Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,24
in bed…but I’m not delusional.
He looks like he wants to argue for a moment, then shrugs, the gesture small and clearly stating that this isn’t a battle he cares to wage.
“If you insist.” Then he uses a black AmEx to pay. Feeling like a peasant, I swipe my lowly, nothing-special Visa card.
He locates an empty table with two stools. I hoist myself up on one and hook my heels on the thick rung.
“Okay. So what are you doing here?” I take a few sips of the tea. I might not have worked out, but I still need to hydrate.
He puts the coffee to the side, utterly uninterested in the brew. “I’m here to do the right thing.” He pauses, his lips firming.
I wait, wondering what he means by “right thing” and what that has to do with me.
“You’re pregnant with my baby.”
I snort the tea, and holy cow, it hurts like hell. Tears form in my eyes, and I swear, I can feel the tea in them from the way my eyes sting.
“I’m not pregnant,” I gasp, then start coughing a bit to clear my throat and nose. It isn’t a lie…exactly. I don’t know for certain yet, even if my period is late. Really late. I squirm. The unused pregnancy test kit seems to be buzzing in my bag, screaming, Use me, use me now!
Edgar hands me a handkerchief, but I wave him off. I might do something stupid, like try to keep it so I can smell it later. Jo the hanky perv. Instead, I pull out some tissues from a small packet I carry in my purse.
He sighs and puts away the handkerchief. “That isn’t what I heard. Your cousin sent me a letter.”
“My cousin?”
“The strip mall lawyer.”
“My strip mall lawyer cousin?” I scowl. “Which one?” I have my suspicions, but I want Edgar to confirm so I strangle the correct cousin. All of my cousins are really good at playing the dumb, unassuming ignoramus when it suits them.
“Hugo. You didn’t have to hire him, by the way.”
Hire him? Strangulation is too good for that, that… “He most certainly is not a lawyer, mine or otherwise.”
Edgar raises an eyebrow. “The letterhead he used suggests otherwise.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” I say between clenched teeth.
“He knew there was a pregnancy test kit in your purse.” Edgar’s tone’s calmer than a placid lake, but still firm. “You’re a personal shopper, Jo, not a personal assistant. You have no reason to carry one around, unless carrying pregnancy tests for no good reason is in vogue now.”
Oh geez. I do my best not to give in to the urge to bang my head against the table. So that’s why Hugo was acting so weird in my apartment. It wasn’t a tampon he saw, it was the test kit.
Edgar continues, “Contrary to what you presume, giving up the baby is not the right thing for me to do.”
Just what the hell did Hugo say to Edgar? “Okay, look. Number one, I don’t know for sure that there even is a baby.”
Oh, yes you do. The sarcastic voice is back.
“Was the test inconclusive? If so, we’ll go see a doctor.” Edgar speaks as though it’s not only the most natural next step, but he’s insisting on it.
What’s going on here? Shouldn’t he be relieved he doesn’t have to “do the right thing”?
“No, that’s not what I meant. I haven’t used the test yet.”
“Oh.” Edgar looks at me for a moment, assimilating this new information. “Well, in that case, go ahead now. I’ll wait.”
I give him a look. There’s no way I’m heading to the bathroom here. And a restlessness is growing inside me. I want to talk to my girlfriends, figure out what to do about Aaron so I can avoid hurting my papa, not debate parental rights for a baby, whose existence I haven’t confirmed yet, with a month-old hookup. I can only handle so many big personal crises at once, and I still have to work, trying to dress my clients while ignoring Sonia, who’s sent me like twenty-eight texts begging me to take her back because she can’t look like a hag in public.
“Well…?” Edgar prompts when I don’t move.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.” I reach into my purse, pull out Aaron’s foul ring and shove it on my middle finger. Then I show him. “See this?”
The skin around his eyes creases as he frowns. “That’s unnecessarily rude.”
I heave a sigh. “God, you’re so serious. Not the finger, the ring.”