Marrying My Billionaire Hookup Read online

  Table of Contents

  Other Titles by Nadia Lee

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Titles by Nadia Lee

  About Nadia Lee

  Copyright

  Other Titles by Nadia Lee

  Faking It with the Frenemy

  Marrying My Billionaire Boss

  Stealing the Bride

  ——

  The Sins Trilogy

  Book 1: Sins

  Book 2: Secrets

  Book 3: Mercy

  ——

  The Billionaire’s Claim Duet

  Book 1: Obsession

  Book 2: Redemption

  ——

  Sweet Darlings Inc. Series

  Book 1: That Man Next Door

  Book 2: That Sexy Stranger

  Book 3: That Wild Player

  ——

  Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Series

  Book 1: A Hollywood Deal

  Book 2: A Hollywood Bride

  Book 3: An Improper Deal

  Book 4: An Improper Bride

  Book 5: An Improper Ever After

  Book 6: An Unlikely Deal

  Book 7: An Unlikely Bride

  Book 8: A Final Deal

  ——

  The Pryce Family Series

  Book 1: The Billionaire’s Counterfeit Girlfriend

  Book 2: The Billionaire’s Holiday Obsession

  Book 3: The Billionaire’s Secret Wife

  Book 4: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Fiancée

  Book 5: The Billionaire’s Forbidden Desire

  Book 6: The Billionaire’s Holiday Bride

  ——

  Seduced by the Billionaire Series

  Book 1: The Billionaire’s Revenge

  Book 2: The Billionaire’s Pursuit

  Book 3: The Billionaire’s Baby

  Book 3.5: The Billionaire’s Crush

  Book 4: The Billionaire’s Scandal

  Book 5: The Billionaire’s Secret

  ——

  If you want to receive notices about my latest books, please join my VIP List at www.nadialee.net/vip!

  Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

  Nadia Lee

  Acknowledgments

  People say writing is lonely work, but nonetheless, this book couldn’t have been written without the support of the following people:

  My family, who puts up with me disappearing for days so I can daydream while hunched over my computer. You’re the best.

  Dawn Alexander—thank you for editorial guidance and making sure I don’t do anything crazy.

  Vanessa Badillo—thank you for being awesomely generous, reading an early draft and providing invaluable feedback on Jo’s family. All errors regarding Jo’s family dynamics are, embarrassingly enough, mine.

  Arran McNicol for making sure my baby doesn’t go out into the world without its shirt tucked in and its face wiped clean of smudges.

  My readers—yes, I’m looking at you, VIPs!—thank you for answering quick questions about Spanish words, cheering me on and getting excited about Edgar and Jo’s story! I have the best readers in the world!

  To everyone who’s doing their best during the pandemic.

  Picking out a twenty-thousand-dollar dress? Piece of cake. Picking out Mr. Right? Now, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

  –Jo Martinez

  Love is like alcohol. Too much of it destroys clarity and impairs judgment.

  –Edgar Blackwood

  Chapter One

  Jo

  “Thank God you’re here!” My brother Pablo looks at me like I’m the cure to high cholesterol and blocked arteries as I step into his apartment.

  “Believe me, you aren’t the only one thanking God when I show up.” I lay down the huge collection of rather heavy glossy bags hanging from my arms on his dining table.

  It’s big enough for six, but everything in this home is too much for a bachelor, and none of it was a deliberate choice on his part. When he first moved into this place at the beginning of his residency, he bought whatever was on sale and first to pop up on the furniture store websites.

  Now he’s a board-certified pediatric cardiologist at UCLA, but he’s too busy to redecorate or update his closet to ensure he looks like an actual doctor. But I still love him, and it isn’t just because he’s my brother. He’s got a big heart, and kind brown eyes that show nothing but compassion and understanding for his young patients. If my childhood doctors had been half as nice as Pablo, I wouldn’t have worried about going to see them so much.

  “Can you bring them with you, please?” I say, rubbing the red marks the bag straps left on my arms. Normally, I’d have had the garments delivered, but this is an emergency. Very time-sensitive.

  “Yeah, of course. Your arms okay?”

  “They’re fine. Won’t even notice after a while.” I just need the marks gone for the party I’m going to attend later.

  He grabs the bags and lets out a breath. “My God, what are these made of? Lead?”

  “Just a little of everything. I don’t know what’s in your closet, although I can guess.”

  “Supergirl probably wears these to protect herself from Kryptonite poisoning,” he grumbles. But he picks them up and follows.

  I move to his bedroom, which is sparse—just a king-sized bed and a dresser—and quickly examine his wardrobe. Work clothes: button-down shirts and Dockers. Casual stuff: cotton T-shirts and shorts. Some ties. One makes me pause, and I pull it out. It’s Daffy Duck on a field of yellow and orange.

