Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,88

I’ll meet you there,” Jo says.

“I need the address,” Hugo says.

“I’m texting you now.” I send it to both of them. Although Jo’s been there once before, she might not remember exactly.

The drive is uneventful. I check the rearview mirror a few times, just to make sure Jo’s behind me. She’s a complicated woman who reacts in ways that I can’t quite fathom. She isn’t impressed with my money, and she isn’t keen on trapping me into marriage with the baby. As a matter of fact, I have a feeling that if I left it up to her, she’d buy me a thank-you dinner for helping her today and that would be that.

It wouldn’t shock me if she changed her mind. Or went off on her own somewhere.

Perhaps I should’ve insisted she ride with me, I realize with a slight degree of worry. I might have if we hadn’t needed the space in her trunk too. The woman has a lot of stuff.

But Jo follows me to the penthouse. As I turn into the garage, I see Hugo’s SUV behind her as well.

The penthouse comes with six reserved and ten guest spots. I park the Escalade and text the concierge and security desk so they don’t tow our cars by mistake, since we don’t have parking tags yet.

That done, I climb out of the SUV, eager to move every box into my and Jo’s new home as soon as possible. Once she starts seeing her things in the space, she’ll start to get used to the idea of living here with me.

“This the place?” Hugo asks, coming out of the Tahoe and looking around.

Jo steps out and closes her car door. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get going,” I tell Hugo. Then I turn to Jo before she reaches for her trunk. “Just carry your purse.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, but she does as asked.

Hugo and I take various boxes. Jo trots ahead of us and hits the button for the elevator.

Hugo looks around the lobby, taking in the security cameras, access-key security panels, and a pair of guards at the desk. Finally, he grunts. “At least it’s safe.”

“It was a critical consideration,” I say.

We take the elevator up to the penthouse. The furniture is already arranged and in place. A giant TV hangs from the wall. So the interior designer I hired came through in time, as I expected. She was concerned about the tight deadline, but like I told Jo earlier today, money can speed things up.

Hugo whistles and makes a slow circle, the box in his arms temporarily forgotten.

I stay back to observe Jo’s reaction. I’m hoping she likes the furniture enough to use it until she can find something that suits her taste better. And hopefully she isn’t so picky that she refuses to sit because the color of the couch doesn’t match her dress. I actually dated a woman while attending Harvard who seemed normal—initially—but did exactly that when I took her to my apartment. I dumped her on the spot. My patience and tolerance have limits.

But obviously I can’t just dump Jo. She’s a set deal that comes with my baby.

“Holy… This is sweet!” Hugo says, propping his box on the breakfast counter. “It’s, like, better than Samantha’s place.”

“You’ve been to your boss’s home? And you didn’t tell me?” Jo asks, her eyes narrow, as she places her purse on the couch and leans her hip against the armrest. I relax a bit.

Hugo shrugs. “You know. I just went over to drop a document off. Didn’t really go inside. I just got to see the inside for a few minutes. From the foyer. No biggie.”

He’s barely meeting Jo’s gaze, and couldn’t be making it clearer that he has feelings for his boss. I silently wish him luck, although I hope it’s a passing infatuation. Interoffice dating never ends well in my experience. And when it’s over, it’s always the more junior of the couple who ends up getting hurt professionally.

“So, uh… We should get moving,” Hugo says. “If we want to be done before it’s too late. I need my beauty sleep.” He pats his cheeks dramatically.

Part of me wants to tease him a little, but then I decide maybe it isn’t the most appropriate thing. Although he let me know about the baby and he’s less hostile than his brothers and cousins, I’m not yet sure where the line is.

“You’re right,” I say. “Jo, why don’t you check the fridge and see if it has everything