Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) (36 page)

Good try, Thatcher, but it’s not going to happen. A lady has to keep one get out of jail free card in the tank.

I laughed and remembered the other reason for the phone call. “Stop distracting me. I actually called you for a reason.”

“What else can I do for you, honey?”

“Well, I have a bit of surprise,” I announced as I crossed 5th Avenue. “Are you getting excited?”

“No,” he responded in a flat tone. Two long drags of a cab horn punctuated the sentiment.

“Well, that’s really fucking ungrateful of you.”

He showed no signs of remorse. “The last time you got me a surprise, I ended up with a pig and the city of New York thinking I have chronic anxiety.”

I laughed. “But you love Phil!”

“Yeah,
now,
I do,” he answered. “He’s grown on me. But initially,
no.
I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of a barnyard animal sleeping in the corner of my bedroom.”

“Well, this is even
more
exciting than Phil,” I announced. My voice was ecstatic over the idea of getting a rise out of him again. It was literally one of my favorite things. And after his little “fear of heights” test last week, I was really itching to one-up him again. Although, it should be noted, that test had gifted me with the
most powerful
orgasm of my
entire life
.

But those were just minor details, right?

“Get ready, Thatcher, because guess what? You’re going to be a Big Brother!”

“Huh?”

“A Big Brother!” I repeated.

“What are you talking about?”

“I signed you up to be a Big Brother for the Boys and Girls Club of Manhattan.”

The line went silent before he finally asked, “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because I felt like it was the next big step in our relationship,” I explained as a devilish grin kissed my lips. “It will prepare us both for kids someday.”

“How does
me
being a Big Brother prepare
you
for kids?”

This fucker
. He kept my bullshit game on its toes.

And I kind of loved it.

And him
.

“You can teach me everything you know. One of us has to be the expert on children, and I just felt like this was more your realm than mine,” I explained. “There are just a few confidentiality papers and other legal mumbo jumbo that you have to sign, but otherwise, you’re all set. You’ll get to meet your little brother next week!” I exclaimed, but stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk when I came across a booth with the word
GuyFi
displayed on the side.

My eyes scanned the fine print below the logo.
Masturbation Booth for men that comes equipped with a chair, a privacy curtain, and a laptop.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is this shit?”

A twenty-something woman dressed in Doc Martens and a baby-doll dress stopped beside me and stared at the booth with a disgusted look on her face. “Gross, huh?”

“What shit?” Thatch questioned, but his call wasn’t my number-one priority anymore. I needed my own answers, and I needed them now.

“How long has this been here?” I asked her.

“I think about a month.” She shook her head. “I swear, girlfriend, New York just keeps getting weirder, and men are pigs,” she added before resuming her stroll down the sidewalk.

I agreed with her one hundred percent. My blood started to boil, and my anger rose by the second as I continued to glare at the vile display.

“Cassie,”
Thatch voiced louder in my ear. “What shit?”

“This shit!” I shouted and pointed to the booth in an erratic gesture, even though he couldn’t see me. “This fucking jerk-off booth in the middle of the sidewalk!” I stomped my boot-clad heel against the concrete.

“And it figures it’s just for men! What if I’m a horny broad who needs to rub one out?”

For fuck’s sake, I
was
a horny broad.

“Can I not go into this stupid little booth and work things out?”

“Cass—” he tried to interrupt me, but it was too late. I was already on a tirade.

I pointed at a man walking past me. “How about you, baldy? You need alone time to tug on your wang?” He averted his eyes and picked up his pace to an almost sprint and crossed the street in a blur of uncomfortable avoidance.

“Cass—”

“Hey, guy in the red hat! What about you?” I gestured toward the booth. “You need a little afternoon jerk sesh before you head back to work?” I threw my hands in the air in disgust. “Fucking perverts! Goddammit, Manhattan! Get your shit together!”

Why couldn’t they choke the chicken at home into their socks or in the bathroom at work like every other goddamn guy in the country?

“Hey, Crazy.” Thatch’s loud voice caught my attention.

“What?”
I snapped.

“Stop verbally assaulting every man who walks past you.”

“I can’t help it, Thatcher. I’m appalled.”

Quite frankly, it was probably more about the blatant gender discrimination than anything else.

“Wait, where are you?” he asked. “Are you on the corner of 28th and 5th?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you have the Big Brother paperwork with you?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Fantastic. I’m in the booth, enjoying my lunch break. Just bring them in here.”

My face scrunched up in confusion.
“What?”

“Bring the papers in here,” he instructed again, speaking slowly as if that’d help me understand.

“Shut up, you liar. You’re not in that booth.”

“Just come inside the
GuyFi
booth, honey. I could use your tits for the motivation. All of the commotion outside the curtain has kind of ruined the mood.”

“How’d you know it’s called a
GuyFi
booth?”

“How do you think? Because I’m in here.”

My jaw dropped, and before I could think through the situation with a rational head, I was stomping toward the booth like a madwoman. I fisted the black curtain and yanked it back hard enough to shake the walls of the metal cubicle.

The second my eyes met the shocked expression of a guy I’d never met before, holding a penis I didn’t recognize, I shrieked. “Oh my God, I don’t know that dick!”

“Close the curtain!” the man shouted. “Close the fucking curtain!”

“Sorry,” I apologized and yanked the curtain shut. Then, on a whim, pulled it open to add, “Happy jerking!” before closing him back in.

Thatch’s loud, boisterous laughter filled my ear as I damn near sprinted away from the booth.

“You’re such an asshole!” My words had the undertone of a wheeze thanks to the adrenaline and abnormal exercise.

Thatch never stopped cracking up. “I can’t believe that actually worked on you.”

