Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1) (10 page)

I
t had been one of those days where staying in bed and calling in sick would have been a better option than actually participating in life. Kline Brooks left his new intern, Leslie, under my watchful eye while he flew out to L.A. for the day to schmooze investors and impress potential advertising clients for TapNext.

I was certain she had been sent straight from Hell. The devil might as well have wrapped a big red bow around her neck and attached a note.

Dear Georgie,

Have fun with this one.

Love,

Satan

I’d seen more of her tits today than I had of my own in the past month. Either she had a severe body temperature control issue or she didn’t wear a bra. I didn’t care who was setting the dress code policy; nipples would never be considered business casual.

Why Kline had hired her was a goddamn mystery at this point. And I hadn’t even brought up her predilection for selfies. Her social media was busier than a Las Vegas escort during March Madness. Which I guess was fine—if only she’d put the same amount of work into her actual job.

Finally at home, I settled into my favorite pastime—sweatpants, a bag of sour cream and cheddar potato chips, and a DVRed episode of
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
. Despite the ridiculousness that this family had made a fortune off reality television, I still found myself recording every damn episode. It was a true mind-suck of valuable time and brain cells, but I couldn’t deny my consistent guilty indulgence. What could I say? I was a
true
American—enjoying every trashy reality show produced for my viewing pleasure and shit-talking them the next day.

Kim had just declared that
women wearing the wrong foundation color is, like, the worst thing on the planet
when my phone rang.

Incoming Call Kline Brooks

What in God’s name does he need now?
He should’ve been on a plane headed home from L.A. His absence was the exact reason why I would have five pounds worth of potato chips on my hips and ass tomorrow morning. Two days ago, I would have told you he’d put stars in my eyes with swoony almost kisses and confidence in my ability. Now, after a visit to the depths of incompetency hell, the blush on my feelings had more than worn off.

That cocky, demanding bastard damn well knew what he had been doing when he’d asked me if I could handle being in charge.

After five rings’ worth of muttered curses, I decided to put him out of his misery. “Good evening, Mr. Brooks. What
else
can I assist you with today?”

His hearty chuckle filled my ears. “I thought we were past the Mr. Brooks bullshit?”

“Yeah, not after today we’re not.”

“Rough day at work?”

Rough day? Was he serious? I was still trying to scrub my brain free of the moronic comments Leslie had made all day. “Your new intern is a gem. Quite the asset to the company, I might say. It’s amazing how many selfies one woman can take in a fifteen-minute stretch, and yet, she can’t seem to make a single photocopy in the same amount of time.”

“I know she’s got some time management issues, but she’s a good kid, Georgie.” There was a smile in his voice.

“After today, I honestly have no idea how you’ve gotten anything done for the past two weeks.” I strived to be the type of woman who didn’t judge other women by their brainpower, but Leslie made the Kardashians look intelligent.

“Are you concerned about my workload, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart?
I hated that something as simple as Kline calling me sweetheart made my heart flip-flop inside of my chest. But it did.
Stupid heart.
The damn thing didn’t have a clue. I cleared my throat, ignoring my body’s reaction to his sweet sentiments. “Of course not. Why would I be concerned when
you’re
the one who hired her? Plus,
you’re
the one who continues to let
your
intern make a mockery of her job responsibilities.”

“Is now the right time to tell you Leslie is a friend of the family? Her dad asked for a favor and I obliged. Plus, I’ve got Dean keeping an eye on her.”

“Oh, so you’re making Dean do your dirty work. I see how it is. That explains his bitchy mood today. I was worried Prada went out of business.”

Kline laughed.

Good God, that laugh. It was crazy hot and had my body reacting in all sorts of dirty ways. “I’m kind of sad you didn’t have Leslie reporting to Meryl.”

“Meryl would have had my balls,” he teased. “I’ve seen that woman make grown men cry. Hell, I’ve had to wipe a few phantom tears of my own. Plus, you asked for it.”

I was two seconds away from giving him a telepathic beatdown when his voice turned warm and soft like honey. “Thanks for dealing with Leslie. I really appreciate it.”

Did he just thank me?
I pinched my arm just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “Shit, that hurt.” I winced.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just…stubbed my toe,” I tossed out. “Sooooo…did you just call to see how truly awful my day was? Or is there something you actually need?”

“For starters, I wanted to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow night.”

I sighed. “Even though you threw me under the bus and have expressed little to no remorse, I’ll be there. But it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the delicious ten-course meal I know will occur.”

“Duly noted.” He laughed. “If their food isn’t to your standard, I’ll make it up to you. Dinner anywhere. Your choice.”

“That’s easy. BLT Prime.”

“The steakhouse in Gramercy Park?”

“You betcha.”

“Swanky digs.” A low whistle left his lips. “Consider it a deal. I’ll take you there Saturday night.”