  “Really?” I hold it in front of him like a strip of shame. “Looney Tunes?”

  “The kids love it,” he says.

  “Yeah, well, a woman who’s old enough to date won’t. Especially if you wear it to a restaurant like Virgo. And especially not on a first date!”

  “Which is why you’re here. You’re the fashion expert.”

  True enough. I haven’t earned a fancy medical degree like Pablo. Actually, I don’t have a degree of any type—the only one in my family not to have one—but I’ve still managed to create a successful career.

  I shift into job mode. “Tell me what kind of impression you want this woman to have.”

  “Fun. Nice.” He thinks for a moment. “Sweet.”

  “That works. But you also want to look successful, right?”

  “You going to cover me in Gucci?”

  I laugh. “No, but every man should have a pair of Italian loafers in his closet.” I dig into one of the bags and pull out a pair of Pradas. “These have your name on them. But try them on, and if you don’t like them, you don’t have to keep them.” But I know he’ll love them because they’re classic and comfortable. Except for the ridiculous ties, he’s pretty conservative when it comes to clothes. Flamboyance makes him uncomfortable. He thinks his accomplishments make him stand out, not his outfits.

  Pablo sticks out his lower lip and considers. “They look nice enough.” He takes them from me and puts them on. Walks around a bit. “And comfortable, at least so far. Don’t know how they’d feel after a shift.”

  “They’ll just get better as you break them in. And I also have a pair of Guccis for you, because I’m nice like that.” Feeling like a fairy godmother to my Cinderfeller brother, I hand him a silk dress shirt in pale cream, a dark blue sports jacket, also silk, and matching slacks. “Classy and simple. No tie. Leave the top two buttons undone. Keep your jewelry to one solid ring or nothing at all. No cartoon characters. Those can come later when she knows you well enough to not run screaming in the other direction.”

  “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

  “You’re welcome. Now yo
u know she won’t ding you for clothes.” And that makes me happy and proud. Pablo’s a great guy. He’s smart, loving and protective—really, a ten out of ten. He just needs a little help so this date of his will have a chance to see his amazing heart.

  He laughs, then says, “You look good,” because he knows that complimenting me is the first step in thanking me properly for rescuing him from committing a fashion faux pas.

  “I do, don’t I?” I grin. “I spent some extra time today because I have a party to go to after I dress you.” The burgundy silk Dior I’m in isn’t exactly tight, but it clings in all the right places, emphasizing my breasts and butt. You can’t wear any underwear with it, but I’m quite confident my fashion-ignorant brother hasn’t noticed…nor will he.

  “What party?” he says, suddenly straightening his shoulders and back, like he’s about to punch somebody out, probably some guy I’m going to meet.

  “An heiress from Korea invited me to a party at Anthony Blackwood’s mansion. I couldn’t say no, especially since it’s to celebrate Kim finally getting her work bonus.” My best friend has slaved for five years for it. She deserves an awesome party.

  “Oh.” Pablo deflates a little. “Well, okay. That’s good. Kim’ll keep you safe.”

  By “safe,” he means “away from sex.” He, just like my eldest brother Rafael and all my cousins, either doesn’t understand or refuses to accept that I’m not a virgin. Haven’t been for ages.

  But it’s easier to just let him have his delusion than argue. Not to mention I might as well be a virgin at the moment. Depressingly enough, I haven’t slept with anybody in months, not since I broke up with Aaron. He was fun and laid-back when we first met, but then morphed into a clingy mess within a few months of us starting to date. He still keeps calling and texting, saying he knows I haven’t been with anyone and it’s time we get back together. Ugh. I need to find a way to get myself out of this state of dickpression. Maybe that’ll make Aaron realize it’s really over.

  “Gotta go,” I say, waving at Pablo.

  “Hey, don’t you want to take the rest with you?” He gestures at the bags on the floor.

  “Keep ’em. You’re going to need something for your second date…assuming you can get one.” I wink to take the sting out of the comment. “Good luck!”

  Then, before he can try to give me “safety” tips—and maybe a can of Mace he bought just for this kind of occasion—I rush out and hop into my Lexus.

  Normally I’m not this excited about parties. I’ve been to my share—a big chunk of my clients are celebrities, and many of them have become friends. But I’m hyped up about this one, and it isn’t just because of Kim’s professional success. It’s also because I’ve been unbearably curious about the brand-new mansion Anthony Blackwood built for his wife.

  How they met, fell in love and married made the headlines. And I’m certain none of the publicity was by choice, because Anthony is so private that nobody knew why he left his family in Louisiana to move to Los Angeles…until all the articles about his family scandal came out.

  The media probably didn’t report everything truthfully, though. They always try to make stories as sensational as possible, and if omitting a few facts can enhance the sensationalism, they do exactly that. Probably half my clients complain about it.

