Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,4

a reason to visit more when your brother has babies,” Jo says, peering at me.

“Doubtful,” I reply. “Blackwood Energy keeps me very busy.”

Playing the power game with Dad sucks up a lot of my time. He wants to maintain the status quo—a focus on oil, the old boys’ club, centralized offices, that sort of thing. I want to shake things up. Diversify into green energy, place an emphasis on actual achievement rather than connections or gender, and rethink our place in the future of the energy sector. Unfortunately, Dad still has a lot of influence within the company. Most of the top executives were his picks.

“Oh.” Jo nods, looking down at her drink.

Her expression reminds me of something Tony’s best friend Ryder said, that I’d have made a terrible best man at Tony’s wedding because I’m more suited for somber occasions like funerals. It’s true I’m not exactly the fun Hollywood playboy type—like Ryder—because to me, life is serious. And responsibilities matter.

At the same time, I don’t want Jo to think I’m dull.

“But corporate talk is boring,” I say, trying to recover. “What do you do?”

She looks like she wants to contradict me, but says, “I’m a fashion consultant and personal shopper.”

“Sounds interesting. Women love to shop, right? You must be exceptional to get paid to do it.”

“Mmm, yes,” she says. But she doesn’t look happy.

“What? Has the excitement gone out of it? Just a job now?”

“Just a job?” She looks up at me. “What do you mean?”

And the sheer interest in her warm brown gaze starts to undo something inside me that’s been wound tight ever since I can remember. “I remember reading a porn star interview—a guy—where he said sex took on some distinctly chore-like qualities once he started having to do it for money.”

The second I finish saying it, I want to bite my tongue. What happened to good manners and propriety? If my brain was functioning right, I would’ve said something more…neutral. Perhaps the “treat” Yuna mentioned is some kind of hallucinogen in the drink I’m having.

Jo laughs. “Did he actually say that?”

“Yes.” No choice now but to continue. And it’s dangerous, because thinking about the porn star makes me think about porn, which then makes me think about sex.

“He must not love his job as much as I love mine, then.” The corners of her lips lift, and humor sparkles in her eyes. Why does the sight of that smile make me feel a hundred feet tall?

“I absolutely adore my work,” she continues. “What I do isn’t just shopping, it’s helping people realize their true potential.”

“How so?”

“Well, just to give you a corporate example, would you hire somebody who didn’t dress right for the job, even if he was, I don’t know, the Einstein of the energy sector?”

“An energy Einstein? I’d hire him.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Let’s say it’s before he became famous.”

“Well… I’d like to say yes, but most likely no. He wouldn’t even get an interview.”

“Exactly. And I like your honesty.” She beams. “Some people like to pretend they’re beyond such superficial things, but of course they aren’t. Besides, you can tell a lot by the way somebody dresses.”

“Like how rich they are?” That should be easy. All you’d have to do is catalogue how much they spent on clothes.

“Well, yeah. But also about their personality.” She leans closer and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Of course, if they hire me… Well, they can project whatever they want.”

“What are you trying to project right now?”

She winks. “Don’t know, do you?”

I have to admit that she’s got me. I’d say she’s going for sexy, but I doubt there’s anything that could hide that simmering sexuality. So that’s out… “Soigné at the soirée?”

“Oh, humor. And cultured humor at that.” She gives me a small, silent clap, but still waits for my assessment.

I can’t think of anything else. Fashion isn’t my forte, but maybe I can turn this around. “Okay, I haven’t hired anybody to pick out my clothes, so tell me what you think I’m like.” Even as I say it, I wonder why. It isn’t like me to care that much about what people think. Or ask a woman I just met how she views me. It’s too much like begging for approval, or worse, affection.

I, Edgar Henry Clayton Blackwood, do not need or seek out affection.

“You?” Jo pulls back a bit and gives me a slow once-over from head to toe.

Since I can’t think of a good way to take back my question, I