Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(13)
He had a point. I was too wrapped up in BAD_Ruck’s responses to notice anything else. I couldn’t deny, the man intrigued me. But I also couldn’t deny that if I didn’t set my phone down and give Dean my undivided attention, it might be grounds for a full-on catfight.
TAPRoseNEXT (1:23PM): I’ve got a growling stomach and an impatient friend who’s staring at me from across the table. Rain check (on the flirting)?
I set my phone on the table, eyeing the goodness set before me. The aroma of chicken salad and greasy French fries called my name. “This looks like heaven ready to explode in my mouth.”
“That’s what Neil said last night when he was taking off my navy Gucci dress slacks.”
My hands stopped at the halfway point of sandwich-thrusting into my mouth.
“Simply stating ‘my pants’ would have been sufficient. And who the hell is Neil?”
“Sir Sucks-A-Lot,” Dean said, taking a bite of his Greek salad. “And honey, those weren’t just any pants. They were Gucci’s twill blended wool. And they make my ass look fabulous.”
“I guess that explains why Neil was taking off your pants in the first place.”
Dean grinned. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
A jolting bump forced the sandwich to fall from my hands and land half open on the kitschy diner table. What in the ever-loving hell? If Turtleneck was coming back for her seat, it was about to go down.
“Excuse me,” was muttered over a man’s shoulder as his dress-slack-covered ass—fantastic ass, mind you—moved past my chair and toward the doors. His face was too buried in his phone to realize he had just barreled through my lunchtime fun.
“Jesus,” I grumbled. “Does everyone in New York have to be so pushy? I mean, how hard is it to watch where you’re going instead of knocking into everyone?”
Dean tilted his head to the side, eyes focused toward the front of the restaurant. “I think that was Mr. Brooks.”
“What?” I turned in my chair and watched as my boss’s tall frame walked out of the restaurant and onto Fifth Avenue.
An incoming TapNext message icon lit up my screen.
“Yep,” Dean agreed. “That’s definitely him. I’d know that body anywhere. Broad shoulders. Sexy forearms. Perfectly toned ass. The things I’d do to that man.”
“Horny much?”
“Nah.” He waved me off. “I’m still recovering from having all the horny sucked out of me last night.”
“On that note,” I announced, standing from my seat. “I think I’ll go order another sandwich. Be right back.”
“I’ll be here, doll face.”
While I stood in line, I took a gander at what else Ruck had sent my way.
BAD_Ruck (1:25PM): Can’t wait. Enjoy your lunch, Rose.
Two things stood out in my mind.
1. I wanted to chat more with BAD_Ruck. Which was crazy, considering we had been introduced by a gargoyle of dickish proportions.
2. How had I not known Kline Brooks had such a tight ass? And more importantly, if his ass looked that good in pants, what did it look like without them?
“I found the perfect date for you Friday night,” my mom claimed in my ear as I walked out of my office to head home for the night.
I didn’t even have to think about it.
“No.”
I pulled the door shut behind me and walked slowly down the hall and around the corner to the main office space.
“She’s twenty-nine, long dark hair, well kept and attractive—”
“No.”
“Her name is Stacey Henderson. I don’t know if you’ve been at any social engagements that she’s attended in the past—”
Stacey Henderson? Oh, hell no.
She was well kept and extremely attractive. And an eleven in vapidity on a scale from one to ten.
“Mom. No.”
“She’s really excited—”
“Mom—”
“Said she had just the thing to wear—”
“Mom,” I snapped, finally speaking firmly enough to earn her attention.
“What?”
Excuse. I needed an excuse.
My marketing director’s back and bright red hair caught my attention from across the office, and the words left my lips before I could think of anything else.
“I already have a date.”
“Oh. Oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll have to call Stacey and cancel, then—”
“Yes!” I agreed eagerly. “Cancel Stacey.”
Her voice turned suspicious.
“Kline—”
“Gotta go, Mom. Have to touch base with my date.”
Convince her to go with me.
“Kline—”
“Loveyoubye.”
With a tap of my thumb, I hung up fast, hoping I wouldn’t find myself in too much hot water for ending the call so quickly but desperate enough to end the conversation that I didn’t care.
Thirty-four years old and, if anything, my mother was “mothering” me the most she had in my entire life. Wanting a respectable woman to take under her wing and claim as her own was a powerful motivator, apparently, compelling her to meddle like she’d never meddled before.