Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(69)

Boyfriend. It felt weird to hear someone else call him that. In private, we’d exchanged the boyfriend/girlfriend sentiment frequently, but we were still keeping our relationship very much on the down low at work. My choice, of course. Kline was more than ready to make us public to everyone, but I just wasn’t in that place yet.

We had fallen into this relationship so quickly and I didn’t want to be rash about letting my coworkers know I was dating the boss. I couldn’t ignore that nagging thought in the back of mind that wanted to find a way to protect myself as much as possible if we didn’t work out—and protect myself from the shrieks of Dean if we did.

There was no denying we were together, but in a way, boyfriend didn’t feel like the right word for what Kline was to me. It was too small, too casual. In such a short amount of time, he’d become a huge part of my life.

The brush moved to my other lid, working a little quicker once Cassie had found her makeup-applying stride.

As I thought about Kline and me and everything we had together, a smile crept its way across my lips, until happiness consumed my entire mouth.

“Well, look at you, all smiley and smitten. By the looks of it, I’d say someone has got it bad.”

My cheeks flushed hot.

“Are you blushing, Wheorgie?”

“No.” My hands went straight to my cheeks. “I am most certainly not blushing.”

“Of course you’re not.” She laughed. “Tilt your head back.” She gripped my chin. “So, give me the scoop. What’s the boss really like?”

“He’s just… I don’t know even where to begin.” That smile was back, taking over my entire face—mouth, cheeks, even my eyes were crinkling at the corners.

“Dude, tone down the cheesy grin or else I’ll screw up your makeup.”

I laughed, despite myself. “Sorry, I can’t help it. I really like him, Cass.”

She paused for a second and my eyes opened, meeting her intrigued stare.

“What?” I asked, starting to feel self-conscious. “Does the smoky eye look stupid on me?”

She shook her head.

“Then what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. Close your eyes again so I can finish up. Other people need to get ready around here, you know,” she teased, her hip bumping my side.

I did as I was told and enjoyed the luxury of having someone else do the tedious task of applying eye shadow and liner.

“You know,” she whispered, “I think you’re holding back on me. I think—actually, I know—this thing between you and Kline, it’s a whole lot more than just like.”

“I said I really like him,” I retorted, my mouth staying in a flat line as she slid lipstick across my lips.

“I’m aware,” she said, her voice tickled with amusement. “But I think there’s another four-letter word rolling around in your brain.”

“Fuck?” I deadpanned.

“No, but how is the f*cking? Is it everything you dreamed of when you were holding on to your coveted virginity?” she teased.

“Eh.” I feigned indifference. “I could take it or leave it.” I pulled the corners of my lips down into a pout, hiding another cheesy grin.

She snorted, taking in my absurd expression—smiling eyes, frowning mouth, and cheeks about to burst at the seams. “So, what I think you’re telling me is that he’s better than you could have ever imagined? Your Big-dicked Brooks billionaire can bring it.”

I shrugged, biting back a laugh. “Something like that.”

“I knew it!” She fist pumped the blush brush. “I’m not one to say ‘I told you so,’ but yeah, I told you so!” Cassie danced around the bathroom, shaking her ass and laughing maniacally.

“All right, crazy. Less gloating, more fixing my makeup,” I demanded, giggling at her antics.

“I feel like we need a kitchen dance party to commemorate this momentous occasion,” she announced, still dancing around in the silent room.

Kitchen dance parties were our thing. We had been doing them since college. They were used for happy times, horrible times, and everything in between.

When Cass told her nasty professor to suck it? Kitchen dance party.

When I got the coveted internship I was striving for? Kitchen dance party.

A hot barista asked Cass out? Kitchen dance party.

The time I managed to do all of our laundry with four quarters? Epic kitchen dance party.

There were only three rules: Rotate who got dibs on the music selection. No boys allowed. And always bring your A-dancing-game.

Some of my fondest memories of college were with Cass, dancing around in our shitty apartment, singing our hearts out. God, this girl, she was my rock. My favorite person to vent to, cry with, and most importantly, laugh my ass off with. I wouldn’t have traded her for anything.

“All right, sweet cheeks, you’re all set,” she announced, smirking down at me. “And your makeup is looking pretty damn fabulous if I do say so myself.”

I stood, taking in my appearance in the mirror. I touched my cheeks as I examined the gorgeous shades highlighting my eyes. She was right; neutral was better.

“Now, I didn’t go crazy, just went with subtle and your signature bright red lips. I still wanted you to look like my Wheorgie.” She winked. “You’re gorgeous, friend. Absolutely stunning.”