Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(21)

“Are you concerned about my workload, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? I hated that something as simple as Kline calling me sweetheart made my heart flip-flop inside of my chest. But it did. Stupid heart. The damn thing didn’t have a clue. I cleared my throat, ignoring my body’s reaction to his sweet sentiments. “Of course not. Why would I be concerned when you’re the one who hired her? Plus, you’re the one who continues to let your intern make a mockery of her job responsibilities.”

“Is now the right time to tell you Leslie is a friend of the family? Her dad asked for a favor and I obliged. Plus, I’ve got Dean keeping an eye on her.”

“Oh, so you’re making Dean do your dirty work. I see how it is. That explains his bitchy mood today. I was worried Prada went out of business.”

Kline laughed.

Good God, that laugh. It was crazy hot and had my body reacting in all sorts of dirty ways. “I’m kind of sad you didn’t have Leslie reporting to Meryl.”

“Meryl would have had my balls,” he teased. “I’ve seen that woman make grown men cry. Hell, I’ve had to wipe a few phantom tears of my own. Plus, you asked for it.”

I was two seconds away from giving him a telepathic beatdown when his voice turned warm and soft like honey. “Thanks for dealing with Leslie. I really appreciate it.”

Did he just thank me? I pinched my arm just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “Shit, that hurt.” I winced.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just…stubbed my toe,” I tossed out. “Sooooo…did you just call to see how truly awful my day was? Or is there something you actually need?”

“For starters, I wanted to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow night.”

I sighed. “Even though you threw me under the bus and have expressed little to no remorse, I’ll be there. But it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the delicious ten-course meal I know will occur.”

“Duly noted.” He laughed. “If their food isn’t to your standard, I’ll make it up to you. Dinner anywhere. Your choice.”

“That’s easy. BLT Prime.”

“The steakhouse in Gramercy Park?”

“You betcha.”

“Swanky digs.” A low whistle left his lips. “Consider it a deal. I’ll take you there Saturday night.”

“Slow your roll, buddy. I haven’t agreed to a second date yet.”

“Yet,” he retorted with a flirtatious tone. “Haven’t agreed yet. And if it makes you feel better, you can think of it as more of a deal than a date. An I’m sorry for leaving you with Leslie kind of thing.”

When had the tables turned? This wasn’t the Kline Brooks I had grown accustomed to. He was the quiet, reserved, yet frequently demanding boss who made a point to keep me on my toes. Our interactions consisted of cursory emails and business meetings to assess my current game plan for Brooks Media’s promotions strategy.

This playful, charismatic man requesting my presence at dinner dates and effortlessly turning me on in his office was a complete stranger. I couldn’t deny my enjoyment out of seeing this side of him, but dear God, it was completely knocking me off my game. I felt like a fish out of water, floundering for an equally charming response.

And seriously, when had I started wanting to appear enchanting to the enigmatic Kline Brooks?

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Brooks, w-why did you call me?”

“Ms. Cummings, why are we being so formal tonight? I thought we got past the formality bullshit.”

He was probably right. I’d say it happened around the time he pulled my hips into an impressively unprofessional erection in his office two days ago.

“Okay, Kline,” I agreed with a mouthful of sass. I didn’t really want him referring to me by my middle school joke of a last name anyway. “If you’re not calling to chat about work, why are you calling me?”

“I actually need a favor. Are you busy?”

“No, not really. I’m just sitting here…” I paused, reaching for the remote and turning down the volume. Even though we were past “formalities,” my boss didn’t need to know about my reality show obsession. “Just sitting here reading through emails.”

He chuckled into the phone. “I’m sure those emails can wait until tomorrow. I’m in a bit of a bind. Can you turn on ESPN?”

“ESPN?”

“The Western University-New York State game is on. Thatch and I can’t get the f*cker to stream on the plane. I need to know what’s happening.”

Thatcher Kelly, the ever-mysterious financial consultant of Brooks Media. He worked as a contractor, providing expertise for several companies, or so I’d heard, but no big money decision within Brooks Media happened without him. I’d heard his husky voice and boisterous personality on several conference calls. Even received emails with his signature sarcasm. But I’d never met the man. Hell, I’d yet to successfully locate an actual photo of him. All of his social media accounts were private and most had some random sports-related profile picture.

“This is life or death here, Georgia,” Kline interrupted my thoughts. “Thatch is a big New York State fan, and I’ve got five on the fact that his Tigers are no match for the Mustangs.”