Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(50)

Cassie: I gotta go. My entourage is calling. Say hi to your boner for me.



Me: He says hi back. And he misses your tits.



I miss you. I sighed and took a deep breath as I stared at my phone for an embarrassingly long amount of time before accepting there wouldn’t be any more messages. She was busy working, the very thing I should have been doing, but my concentration was pretty much shot.

There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’d be able to get my head back into third-quarter analytics and projections based off my suggested budget cuts and advertisement allocation for Hughes International.

I considered calling Kline, but I knew he’d actually be working.

I dialed Wes instead. He answered on the third ring.

“What’s up?”

I spun in my chair to face the window. “Just seeing what you’re up to, Whitney.”

“On the West Coast again.”

“Ah. Back for another round. Where are you this time? I’m headed toward that end of the country tomorrow.”

“Seahawk territory. I’ve got a couple of meetings with guys coming to the end of their contract.”

“A Tuesday afternoon and everyone is actually working? I don’t understand.”

“It’s that whole being an adult thing. I can see why you wouldn’t be familiar with it.”

“Ha-ha,” I mocked.

“Why aren’t you working?”

“My eyes were starting to cross,” I lied.

“Ah. Well, sorry I can’t spend hours on the phone giving you a cuddle.”

“I’m flipping you off right now, in case you were wondering.”

“We don’t have time for that either. Go get something to eat. Preferably at my restaurant.”

“Discount?” I asked even though I knew his answer.

“Fuck no.”

“You know, it’s okay to admit you’re in love with me. It won’t make you less of a man.”

“Bye, Thatch.”

I laughed as I pulled the phone away from my ear. That had actually made me feel better. Fuck, I have weird comforts.

I looked down at my phone once more before deciding to be done for the day. I had work, but I didn’t have meetings, so I could pretend I had nothing.

Shutting down both of my monitors, I grabbed my suit jacket from the coat hook and filled my pockets with my keys, wallet, and phone.

Madeline looked up as I walked out. “I’m gonna take off for the day. I just got a last-minute meeting with Carl Sanchez, so I’m headed out there tomorrow on a noon flight out of JFK.”

“I’ll book you a car,” she replied, making a note on a convenient stack of Post-it notes.

“Thanks. Feel free to work from home while I’m gone, okay?”

She smiled, and I knew it’d been the right move to offer. She worked really f*cking hard for me no matter where I was or what time I called. I had other people who worked for me in a sense, but she was the only other one I kept in the office, and she did a pretty bang-up job of managing my entire life.

I spent a large portion of my time out of the office, meeting with clients and doing a lot of it after hours. The time clock never really stopped, but no matter how much I took on, it never turned into a group activity. When these people came to me, they paid a very large premium to get financial advice or planning from me—not someone working for me.

She smirked. “I would have done it with or without your permission.”

I laughed outright. “See, Mad, that’s why we work well together. You don’t take any of my shit.”

“I’m also an organizational genius.”

“That too.”

“Have fun in L.A.,” she said in dismissal, and I laughed.

“Okay, I get it. I’m going now.”

She just raised her brows.

I jumped toward the exit and laughed while raising my hands in the air. “Okay, okay. Geez. And in my own office.”




L.A. looked pretty much the same as the last time I’d seen it. Bright and bustling and filled with traffic.

Big palms lined the streets, and the sun beat down on the exposed skin of my forearms. The intensity of the rays seemed stronger here, but at least it didn’t feel like you were being choked by the humidity.

The overwhelming odor of piss also wasn’t as strong as in New York. It existed, kind of lingering in the background, but it wasn’t nearly as pungent.

Pulling my arm back through the window and into the cab, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and opened up the text messages. I hadn’t heard from Cassie since yesterday.



Me: Rule #40: Take at least one recreational trip to L.A. a year.



Cassie: Recreational? Are you talking about drugs, Thatcher?



Me: I’m here on business. I’d rather be here for fun.



With you.



Cassie: How did I not know you were going to L.A.?



Me: I just found out I was coming yesterday. After we talked.



Technically, I’d found out before we talked. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t said anything, but it was probably more because she’d cut the conversation short than anything nefarious.