Page 74 of Hate You More

“The Italians,” Hugo says through a yawn as he stretches his hands out behind his head. “And it’s croissant,” he says in what sounds like a perfect French accent. “It’s not kruh-sont. Unless you’re ordering it with a slice of American cheese and extra bacon.”

“And that’s why you look like a pretentious asshole,” Max says, walking into the room, his phone in one hand and a manila folder in the other. He shoots me a quick but unhappy glance. I guess he’s still pissed about Monday.

After Clara left the building, he tried to rip me a new one. Reminded me I wasn’t a kid anymore and to stop fucking about. But he doesn’t get how serious I am. It’s not about the share price or the money. My risk is about success. There really isn’t a lot I won’t do for this company.

So I shut him down. Told him I was marrying her with or without his help. And when I told him about Clara’s trust fund clause, he seemed to settle some. He agreed to help, as I knew he would, though he insisted on bringing in separate counsel for Clara to keep the prenup aboveboard.

Protection for me as much as her, he said. The man is nothing if not thorough.

“No, I look like a pretentious arsehole because I am a pretentious arsehole,” Hugh happily declares.

“Get your feet off the table, man.”

“Fine.” He sits up with a protracted sigh.

“Right, let’s get this over with.” Max takes a seat at the end of the conference table and shoots me another glare.

“I wonder what’s got Max’s knickers in a twist,” Hugo whispers as he scoops his finger though the green smudge on Hannah’s plate.

“Ew, gross.” She scrunches her nose. “Looks like boogers.”

“Yum, yum!”

Max coughs pointedly, and the two settle down. “So good news. Stock is up.”

“Is it?” Hugo sits straight at the information.

“Don’t you keep an eye on the stock movement?” Hannah demands.

“I guess the novelty of being rich has worn off for him,” I put in.

“Rich on paper,” he corrects. “It doesn’t feel real. More like when your parents take your birthday money off you with a promise to bank it.”

Hannah scoffs. “Like you’re not already living the life of a lord.”

“So,” Max says heavily.

“A lord wouldn’t see the daylight until the afternoon,” Hugh complains.

“Can we get the fuck on with this?” Max demands.

“Shush.” Hugh nudges Hannah. “Dad’s talking.”

Max glances at each of us in turn. Satisfied with our attention, he begins again. “We’re seeing a steady daily increase since Saturday.”

“Whatcha got there?” Hugo asks, noticing Max toying with the corner of the file. In answer, he spins it my way across the table. I fold the same corner back. It’s my copy of the prenup.

“Share with the class.”

The prenup for my marriage of convenience? I don’t think so.

Convenience. That’s a joke. As pleasant as this morning’s interlude was, our living arrangements are clearly a problem. And there is nothing convenient about the semi that threatens every time I think of her hard nipple against my palm. I wanted to put it in my mouth, roll my tongue around it until it was shiny and pink. Tease it between my teeth to hear her breathy moan.

“Must be a love note,” Hannah puts in.

“It is in the air,” Hugo quips.

The pair stare expectantly at me. Meanwhile, Max is staring at the ceiling.