Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1) (4 page)

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Fashionably late today, Georgie?” Dean winked, passing me in the hallway.

Shit.
My late arrivals were starting to mimic the walk of shame. I seriously needed to get my shit together.

“I was only trying to impress you with my new A-line skirt,” I called over my shoulder, sashaying my hips a little. “Vintage. Vera Wang. How ’bout them apples, cupcake?” Should I have mentioned I found the skirt at a secondhand shop in SoHo? Designer digs were great, but I refused to pay designer prices.

“Someone is fierce this morning. Go on with your bad self, little diva,” he teased, snapping his fingers. Dean was one of my favorite people in the office: hilarious, flamboyantly gay, and smart as a whip. What more could a girl ask for?

He turned in my direction, stopping in his tracks. “Lunch today?”

I paused at the entry to my office. “I’d kill for a chicken salad sandwich from the deli across the street.”

Dean grinned. “No homicide needed. We’ll grab it to go.”

“Let’s eat there. My office, quarter till one?”

He blew me a kiss. “It’s a date, lover.”

Another day, another dollar, yadda yadda yadda.
My mantra, even though I would have preferred staying wrapped up in my comforter and sleeping until noon. Some days, adulting was too much responsibility. Get up for work. Brush your hair. Pay bills. It was an endless list of too many things and not enough time. The struggle was real, my friends.

But rent in Chelsea wasn’t a Sunday picnic in Central Park. A two-bedroom space with an elevator and doorman was pricey. Bottom line, I
had
to adult. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

I settled into my day, checking emails and making follow-up calls to a few marketing prospects. The TapNext app had skyrocketed in success over the past year. I’d developed an ad campaign that had brought in several companies wanting to advertise within the windows of our app. And these scrollbar ads had become quite lucrative for the company. Businesses not only paid us a nice advertising fee, but they also agreed to some form of promotion for Brooks Media. We scratched their backs, and they gave us a full body massage. Although I was no use in the kitchen, I was
very
persuasive in a boardroom.

“Knock, knock,” Leslie announced her arrival. Her curvy frame swayed into my office, seemingly aloof to the fact I was in the middle of a conference call with Sure Romance.

“Uh, Georgia, like, there’s birthday cards you need to sign for people in the office,” she continued, tossing the greeting cards onto my desk. They spilled over my laptop, stopping my busy fingers from making much-needed progress on the current contract I was discussing.

I held up a finger, pointing to the Bluetooth in my ear.

“Georgia? Hellooooo, Georgia?” she repeated, tapping the toe of her stiletto in six quick, impatient movements.

Leslie was a horrible nightmare of ditzy responses, poor time management skills, and cleavage-revealing tops. And she was new to the company. But
for fuck’s sake
, how hard was it to see that I was currently in the middle of something?

“I’m so sorry, can you hold on for just a second?” I politely asked Martin, Sure Romance’s Director of Marketing.

“You know what, Georgia? I’ve got about three minutes to get to another meeting. How about you make the changes in the contract and send them over to legal? Let’s shoot for another call on Friday to review everything and find a middle ground we can both be happy with.”

Goddammit.
This, my friends, was a perfect example of how to lose valuable footing in a business deal.

“Sure thing, Martin. And since Mr. Brooks wants to be on that call Friday, let’s plan on it being a video chat.” My boss knew nothing about that call. But this was me calling Martin’s bluff. My persuasion skills were top notch, but there was a reason Kline Brooks was President and CEO of his own company. The man could talk an Eskimo into buying ice.

“Oh, okay.” Martin cleared his throat. “In the meantime, I’ll try to get legal to review everything over the next twenty-four hours. The sooner we can sign off on this deal, the better.”

Translation: I’d like to avoid a video chat with your boss.

“Perfect. I look forward to hearing from you.” I ended the call and used all of my strength to plaster a neutral smile on my face as I looked up at Leslie.

“So, like I was saying, you need to sign these,” she repeated, still clueless.

God, I didn’t even care if I had resting bitch face. Hell, I wanted to active bitch face this chick so bad. She’d been with the company for a hot minute, and I was already done with her.

“Okay, Leslie. Just give me a second and I’ll sign them so you can go about your day,” I responded through a fake smile. I wanted to berate her. I wanted to let her know just how much her interruption could have screwed up an important business deal. But it would’ve been useless. My words would have gone straight through the giant hole in her head.

I gripped my pen, scribbling half-assed sayings about celebrating and happy birthday and have a great day. Five cards later, I handed them back to Leslie and sent her ditzy ass on her way.

I was twenty emails deep before another interruption peeked in my door.

Kline Brooks.
He was the kind of man women fantasized about. A quintessential billionaire bad boy—styled, short dark hair, muscles for days, and a panty-dropping smile.

Except—he
wasn’t
.

His smiles were genuine and his orders gently delivered. He kept to himself, from what I could tell, and didn’t appear to sleep around. Despite his crazy good looks and net worth, I’d yet to see him land an “NYC playboy” spot on Page Six. I’d never seen him execute a salacious glimpse at a single employee—male or female. He was a mystery, hidden under all of that quiet direction with absolutely no chance of being uncovered.

