Page 75 of Hate You More

“What?” I reach for my coffee cup.

“I didn’t even know you knew any heiresses.” This from Hugo.

“That’s what I said,” Hannah adds. They’re talking about Friday, which is old news now. Better watch this space.

Hugh leans forward, cupping his chin. “But what I want to know is, does the lovely lady in question have any sisters?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Is it?”

“Well, maybe if I marry an heiress, I won’t need to drag my arse out of bed to get into the office before eight a.m.”

I spray coffee all over the Swedish imported conference table. How does he . . . But then I remember Hannah said they’d been talking about me after the Fifth Ave piece on Saturday. It might’ve been easier if the news of our marriage had hit the internet already. Easier for me, at least. Fuck. I’d better call my mom and break the news before someone else does.

“Say it, don’t spray it.” Hannah balls a napkin, then pitches it my way.

“Thanks.”

“Can we get through this now? Some of us have work to do.” Max is not in a good mood. Maybe because I felt the need to point out during his “Marriage is a sacrament” lecture that he’s neither my priest nor my dad. I expected pushback, not a fucking sermon.

I wipe at the shower of coffee, studiously ignoring how the room has fallen quiet. “Okay,” I say eventually, looking up. “Let’s talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” Hugo blinks innocently. “Oh, you mean the mysterious heiress who dressed as a waitress to get your attention?” He glances Hannah’s way. “A woman once turned up on my doorstep in a French maid’s outfit. It was great.”

“Jesus.” Max reaches for the Smart Board remote.

“So we used to date,” I begin. “A long time ago. We lost touch and have recently reunited.”

“First love, second time around.” Hugo’s brow lifts. “And I hear her daddy owns half of Wall Street.”

I give a shrug as though that’s unimportant.

“So you two seeing each other?” Hannah’s voice is sharp.

“You could say that.” You could also say we’ve seen a little more of each other than we planned.

“And how’s it going?”

I bite back my smile. “It’s going good. Great, actually.”

“Well, that’s excellent.” Hugh leans back in his chair, his smile wide and genuine. “I’m very happy for you, mate. I’m mean, I’m also stoked for us. Obviously.”

I shoot Max a look. That’s your cue. Max gives a click of the remote, and blinds begin to drop over the windows, the whiteboard on the opposite wall lighting up.

“Home movie time.” Hugo leans closer to Hannah. “Should we snuggle?”

Her answer is to put her palm on his forehead, but then all eyes move to the screen as Max moves to the first slide, a graph from our in-house software. “Stock is up fourteen-point-two percent since Friday.”

“Fuck me! That is excellent news.” Hugo glances around as though looking for someone to high-five him.

“It’s not news.” I reach for my rapidly cooling coffee. Calm on the outside, but inside, my stomach feels tight.

“I beg to differ,” Hugo says. “It’s the kind of news I like to hear. All hail the magnificent Troy Boy. What?” he adds when no one chimes in. “It’s all down to the bird he’s seeing.”

Hannah shakes her head.