Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(101)

“Give me a minute, Dean. I’m trying to hear you over my ruptured eardrum.” I sat down at my new desk, in my new office.

Even though it was a great job with amazing benefits, and the salary alone had me blinking twice when my eyes scanned the contract, it still didn’t feel like home. I didn’t have that sense of relief I had hoped for. I just felt…numb. I felt like someone had picked me up from my apartment and dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, without a lick of instructions or reassurance.

But I knew I could step up to the challenge and rock this job. I had learned from the best, a man who had started building his multi-billion dollar empire when he was a nineteen-year-old college student at Harvard.

Fuck you very much, Kline Brooks.

“Georgia,” he said, ignoring my jab. “Listen. To. Me. Shit is crazy. I think everyone at Brooks Media is losing their ever-loving minds!”

Okay, that definitely caught my attention.

“W-what? Why?”

“Kline’s moods revolve around colossally awful and biggest dick around. And not in the good way.”

I blinked several times, attempting to process that information.

“Georgie? Hell-o? Are you still there?”

I swallowed past the shock. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Can you believe it? Kline Brooks, the man who rarely raises his voice and makes a point to be a gentleman, no matter what, has turned into the kind of guy his employees want to avoid at all costs. Talk about—”

I couldn’t take any more. The last thing I wanted to hear was about Kline and his bad moods.

“Dean, I can’t do this,” I chimed in before he could continue. The mere thought of Kline had my stomach cursing me for eating a sausage biscuit from McDonald’s for breakfast. “I just can’t listen to this. I love you. I miss you. But I can’t listen to anything related to Kline Brooks.”

“Oh. My. Gawd!” he exclaimed. “My spidey sense told me something was off with your rash departure, but I brushed it off, figuring maybe you just wanted to see tight asses in spandex all day. And, girlfriend, I didn’t blame you one bit for that. Hell, I would’ve done a whole lotta things—emphasis on dirty—that would’ve made them football boys blush to snag that job.”

“I didn’t take the job for the tight asses in spandex, Dean,” I muttered.

“Well, I know that now! I can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner!”

“Didn’t see what sooner?”

“You banged the boss.” He sighed dramatically. “I am so jealous.”

“Don’t be.” I snorted in irritation. “Kline Brooks might be good in bed, but he’s even better at tearing your heart to shreds.”

“Oh, no he didn’t!” I literally heard his fingers give three quick snaps through the receiver. “What happened?”

“One day, when I don’t feel like throwing up and crying when I hear his name, I’ll give you all of the gory details. I just can’t talk about it right now.”

“Damn girl. I’m so sorry. It was that bad?”

“Times it by about a thousand and, yeah, it was that bad.”

“If I wasn’t wearing my new three-piece Gucci suit, I’d strut my ass right into his office and slug him.”

That had me laughing. “You’ve never ‘slugged’ anyone in your life.”

“That’s only because I’m a bottom, sweetheart. The men in my life prefer me well-groomed and well-manicured. Slugging would mess up my pretty hands.”

“Wait…you’re a bottom?”

“Well…not every time, but yeah, I prefer to be ridden.”

I grimaced. “Jesus. That’s too much information for nine a.m.”

“Pretty sure you asked, doll,” he said through a laugh. “I miss having my little diva around. Tell me we can meet up for drinks soon.”

“Definitely.”

“And if you’re curious and want to know what a certain someone—”

I cut him off before he rehashed that argument. “Nope. Not gonna happen. But I will make time for you. Call me this weekend and we’ll make some plans.”

“Okay, lover. We’ll chat later.”

After we hung up, I busied myself with the one hundred pages of Excel spreadsheets management had sent my way. I was finding out quickly the * who had run this position prior to me didn’t give a shit about tracking expenses. The franchise would be lucky if their marketing investments broke even by the end of the fiscal quarter. No wonder he got the boot and they offered me the job at the drop of a hat.

Three soft knocks at the door grabbed my attention.

“Come in,” I answered, glancing up from my computer.

A young man in his early twenties, and pretty much too adorable for words, hesitantly walked in. The Breakaway Courier logo was etched on his navy blue polo. His hands gripped a thick envelope.

“Georgia Cummings?” he asked, standing in front of my desk.

“That’s me.” I got up from my chair. “What can I help you with?”

“I’ve got an urgent delivery for you.” He pulled a small black tablet from his backpack. “Mind giving me a signature?”

“Uh, sure…” I responded, slightly confused. “But are you sure this is for me? I wasn’t expecting anything today.”