Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(24)

Georgia laughed, loud and boisterous. “Holy shit, that’s awesome! I love that you did that. He’s the ultimate prankster. It’s about time he got a taste of his own medicine.”

I smirked. “I know. I wish I would’ve recorded it.”

“The only other thing he told Kline was that…well…” She paused, eyeing me with an amused look. “The sleep-f*cking worked. Like it really worked.”

I thought over her words for a good thirty seconds until I finally caught what she was putting down. “Oh, f*ck,” I said through a laugh. “Definitely not Sleepless in Seattle.”

“Nope. More like Comatose in New York,” she agreed.

I replayed the sex in my head and realized I had actually passed out—on his cock—and I did this before he finished. “Man, talk about a bitch move.”

“Yep. It was like something out of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days,” she agreed again.

I cringed before asking, “Are we speaking only in movie-isms now?”

She shrugged, but she didn’t look like she thought it was the worst idea in the world.

My usual devil-may-care attitude had up and gone hiking. “In my defense, I was running on two hours of sleep from the night before. But still, I kind of feel like an *.” Doing the ole dine and dash on someone’s dick was almost never called for.

Georgia let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, you probably should.”

The ogre was right; I did owe him. Because, let’s face it, if Thatch had done that to me, I would’ve been f*cking pissed. I honestly had to give the guy props for handling it so well, seeing as I was still alive and everything.

I had always lived my life by one motto: I couldn’t please everyone, I didn’t care to please everyone, but I could motherf*cking please myself. Which I did, often.

But for some odd reason, I found myself actually caring about what Thatch thought and trying to find a way to make it right. And the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. It was a foreign concept to me, but even I couldn’t deny I had pulled a big-time bitch move last night.

Maybe there’s some way I can make it right?

Georgia pointed at my face. “I know that look. What are you planning?”

Man, those cheese fries are really wreaking havoc on my stomach. It was in turmoil.

When I shrugged my uncertainty, she made a suggestion of her own. “Maybe he’s finally getting a little glimpse into what he puts everyone else through.”

“Little Wheorgie is encouraging my scheming ways?”

Georgia nodded, and a devilish smile consumed her lips.

“Is it safe to assume this has everything to do with Thatch including the gargoyle dick in his best man speech?”

“You bet that prankster’s ass it does.”

Thatcher had finally met his match in me.

His match.

At pranking, I told myself. But the seed was already planted, and there was no way I’d be able to keep it from growing.




I strode through Thatch’s building and straight for his assistant’s desk.

“Hi, I’ve got a last-minute meeting with Thatcher Kelly.”

She looked up from her computer, and hesitance etched her face. “Uh…he’s in the middle of a conference call right now.”

“Oh, I know.” I played it off. “That’s why he asked me to come.”

She squinted in confusion and took in my not-exactly-business attire. I was pretty sure the waistband of Thatch’s underwear was sticking out of the top of my skirt like a rapper, for f*ck’s sake. But people were always hesitant to deny you if you acted self-assured enough. “And you’re supposed to be on that conference call?”

“Yep,” I said, tapping her desk and walking toward his office door. “He’ll be happy I was able to make it in time.”

“But…wait…let me…” She stuttered over her words as she stood up from her desk. “I should probably let him know you’re here.”

“No worries. I got it from here.” I waved her off and proceeded to open his office door.

Thatch sat behind his big mahogany desk. His brown eyes rested behind a pair of sexy glasses and were lacking their playful edge. He was obviously concerned and very distracted with whatever was being said on the other end of the call. He didn’t look up from his desk until he heard the door close and the lock being flipped with a quiet click.

His hair was rough and unkempt as though he’d been running his hands through it constantly, and it made me want his hands in my hair. Tugging, pulling, you name it.

Oh, yeah.

My arousal was plain to see, and those brown eyes switched from serious to intrigued in a matter of seconds.

“Hi,” I mouthed, holding up a bag of “I’m sorry for falling asleep on your dick” fries. I moved around his desk until I was standing beside his chair.

He turned to face me and held up one finger, responding into the phone, “Unless you want your balls handed to you on a silver platter, I strongly suggest rethinking those investments.”

I smirked at the way Thatcher Kelly did business. I doubted many other people threatened their clients’ balls and got away with it.

I set the bag on his desk and went about my ogling. A sleek gray suit covered his huge, masculine body, and I wanted it uncovered. My * was pounding thanks to his all-motherf*cking-business expression and its enhancement of his strong features.