“You just forced me, your girlfriend, to look at some other dude’s dick, Thatcher. That is totally fucked.”

“Aw, honey, do you need to cleanse the palate and come stare at my cock for a few minutes? Would that make you feel better?”

“Fuck you, T. Fuck you hard,” I said and hung up the phone before more of his laughter could fill my ear.

Me: Rule #61. Don’t trick me into looking at other dudes’ dicks.

Thatch: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I snapped a picture of my middle finger between my tits and sent it his way, adding the words, Say good-bye to blow jobs for the next three weeks.

Thatch: Hey, now. Let’s not get too hasty here.

Me: Too late for negotiations. Three weeks. Suck on that.

Thatch: You can serve me your pussy for breakfast, every morning, for the next month, if you change your mind.

Well, shit. That was a hard offer to decline.

Me: Fine.

Thatch: In the words of Richard Gere, I would have paid four.

Suddenly, I was Julia Roberts in a bath of bubbles on the set of
Pretty Woman
. We really were visual entertainment spirit animals. Sure, I was the hooker in this scenario, but if Julia Roberts could play the part of one, I could too.

Me: I would have stayed for two.

Fifteen minutes later, I walked through the doors of the Starline Diner, glancing around the joint for Georgia and Will. Old-time chrome diamond plates and records lined the walls, and the red pleather on the seats of each booth looked like it was made of glitter.

“Over here, Cass!” My best friend waved to me from a table in the back corner when my eyes didn’t immediately find them.

I walked the aisle lined with booths in their direction, careful to keep my eyes away from any patrons I didn’t know personally. The tempo of my heart suggested I might still be in danger of attacking an innocent bystander.

When it was safe to look up at the only table I cared about, I found a woman I had never met before sitting beside Georgia’s brother, Will.

“Hey,
William
,” I greeted with a knowing smirk before glancing back toward his extremely attractive female companion. Generally, I tried to avoid associating my opinions in any way with conventional society, but in this instance, I could really see what the fuss was about—blond hair, blue eyes, and from what I could tell, one hell of a body underneath her silky blouse and form-fitting pencil skirt. This woman was the epitome of stunning.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Will responded without even waiting for me to ask, and I smirked.

Will stood up and gestured between us as if we couldn’t follow who he was talking about. “Cassie, this is Winnie, my friend
and
boss. Winnie, this is Cassie.”

Since I was making a first impression and all, I chose to forgo ribbing him too hard about it.

We exchanged friendly greetings, and Winnie added, “I hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing your lunch,” as I sat down across from her.

I waved her off. “Don’t be crazy. A friend of Will’s is a friend of mine.”

“Honestly,” Georgia chimed in, “anyone who can put up with my brother wins my friendship right off the bat.”

Winnie grinned, and Will just laughed it off with ease.

“So, what’s it like to be Will’s boss?” I asked, more than curious to know all the dirty ER hospital gossip. I knew Will had said she wasn’t his girlfriend, but he hadn’t said he wasn’t fucking her. Trust me, I knew from plenty of fun experience they were not mutually exclusive.

“Is it as terrible as I think it would be?” Georgia asked as a follow-up.

Winnie laughed. “Will’s actually one of my favorite residents.”

Georgia’s expression fell. “Well, that’s disappointing. I was hoping you’d have some awful things to say about him.”

Not to worry, Wheorgie. I’ll get to the bottom of this rabbit hole.

“Okay, I’ve got questions.” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table.

“Here we go,” Will muttered.

“Tell me the truth. Do doctors and nurses really fuck around with each other like on
Grey’s Anatomy
?”

“Oh, yeah!” Georgia’s eyes lit up. “Tell us everything the hospital doesn’t advertise… Well, unless it involves you two hooking up. Don’t tell me any of that.”

My pout was instinctual, and Georgia laughed. “He’s my brother!”

“Cover your ears, then,” I retorted.

Will sighed. “We’ve never hooked up, Gigi. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, Will and I are about as platonic as two people can get,” Winnie agreed. “Unless McDreamy walks in, I probably won’t ever fuck one of my coworkers.”

Will half smirked, half grimaced like he couldn’t say the same.

Winnie noticed. “Oh, my God. Who are you fucking at work? How do I miss all the good stuff?”

“I’m gonna guess it’s because you’re too busy working or taking care of your daughter. And it’s fucked, past tense. No office romance currently.”

“You have a daughter?” I asked, more intrigued by kids lately than I had ever been in my life. It was a little disturbing, but instead of panicking, I went with it.

“I have a six-year-old.” Her eyes brightened and lips crested into a loving smile. “Her name is Lexi, and she’s my whole entire world.”

“Winnie here is like the superwoman of single moms,” Will interjected. “She runs the ED, works eighty-hour weeks, and somehow manages to raise an awesome kid.”

“You’re totally kissing my ass right now. And no, I will not take you off call next weekend.”

Will shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

She laughed. “But he’s right. I’m pretty much awesome at everything besides having a life outside of my daughter and work.”

Winnie girl was spunky. I liked her already. “I’m demanding that you hang out with us more often.”

“Yes,” Georgia agreed. “Like actual nights out. Minus Will, of course.”

Winnie smiled. “Let me work on getting a new job where my schedule isn’t so demanding, and I will definitely take you up on that. I can’t tell you the last time I actually went out for a drink.”

“You know,” Georgia continued, “the Mavericks are looking for a new team physician.”

Her eyes perked up. “Really?”

“I don’t know all the details of the position, but I know it would be less demanding than your current eighty-hour workweeks. Especially in the off-season. I could email you more info if you’d like.”