The Billionaire Boss Next Door(30)

I smirk and tap one manicured finger on the table while I use my free hand to type out a three-letter text.



Me: You.



Greer: Fine. I’m halfway through a cheese quesadilla and a brownie the size of my head. This hotel may have shitty taste in decor, but they’ve got good food. I’ll give them that.



Greer: Seriously. You can’t deny this hotel’s style is like Exorcist-level scary.



I shake my head at her inability to get out of her own way and glance to the door again for Quincy. Still nothing.

I sigh and type out more advice she probably won’t heed.



Me: Maybe you should practice not calling it shitty now.



Greer: That’s no fun. I like my way.



Me: Whatever.



Greer: Is this you being done with our conversation?



Me: Yep.



Greer: P.S. Enjoy your date with my superfan.



I’m typing out a response when a feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I drop my phone into my purse and look up instead.

“Hey, baby,” Quince greets, pushing his lips to mine for a quick kiss that makes me shiver. Even after three months together, I still get goose bumps when he simply says hello.

The mere realization of that urges a smile to kiss my lips.

Unfortunately, the sweet little swoony pebbles on my skin turn into the R.L. Stine version as he steps to the side to reveal his friend Caplin. Dressed down in jeans and wearing an actual flannel shirt, he looks more like a farmer than the top corporate lawyer and billion-dollar entrepreneur Quince has painted him to be.

I force a phony laugh and look to Quince imploringly. I was expecting this to be a date, not boys’ hour at the tractor pull. “I know we’re still kind of new, honey, but I should tell you now—one man is absolutely all I can handle.”

Quincy’s smile grows, and he’s really fucking lucky I like the way it looks on him so much. “That’s fine. Because I can’t handle any.”

I grin—I can’t help it when he looks at me like that—and he mouths the word sorry.

The chair scrapes across the carpeted floor as he takes his seat. Caplin has already made himself at home, not letting the exchange between Quincy and me deter him at all. His brown hair is messy, and a five-o’clock shadow is in full effect on his chin, but I suppose it rounds out his impression of Farmer John quite well.

A handsome-as-hell Farmer John who, from what I hear, way too many women drop their panties for, but still, he looks ridiculous.

And fucking oblivious that he’s the third wheel.

I watch as he snags one of the two menus sitting on the table and just starts scrolling through his food options.

“Cap wants to have a quick chat with me after dinner, and since he managed to find his way to the restaurant, he decided he might as well use this opportunity to make a really great impression on you before we head back to New Orleans,” Quincy offers in an attempt to give me an explanation. It’s not the real explanation, I’m almost certain of that, but it’s an explanation all the same. “Isn’t that right, Cap?”

Caplin jerks his head up. “What?” he says, complimentary bread from the table hanging haphazardly from his lips. He pulls the excess away, sets it on his plate, and chews quickly. “Oh. Yes. Best of impressions. That’s really important to me.”

Dear God.

“Did you have some kind of laundry mishap?” I ask. “An explosion at your dry cleaner’s, perhaps?”

“Nope.” If he has any shame, it’s somewhere else—across the globe. The corners of his lips curl up as he holds eye contact until I look away.

“Just another person who wouldn’t know fashion if it smacked them in the face, then?”

“You look at it how you want, honey. I like the way I dress just fine.” He smiles around another bite of bread, completely unaffected by my words or the fact that he is ruining my dinner date with my boyfriend.

My eyes widen as I implore Quincy to do something. He just grins like his gal and his pal are getting along better than he ever could have imagined.

“Maybe you should introduce me to one of your female friends who hasn’t managed to meet your standards,” he suggests with an ease that makes my blood boil a bit. “Although, that might be a big ask, huh? I mean, you probably don’t allow those kinds of people in your inner circle. Gotta keep up the right appearances and shit like that.”

“Don’t be an ass.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, the only friend of mine who might possibly understand your current attire isn’t looking for love. Especially with a New Yorker. Greer made that clear at lunch today.”

“I’m not looking for love either—wait. Did you say Greer? Her last name wouldn’t happen to be Hudson, would it?”

How the fuck does he know her full name?

Immediately, I stiffen my defenses. “Yes. Why?”

His chuckle is big enough that he actually has to stop inhaling the free bread basket for a second and a half. “Oh, nothing.” He smirks.

“You have no idea, dude. No idea,” he says to Quince with a bro-curated expression of I’ll tell you later.

“Tell me,” I say and lock eyes with him from across the table.