and a woman doesn’t maintain beautiful skin and a size-two body at her age by neglecting herself. “You’re probably the only person in the city who worries about her.”
“Because people are blind.”
Not people. Love. And it isn’t just making Hugo blind. It’s making him blind, deaf and definitely dumb. But I keep that to myself. He’s so into her that the only way he’s going to get over this unrequited love is by realizing on his own that she isn’t the one for him.
Still, I have to at least try and plant a seed. “Samantha is fine. She’s good at taking care of herself, you know?” I reach for the bag. “For me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“Yeah. Mama told me to bring it over for you.”
“Thanks.” I smile, taking it from him.
“Beef tacos and guacamole,” he explains. “She said your clients don’t feed you enough.”
I laugh. “I don’t have that kind of job. Or those kinds of clients.”
“Yeah, but you know how she is. She worries anyway.”
We weave through the piles of purses, shoes and racks of clothes to reach the dining table. Hugo shakes his head. “Your place is even messier than before.”
“So? Just because I have more stuff doesn’t mean my apartment grows bigger to accommodate it.”
He looks at the glossy, high-end designer boxes dubiously. “Do you really need that many… What the hell are they, anyway?”
“Shoes. And yes, I do.”
I open the bag and inhale deeply. The smell of fresh flour tortillas and grilled meat and smashed avocados with the family’s secret blend of spices comes out like ambrosia. Oh yeah. Tío Manny and Tía Bea make the best tacos in the city. And her guacamole could probably be sold for its weight in gold.
“I can’t believe you’re a shoe hoarder. I mean, you get them for free,” Hugo says.
“Don’t judge. I appreciate them too much to get rid of them. They’re part of my fashion harem.” I sit down at the table. “You want some of this? I’m willing to share the beef tacos because I’m a good person, but you can’t have the guac.”
“No, thanks. Mama fed me already. Told me I shouldn’t diet.” He sighs, the sound more affectionate than exasperated.
That’s Tía Bea. She’s convinced that Hugo’s anorexic and that her son simply doesn’t eat enough. She doesn’t seem to notice the breadth of his shoulders or the thick biceps bulging on his arms. I note that she’s packed me six tacos. And she’ll going to call later tonight to make sure I ate them all. And as usual, I’ll lie and say yes, while saving at least three for tomorrow.
I bring out a bottle of virgin sangria. Hugo reads the label and looks around my kitchen, which is as disorganized as the rest of the apartment. “Didn’t Tío Felipe send you a few bottles of Pinot noir? You could mix them.”
Tío Felipe is my other uncle. He owns a vineyard in Napa called Sombrero Valley, so named because even though the place doesn’t get much shade, it’s shaped like a hat. He likes to ship us wine every so often. It’s his way of expressing love.
“I’m out,” I lie. I can’t drink when there is a tiny—even if it’s a very tiny—chance I might be pregnant. “I need to go shopping later.”
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve brought you a bottle.” Hugo can be sweet when he isn’t overbearing.
“Still wouldn’t have been able to have it,” I say. “I might need to go out, and I’m not driving after drinking.” Miss Responsible, that’s me. It has nothing to do with the pregnancy test kit in my purse, nope, nope, nope.
We share the sangria while I also enjoy a taco. I haven’t seen Hugo in a while, so I ask him how his job is—anything to avoid thinking about the test kit.
“It’s amazing,” he answers, his eyes shining. “Samantha is amazing. There’s no custody case she can’t fix, no soon-to-be-ex she can’t crush.”
I wonder if my cousin’s emotionally deviant. There’s nothing really adorable about crushing people…
“But it can be heartbreaking for some of the clients.