Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(49)
Me: It’s 3:05pm, Brooks.
Kline: Ah, right. Georgie’s snack time. What was I thinking?
Me: I don’t know, but if you don’t end this soon, I will murder Gary with my pen.
Fighting a smile, he subtly nodded his head in understanding as he set his phone down on the table. My eyes trailed to his forearms—sleeves rolled up, hard muscles and thick veins on display. To quote Uncle Jesse, Have mercy. If I hadn’t been so damn hungry, I’d have happily sat through this tedious meeting just to gawk at those glorious arms. They were a beacon of muscly man delight.
Gary chuckled, seemingly entertained by himself. His monotone voice penetrated my daydreams about Kline’s forearms, officially popping my Big-dicked Brooks fantasy bubble.
I tapped my pen against my notepad. Shut Gary up. Now.
Kline knew it was a warning. He flashed a secret grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. God, his eyes, they were this flawless shade of blue—so bright, so vibrant. Montana-sky blue.
I’d started to make a game out of nicknaming Kline’s eyes. Those ever-changing blue retinas could be Montana-sky blue one day or, like today, M&M’s blue. But that probably had more to do with the starvation setting in than anything else.
Mmmmmmm, M&M’s. I’d have devoured a bag of that candy-coated chocolate goodness.
“Fantastic work, Gary,” Kline interrupted moments later. “I think we can all agree we’ve gained valuable information on Brooks Media’s projections for the fiscal year.”
Everyone in the room nodded, agreeing far too enthusiastically.
I knew I wasn’t the only one dying a slow death with each PowerPoint GoodTime Gary put on the projection screen.
Gary started to respond, but Kline stood up from his chair. “Go ahead and send the materials out to the rest of the team. That way all departments within Brooks Media can see how they’ve contributed to another fruitful quarter.”
“Oh, okay, but—”
“Really great work, Gary.” Kline patted him on the back, not giving him an inch. “I think we can officially say, successful meeting adjourned.”
My coworkers scattered faster than roaches when light flooded the room. I followed their lead when I realized Kline would be tied up with Gary for a few more minutes. My stomach couldn’t wait. I damn near sprinted to the break room, all kinds of ready to dig into my snacks. Would I start with my yogurt and then move on to the cheesecake? Or would I just go for it and dig into the cherry cheesecake first?
The world was my oyster, baby.
“Uh oh,” Dean announced, walking out of the break room. “It’s a quarter after three and Georgia isn’t eating?” he teased, making a show of glancing between my face and his watch.
“Yeah, GoodTime Gary gave a go at murder by numbers in our quarterly marketing meeting. If Kline hadn’t cut it short, I think I would’ve staged a riot.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell ya, cupcake, but inside there isn’t any better. Ivanna Swallow is on her selfie break and she has blowregard for anyone but the spoon she’s currently sucking yogurt off of for Instagram’s sake.”
I groaned.
“Head down, don’t make eye contact, and you should be fine.” He grinned, slapping my ass as he walked past me and down the hall.
Leslie was sitting at one of the break room tables, doing exactly what Dean said she was doing—taking a selfie of a spoon in her mouth. She could probably describe her life in a series of hashtags.
Hashtag, my spoon is so sexy.
Hashtag, my lips bring all the boys to the yard.
Hashtag, my life’s goal is to be a walking bonertime.
“Hey, Leslie,” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed for the most important thing in the room. The fridge.
“O-M-G. You’re, like, never going to believe how adorable people are.”
My phone buzzed in my hand. Thinking it might be Kline begging for a rescue, I let my heart overpower my stomach and paused to look. No message from Kline, but the TapNext icon was aglow with a message from Ruck. He’d been messaging me in a steady stream ever since Monday night, and I had to admit, he never failed to amuse me.
BAD_Ruck (3:11PM): Lizards or Birds?
Lizards or f*cking birds? Jesus.
The sadistic bastard had talked me into this little game by starting it with normal choices. Pillows or blankets, candy or pizza—he’d been getting a real kick out of asking me which thing I’d rather have in bed with me. You can only have one, he’d say. With this kind of choice, the decision was a struggle for a different reason.
TAPRoseNEXT (3:11PM): Neither, you lunatic.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I didn’t have time for Ruck and his random get-to-know-you choices right now.
Opening the fridge, I started searching for my snack-time loot. I didn’t respond to Leslie, knowing full well she’d just prattle on. If Gary was the prime example of not understanding social cues, Leslie was the girl who didn’t care about those cues. In her hashtag and selfie-driven mind, everyone wanted to know what she had to say.
For f*ck’s sake, where is my food?
“Seriously,” she called, completely oblivious that I’d left a two-minute pause for a reason. “People are, like, so cute. I just ate a turkey sandwich named Gary, and now I’m eating a yogurt named Georgia.”