Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(108)

“Put me down!” I yelled as Thatch shut the driver’s door and started the engine.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Kline whispered in my ear. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No! It’s not going to be okay! He’s leaving!” I cried, and Georgie’s sad eyes blocked the view of Thatch driving away. A few tears dripped from her lids as she wrapped me up in her arms and held me tight. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”




I was sitting inside my shitty apartment, inside my least favorite neighborhood in New York. The only thing Chelsea and I had in common was that we both needed a goddamn shower.

It had been three days since the camping trip. Three days since Thatch lost his shit because I had decided to recreationally cliff jump, off a cliff I knew other people had been jumping off for years.

He had made no attempts to reach out to me.

I had made three attempts to reach out to him.

The responses I got revolved around the fact that Thatch wasn’t ready to talk to me.

He was being a dick.

And I was fine.

No, you’re not.

I. Was. Fine.

Three soft knocks on my apartment door woke me from my heart-f*cked stupor. I shuffled across the redone hardwood floors in my “Classy Bitch” socks and flung it open without checking to see who it was.

I lumbered back to my home base—the couch—and plopped my ass back down into the cushions. With the TV remote in hand, I searched through all of the DVR’d episodes that had accumulated since I’d been living at Thatch’s apartment.

“So, you look great,” Georgia said as she meandered through my apartment, occasionally picking up random takeout containers and tossing them into the trash. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s great.” She glanced around the apartment. “The new floors look nice…well, at least what I can see beneath the trash.”

“Thanks.” I pushed play on the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules.

Georgia walked over toward the television and turned it off.

“Hey! I was watching that!” I flipped the television back on.

She turned it off.

I glared and turned it on again.

She turned it off again.

“Okay, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave.” I got to my feet and trudged into my bedroom.

She followed.

“It’s nap time, G,” I said as I tossed a pizza box onto the floor and crawled into my bed. “I’ll call you later.”

She got into the bed with me.

“Go cuddle with Big Dick. I don’t feel like cuddling,” I whined and pulled the comforter over my head.

She yanked it off of me, and my annoyed eyes met hers. She looked concerned, and that sympathetic expression pissed me off.

“Stop it. I don’t need you over here worrying about me. I’m fine.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes. I. Am.”

“Honey, your apartment looks like New York relocated the garbage dump, and you’re wearing your underwear outside of your yoga pants.”

I peeked under the covers to find out that she was right. Big deal, so my underwear was outside of my pants. I’d seen numerous homeless people sport that look every f*cking day in the city.

“It’s okay not to be fine, you know? I wouldn’t be fine if I were in your shoes.”

“I’m not wearing any shoes.”

“Yeah,” she said through a soft laugh. “But you’re wearing your Classy Bitch socks, and I’ve only seen you bust those out on two occasions.” She held up one finger. “When they canceled Friday Night Lights.” She held up another finger. “And when you found out that Prada purse you bought in Soho was a knockoff.”

I had the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t like feeling like this. I never feel like this. About anything or anyone.”

“Yeah, but Thatch isn’t just anyone.”

“You got that right. He’s the biggest f*cking * I’ve ever met. I wish I’d never fallen into that giant ogre’s trap.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No,” I whispered, “but I wish I meant it.”

Georgia sat up and rested her back against the headboard as she rearranged me so my head was resting in her lap. Her fingers ran through my hair, occasionally getting caught in the numerous knots that had taken up what I considered permanent residence. My hairbrush could suck a f*cking goat scrotum.

For a few quiet moments, I let her calming energy soothe the myriad emotions I was trying so hard to avoid.

“Why did that happen, Georgie?” I asked on a whisper. “I didn’t mean for things to go down like that. I wouldn’t have jumped off the cliff had I known he would freak out like that.”

She glanced down at me. “Are you sure about that? Because from where I was standing, he was begging you not to do it. He looked desperate, sweetheart. Distraught, even.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t like that my gut feeling told me I was an * for being so f*cking stubborn.