Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(15)

“You’re busy?” I offered as an excuse, hoping her visible discomfort was more about being caught off guard than anything else.

One slim wrinkle formed between her eyebrows, and the corners of her eyes seemed to pinch together slightly. “No. Not busy.”

Ouch.

For the first time in quite a while, I struggled to find my words. “I…uh…well. Okay.”

She forced a fake smile in response.

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to give up.

Walking around her desk and into her space enough that she backed up a couple of steps, I leaned my ass into the surface behind me and crossed my arms.

She rubbed goosebumps from her arms in a nervous fidget.

“So, how definite is this ‘no’? Is it an ‘I’m mildly considering it, but I’m thinking no’ or a ‘not a snowflake’s chance in hell no’ or maybe somewhere in the middle where negotiation lives?”

She shook her head as if mystified and tapped the toe of her stiletto twice.

My gaze shot down the length of her legs and back again, only to find her bright cerulean eyes narrowed slightly at the end of my circuit.

“I’m not disgusted with you, if that’s what you’re asking, but negotiation isn’t likely.”

Jim Carrey inhabited my body and took over my vocal chords before I could stop him. “So you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

“What the hell is going on here?” she snapped softly at the ceiling, almost as if to herself. Her eyes jumped to me. “Why are you asking me out? Why now? None of this is making any sense.”

The only thing I could do was give it to her straight. Whether it was a good thing or not, I never could stop the honesty. It was just my nature.

“Look. For some godforsaken reason, society has decided to care about my completely uninteresting life because I have money, and because tabloid fodder is way more important than donations or time volunteered, they want me to have a date at every function I attend. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue, as in they can go f*ck themselves, but in another slap of fate, my mother has decided she cares. Wants a daughter-in-law and grandbabies and all that crap.”

Her previously peachy-tan skin blanched white.

“But she has terrible taste, and though I know next to nothing about you, you’re already guaranteed to be better than any of my other options.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Trust me, I intended that as an insult to the others, not you.”

“Right.”

“I’m not trying to marry you, though I’m sure I’ll enjoy our time together endlessly—”

“I’m sure.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her mockery.

“I’m trying to avoid ending up with another chattier, day-spa-loving version of Walter.”

“Walter?” she asked with good reason.

“My cat.”

Incredulity warred with confusion on her face, pulling her lips out flat to the sides and back again several times.

I knew I was talking her in circles. I just hoped her confusion would lead to grudging acceptance.

Just when I feared she’d chew her lip raw if she kept on at that pace for much longer, she broke the silence with one simple question. “Why me?”

Once again, honesty prevailed.

“Because you’re here.”

She pursed her lips around the sour of my words, but as I tore my gaze away to look into her bright blue eyes, I knew I wasn’t done.

Not with her, not with this conversation, and not with being stupid for the day.

“And you’re f*cking beautiful.”





“Beautiful?!” I shrieked, slamming the door to my apartment behind me. The walls shook from the undeserved abuse. “For f*ck’s sake, all it takes is one guy—who’s never even been on your let’s get naked together radar—to call you beautiful and you’re acting like some desperate hussy! Really? Really? That’s all it takes?” I dropped my purse to the floor and kicked off my heels. “Where is your pride, you stupid hussy! Where is your f*cking pride?”

Cassie barreled out of her room like a herd of buffalo with a curling iron in hand and the cord trailing behind her, startling me enough that I slammed my ass into the counter of our island.

“Where’s the stupid hussy?” she yelled, eyes manic and searching.

I rolled my own eyes dramatically, too pissed at myself to laugh at her antics. “You’re looking at her!” I pointed at myself like a lunatic. “She’s here! She’s right f*cking here!”

“Oh,” she sighed, losing her aggressive stance, dropping the unlikely weapon to her side, and standing straight at once. “You don’t count. I thought there was actually a stupid hussy out here you needed to be saved from. I was ready to throw down and beat some ass.”

“Oh, I am a stupid hussy. A pathetic slut who’s a disgrace to our gender. Trust me.”

“Nooooo, you’re not. You’re a Wheorgiebag, but even that isn’t a real whore. Whores have excessively loose vaginas. I’m talking big enough to store all of their whoring money, and yours has never even been open for business. Probably couldn’t even fit a nickel.”

She had a point. My vagina was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. A proverbial “do not pass go” zone for all cockbandits begging entry. It wasn’t because I was a prude or saving myself for marriage. I had just never found the right guy I deemed worthy of thrusting into my goodie bag.