Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(31)

“Yeah?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I should have known. “You gave her a key, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” he denied. “But Georgie did.”

“What the f*ck, man? Is there no bro code in that cold heart of yours?”

His chuckles were obnoxious. “I thought it was hilarious. And she’s just messing with you. You should be in heaven. You’re always messing with everyone.”

“That’s right,” I corrected. “I mess with everyone. Not the other way around.”

“Ah,” he breathed. “I see how it is.”

I narrowed my eyes at the realization he was making me out to be a *.

“I can handle it. I’m just not used to it.”

“Poor Thatch,” Kline fake pouted.

“Screw you. I don’t know why I call you.”

“Because you’re looking for reason, and I’m normally the voice of it.”

“Yeah, normally,” I agreed.

He laughed again, and I sighed long and deep. “Just have fun with it. That’s what you do with everything else.”

He was right. And there was one thing I found enjoyable above all others.

“That’s it,” Kline said with excitement in his voice just before I hung up. “That’s the sound of plotting.”

Fuck right.





The door clicked shut behind Thatch, and I stayed on his couch, a bit taken aback by the events that had just gone down. My gaze roamed his apartment—now, my apartment?—taking in the neutral yet sleek décor. Unable to comprehend what had happened between Thatch and me, or any of the implications of it, I came to the only conclusion I could: he had definitely paid someone to decorate his bachelor pad.

No f*cking way he was this forward thinking in the interior decoration department.

The minimalist approach was completely modern and highlighted with strategically placed black, white, and gray accents.

Whoever had designed this place had a very keen eye. They had known the huge window framing the living room would bring in natural light that would make the darker style appear warm and inviting versus drab and melancholy.

The photographer inside me wanted to add a few black-and-white photographs of places I had traveled to the walls beside that huge window, which only led to my confusion.

Was I really moving in now? Decorating his shit?

Needing information, I found the ability to move my body off his couch and into his bedroom, where I had last left my purse. I grabbed my phone, plopped down on his big-ass bed, and called the one and only person I could call in a moment like this.

“Well, hello, Cass,” Georgia answered, and her voice hinted at amusement.

My eyebrows rose with suspicion. “It sounds like you were expecting my call.”

“Why would you say that?” She feigned bewilderment. The day Georgia Brooks was able to lie with a straight face and a convincing voice, hell would freeze over and I’d be able to teleport myself onto David Gandy’s cock whenever I wanted.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I answered, laughing a little at how truly terrible my best friend was at lying. “Maybe because you can barely hold back your giggles. And I know for a fact, when you’re two seconds away from turning giggly, you’re one hundred percent full of shit.”

“I am not full of shit,” she responded, but I could literally hear her swallow the urge to burst into laughter.

“Acting would’ve been a horrible career path for you, by the way,” I teased. “But since I love you, I’m going to take the bait and act like I actually believe the words coming out of your mouth.”

“I’m not lying!” she exclaimed.

“Uh-huh, sure you’re not… Would you like me to tell you about what just happened?”

“Yes,” she responded far too quickly. My spidey sense was tingling. She already knew something.

“Well, I’m at Thatch’s apartment, and honestly, I’m not sure if I should start calling it my apartment.” I sat up from the bed and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a gracious view of the city. “My original plan was to fake move in and ruffle the prankster’s feathers a bit, but things didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“What happened?”

“Well, he didn’t freak out or try to get a restraining order. He got naked, took a shower, and then went out to get us dinner. Not gonna lie, I’m not quite sure what to do with this.”

“Do you think he’s…maybe…screwing with you back?”

“Do you think he’s doing that?” I tossed her question back. “Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what you already know?”

Fabric rustled in the background like maybe she was covering the mouthpiece of her phone.

“I’m not saying I know anything, but I’m not saying I don’t either,” she answered vaguely when a slight hum of ambient noise returned to the line.

Georgia was a special brand of fiddle. You had to really tune her up right, and begging wasn’t the way to do it. But, as her longtime best friend, I knew the one thing that would make her little informational bow fly—act like I was freaking the f*ck out. Her immune system had absolute shit defense against hysteria.