As an employee, he wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. Honestly, I wasn’t sure he knew I had a vagina. He treated me as an equal and seemed to truly value my opinion on all things business and marketing. His eyes never strayed to my tits. His mouth never flashed a devilish grin.

And I stood strong in my beliefs that business and pleasure may as well have been oil and water. Kline was business, plain and simple.

Plus, he wasn’t at all what I was looking for.

And yes, I can practically see the word billionaire flashing in front of your money-hungry eyes and feel the judgment rolling off of you in thick, disdain-filled clouds.

But this isn’t actually about him. Not really, anyway.

Despite my inexperience with relationships, I knew myself enough to know I liked a straight shooter—both in conversation and the pun that intends. And I wasn’t willing to settle—even if it was on a big, comfy pile of money.

Christ, there had to be a middle ground between soft talkers like Kline and dick pic bandits like
BAD_Ruck
.
Didn’t there?

“Good morning, Georgia,” he greeted with that professional yet handsome smile of his. “Just wanted to check in and see how the Sure Romance deal was doing.”

“Even though I had to threaten Martin with your presence on a video chat, I think we’ll walk out of the deal with a million more than we anticipated.”

“Nice work. Keep me abreast on the progress and let me know if you need backup.”

My mind went straight to the word
abreast.
I knew my boss wasn’t referring to my breasts, or breasts in general, but I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering there.

I doubted Kline Brooks had ever thought about my breasts.

That would have been weird, right?

There was no way he saw me
that
way. And of course, I didn’t think about him like that either. But it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. Well, not
my
eyes, but other women’s eyes. I was sure he was easy on
their
eyes. My eyes
knew
not to look at him.

I wouldn’t deny my eyes were thankful he didn’t have a weird comb-over or nose hairs or crusty lips. But Kline Brooks was business,
not
pleasure. He wouldn’t touch me, and I sure as hell wouldn’t touch him.

“Georgia?” he asked, pulling me from my rambling inner monologue.

Shit.

“Sorry.” I shook the awkward thoughts out of my head. “I will definitely keep you updated on the Sure Romance contract, Mr. Brooks. I’m planning on signatures being finalized by the end of this week.”

“Good to hear.” He rapped his knuckles twice against the doorframe in that way only a man can pull off. “Thank you.”

And with that, through the glass walls of my office, I watched as Kline Brooks strode down the hall with purpose. I knew that look well. Either someone was ready for lunch or they were about two minutes late for a meeting.

Before I could resume the task of responding to the morning’s emails, Dean walked into my office, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. “Got a minute, sweet cheeks?”

“Of course.” I shut my laptop, giving him my full attention.

He plopped his Prada-wearing ass in the leather seat across from my desk. Dean kept grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat as he slid a Hallmark card across my laptop.

I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s creepy, dude.”

“So, Tits McGee put this card on my desk,” he sing-songed. “Of course, this was after she practically shoved her cleavage in my face.” The wide smile turned to irritation. “That girl has about the worst gaydar I’ve ever seen.”

“Aw, poor Dean. So attractive that single women are throwing themselves at him,” I teased.

“Well, you’re about to be thanking poor Dean here in a minute.” He nodded toward the card. “Go ahead and read it, sassy pants. I think you might want to make some changes.”

Huh?
I glanced at the front, reading the sentiment. It was, by all accounts, a sympathy card. Someone in the office must have had a death in the family. I opened it and read through everyone’s thoughtful responses.

I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mary. -Patty

You’re in my thoughts and prayers. -Meryl

Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. -Gary

My coworkers were really sweet. That much was apparent.

Lots of love and prayers being sent your way through this difficult time. -Laura

HAPPY! HAPPY! JOY! JOY! Have a great day celebrating! -Georgia

Oh, fuck.

I read it again just to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

My
Ren & Stimpy
reference wasn’t all that funny when written in the center of someone’s
CONDOLENCE CARD.

“Fucking Leslie,”
I spat. “She threw a bunch of cards on my desk and said they were
birthday
cards.”

Dean proceeded to lose his shit, his cackling laughs echoing inside my office.

I glared at him. “It’s not
that
funny.”

“Oh, hell yes it is. You referenced
Ren & Stimpy
on a sympathy card,” he wheezed.

Seriously, fuck you, Leslie. Fuck you, hard.

I was convinced I could blame her for everything wrong in my life.

Lost my keys?
Goddammit, Leslie!

Missed the subway?
Fuck you very much, Leslie.

Another awful dick pic sent to my phone?
You’re such an asshole, Leslie.

I sighed. “I’m not even sure how to fix this.”

“White out?” he suggested, still laughing like a lunatic.

“Please.” I waved my hand at him. “Continue to giggle your ass off at my expense.”

“This was literally the highlight of my day. When I read it, I about fell out of my chair from laughing so hard. Pretty sure everyone in the office heard me. Even Meryl was giving me the stink eye.”

“Glad to know I’m brightening someone’s workday.”

He smirked, standing up and snatching the card out of my incompetent hands. “Let’s just throw this card out. I’ll have Meryl send flowers to Mary’s house from everyone in the office.”