“Slow your roll, buddy. I haven’t agreed to a second date yet.”

“Yet,” he retorted with a flirtatious tone. “Haven’t agreed
yet.
And if it makes you feel better, you can think of it as more of a deal than a date. An
I’m sorry for leaving you with Leslie
kind of thing.
”

When had the tables turned? This wasn’t the Kline Brooks I had grown accustomed to. He was the quiet, reserved, yet frequently demanding boss who made a point to keep me on my toes. Our interactions consisted of cursory emails and business meetings to assess my current game plan for Brooks Media’s promotions strategy.

This playful, charismatic man requesting my presence at dinner dates and effortlessly turning me on in his office was a complete stranger. I couldn’t deny my enjoyment out of seeing this side of him, but dear God, it was completely knocking me off my game. I felt like a fish out of water, floundering for an equally charming response.

And seriously, when had I started wanting to appear enchanting to the enigmatic Kline Brooks?

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Brooks, w-why did you call me?”

“Ms. Cummings, why are we being so formal tonight? I thought we got past the formality bullshit.”

He was probably right.
I’d say it happened around the time he pulled my hips into an impressively unprofessional erection in his office two days ago.

“Okay
, Kline,”
I agreed with a mouthful of sass. I didn’t really want him referring to me by my middle school joke of a last name anyway. “If you’re not calling to chat about work, why are you calling me?”

“I actually need a favor. Are you busy?”

“No, not really. I’m just sitting here…” I paused, reaching for the remote and turning down the volume. Even though we were past “formalities,” my boss didn’t need to know about my reality show obsession. “Just sitting here reading through emails.”

He chuckled into the phone. “I’m sure those emails can wait until tomorrow. I’m in a bit of a bind. Can you turn on ESPN?”

“ESPN?”

“The Western University-New York State game is on. Thatch and I can’t get the fucker to stream on the plane. I
need
to know what’s happening.”

Thatcher Kelly, the ever-mysterious financial consultant of Brooks Media. He worked as a contractor, providing expertise for several companies, or so I’d heard, but no big money decision within Brooks Media happened without him. I’d heard his husky voice and boisterous personality on several conference calls. Even received emails with his signature sarcasm. But I’d never met the man. Hell, I’d yet to successfully locate an actual photo of him. All of his social media accounts were private and most had some random sports-related profile picture.

“This is life or death here, Georgia,” Kline interrupted my thoughts. “Thatch is a big New York State fan, and I’ve got five on the fact that his Tigers are no match for the Mustangs.”

I scrunched my nose up. “So…what exactly do you need me to do?”

“I need you to give me the play-by-play for the next twenty minutes until we land.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can bug? I’m probably not the best person for the job.” The last football game I’d watched had been the Super Bowl where Janet Jackson’s nipple had made its television debut, and I could honestly have told you more about her areola than the game. I literally knew zilch about sports, especially football.

“Please, Georgia.” He rasped his words, confusing me by making me think about sex. “I’m begging you.”

I held in my answer until I knew I wouldn’t stutter. “You owe me. Big time.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

The promise of his double meaning oozed from his voice, but I ignored him, grabbed the remote, and switched the channel. “Okay, it’s on.”

T
hatch waved his arms manically, trying to get an update. Our personal flight attendant flashed him a look of distaste, but with one quick wink, her contempt turned into consideration. I didn’t have much to my name that said
billionaire
, but the private plane sure did. With the amount that I traveled and the necessary fluctuation in timing, it was just easier.

When his attention came back to me, I flipped him off, putting Georgia on speaker. “What’s the score? How much time is left? Who has the ball?” I rambled, desperate to know if Western University was pulling through. Fucking Thatch wouldn’t let me live it down if New York State won this thing. It was a nothing game—early season, Thursday night, and unquestionably obscure teams. But Thatch could turn anything into a competition, and he’d created this rivalry out of thin air years ago.

She gave us the rundown in succinct, inaccurate terms, but I got the gist of it.

Fourth quarter. Tigers were winning.

I cursed.

Thatch shouted, “Victory is mine!”

I’d honestly never seen a guy that big Riverdance.

“All of this for five measly bucks?” Georgia asked.

Thatch’s loud, boisterous laugh echoed inside the cabin of the plane.

“No, not five
dollars
. A little more than that…”

“Five hundred?” Her voice was incredulous. I pictured Georgia’s nose scrunching up in that adorable way of hers.

“Actually…” I cleared my throat. “Five grand.”

“Five thousand dollars?”
she shouted.

Internally, I cringed. Hell, externally, I cringed.

I probably sounded like a pretentious asshat. Betting exorbitant amounts of money on sports was not my usual M.O. “It’s Thatch’s fault. He won’t take no for an answer and never bets anything less than a grand. He could be the poster child for gambling addicts everywhere. His only redeeming quality is that he actually knows how to invest his profits.”