  And even though I got to work for Anthony’s wife Ivy twice, introduced through Elizabeth Pryce-King, I never got to go to the mansion. That’s unusual; my clients generally prefer that I go to their homes because it’s more convenient for them. But not Ivy. I can’t decide if it’s because she’s a private person too, if she just isn’t used to bossing people around, or if there are secrets in the mansion. Then I laugh, because of course there aren’t any secrets. They just built the place…and this isn’t some messed-up fairytale.

  The security panel at the edge of the estate accepts my guest code, and the wrought-iron gates part majestically to let me through. I park my car to one side, where other vehicles are, and climb out. The air smells of fresh flowers from an impressive garden, and the breeze is refreshing.

  I take my time and admire the gorgeous landscape, complete with a huge water garden with mini tea candles floating on the calm surface. So many small lights glow in the evening, making the home look like a castle for fairies. It’s really lovely.

  At the main door, I run into Yuna Hae, the party’s hostess. Her auburn hair is down, and she is in the cutest Chanel dress and shoes. I’ve never seen her look or dress badly—not that I’ve known her for long—and nothing hides her bubbly personality.

  She hugs me. “Hey, you made it!”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” I say, hugging her back. “Is Kim here yet?”

  “Nope. She’s being fashionably late, no doubt. But that doesn’t mean we don’t get to hang out and have fun! Come on, let me introduce you to some people.” She gestures, pulling me toward the center of the foyer. “You have no idea how thrilled I am because all of my favorite people are here, even Edgar.”

  “Edgar?”

  “Edgar Blackwood. Tony’s older brother. He spends almost all his time running the family business in Louisiana, you know. But I bet he wanted the special treat I prepared!” She waggles her eyebrows.

  “A special treat? Like…a cake or something?”

  “Oh, you’ll be amazed. It’s awesome.” She taps the back of a tall, dark-haired man. He’s talking with someone, but he turns around, green eyes sharp with interest.

  I recognize him instantly. Anthony Blackwood. He’s pretty famous—and infamous—and not only due to his family scandal. He owns some of the best and most popular clubs in the world, including Z here in L.A.

  He doesn’t seem as cold as his reputation would suggest, although he’s just as well dressed as the pictures I’ve seen. He’s very handsome, his features finely carved. If it weren’t for the firm lines of his lips and jaw, he’d be pretty.

  “Tony, say hello to my friend, Jo Martinez. Jo, Anthony Blackwood.”

  He shakes my hand firmly. “Anthony. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure’s mine,” I say.

  “Ivy’s talked about you. She always appreciates your help.”

  My smile grows more genuine. “She’s so lovely.” It’s true. She’s one of the nicest people to work for.

  “Have you met my brother?” He gestures at the man he was talking with, who comes half a step closer.

  Anthony is certainly handsome enough, but his brother is…

  Wow.

  Normally I think clothes make the man, wielding the presence he needs if they have the right combination of color, material and cut. But in this case, clothes seem to be an afterthought. He’s tall, with magnificently broad shoulders that signal power and dominance. He stands with perfect posture, his back straight, his head angled just so to show the bold lines of his facial bones. His features aren’t as elegantly carved as Anthony’s, but there’s rawness to them that’s utterly masculine and hot. And his eyes… They’re green like Anthony’s, but different. Darker, deeper and completely controlled without being cold.

  I wonder what they’d look like when they aren’t so controlled…

  Suddenly, the place feels too hot.

  My “no” to Anthony’s question comes out a near-breathless whisper. I clear my throat and add, “I don’t believe so,” then extend my hand. “Jo Martinez.”

  “Edgar,” he says, with a hint of a Southern drawl. “Edgar Blackwood.” Dios mío, that voice that should be illegal. It brushes over me, as decadent as velvet, and I suppress a shiver as sensation seems to pool between my legs. How in the world is he making his name sound like my dirtiest fantasy? My grandmother would say he’s sold his soul to the devil.

  He takes my hand in a soft fingers-only grip and gently pumps it twice. The contact sends a tingle up my arm, making my neck heat.

  “Charmed,” he says.

  “Ooh, how nice. Is that what Louisiana gentlemen say when they meet a lady?”

  The green eyes crinkle slightly. “Depends on the lady.”

  Oh my God. I bet tons of women sigh over him and make fools of themselves. I don’t want to be a cliché he won’t even remember two seconds from now.

  But then I feel it… The soft, slow drag of his fingertips as though he loathes to let me go. And although he’s looking at me calmly enough, I can see a glimmer of heat in his eyes.

  So this is a two-way street. And I can see that he knows it. We share a moment that Anthony and Yuna are not privy to, even though they’re standing right beside us.