Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(21)

I smiled to myself and shook my head, curious to see what else she'd  come up with. She thought outside the normal box. I take that back-my  favorite brand of woman wasn't constrained inside a box. She was sitting  dead center inside her endless loop of crazy.

"Yo, Cass!" I called down the hall to no answer.

Anxiety tightened my chest as I moved in that direction toward my  bedroom. Maybe she had given in, moved out-gone on some shoot with  exotic men in an exotic location-and my apartment would be all mine  again.

God, I hope not.

I stopped dead in my tracks at my line of thinking. I hoped not?

That was ridiculous.

Still, it drove me forward again, the quiet in my bedroom and lack of activity in my closet sinking a pit into my stomach.

Before I could look around, hunt for her belongings that I'd battled so heartily to hide throughout the week, the doorbell rang.

I changed direction and headed back out of my room, down the hall, and  straight to the door. When I opened it, a flower version of a centaur  filled the doorway.

He wasn't actually half man, half flowers, but the enormous bouquet  blocking the entirety of his body from his waist to his face sure made  him look like it.

"Delivery for Cassie Phillips?" he asked. My heart swelled and sank at  once as soon as he said the words, an extreme war of wills between the  two versions of me playing out in my head. She was getting deliveries to  my apartment, which was insane and insanely comforting. But she was  getting flowers, fucking blood-red roses, and those fucks usually came  from pricks with dicks.

Six feet, five inches worth of blood started to boil.

"Yeah, thanks," I said, nearly yanking the huge vase from his arms. He shrugged and took off as I shut the door behind him.

Two angry steps ate the distance between me and the kitchen counter. The  glass of the vase clanged against the stone as I slammed it down and  rifled through the blooms to find a card without shame.

"Aha!" I shouted as my forefinger and thumb closed around the soft paper of the envelope and yanked it out.

It was too fucking tiny for my big fingers to open delicately, and it  ended up looking like I'd chewed it open, but I could throw that  evidence away.

The first side was blank, but the second was filled with the scrawl of whatever employee had taken the order.



Dearest Cassie,

You're so bangable.

Love, Thatcher's Boner



"Did you send these?" I looked from the card to my dick in question, but  after several seconds of irrational thought, I knew he couldn't have  done it. He'd been with me all day.

The only other explanation, however, was that she'd sent them to herself, as me. Or as part of me.

Jesus.

"Is she actually crazy?" I asked myself aloud. I shook my head and  laughed, talking to myself again. "Maybe. But you definitely are,  asshole."





"I wrote the best fan fiction scene during my break," I gushed to  Georgia as I hopped on the A train after finishing up a late shoot in  Hell's Kitchen.

"Fan fiction?"

"Uh, yeah," I scoffed and adjusted my camera bag over my shoulder. "You  know I love to write Fifty Shades of Grey fanfic. Don't you ever check  my Wattpad page?"

"You still write on there?" she questioned in surprise.

"Hell yes, I do. I'm still waiting for E.L. James to read my work and  fall madly in love with me." I'd been writing Fifty Shades of Grey  fanfic since I devoured the entire series a few years back. I had always  loved to write, but it was that series that had actually motivated me  to put my fingers to the keys for my own enjoyment. It was probably one  of the best things I had ever decided to do. There was just something  about writing your own little world of whatever the hell you wanted. It  was downright liberating.         

     



 

"Pretty sure she's a little busy to be reading fanfic on Wattpad."

"You're ruining my BDSM buzz."

"Sorry," she said through a laugh. "I honestly had no idea you still did that. I thought that was a 2013 thing."

"And here I thought, every time I published something new, my Wheorgie  was actually reading it. Some best friend you are," I teased even though  I couldn't blame her. I didn't normally stick with things this long.

"So, explain how this works to me. Do you just rewrite Ana and Christian's story or what?"

"No. I apply their story to my life and create my own little fantasy  world of BDSM, hot sex, a sweet-ass apartment that isn't located  anywhere near my shitty place in Chelsea, and a perfect cock that can  get it up on demand."

When the word cock left my lips, a woman across from me, dressed in  plaid loafers and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, threw the stink-eye in my  direction. "Disgusting," she muttered loud enough for my ears.

Oh, for fuck's sake, lady. Don't eavesdrop if you're going to get pissed about what you're hearing.

"Hold on, G." I stared at Loafers until her gaze met mine again. "Would  you prefer I say penis?" I questioned brashly. "Please, let me know how  you would like for me to continue my phone conversation."

She scoffed and stood up from her seat, moving down the aisle to the opposite end of the train.

"For the love of God, don't get arrested on the subway," Georgia said  into my ear on a laugh. "Chelsea is not shitty. Especially not our  building. There's a fucking elevator and a doorman. And, technically,  you're not even living in Chelsea anymore."

Thank fuck. I told myself it was just the apartment making me feel that way and not the giant ogre whose bed I shared.

"God, I can't wait to get out of there. Between the construction, the  constant dust, and the overall depressing vibe I get every time I walk  through the neighborhood, I'm ready to move out."

I couldn't see her, but I knew my little Wheorgie was shaking her head  in silent defense of Chelsea. But I was my own woman, goddammit, and if I  said Chelsea was shitty, it was.

Especially compared to Thatch's floorplan.

"Are you going to find a new place once you're done playing house with Thatch?"

I laughed. "Actually, I am. While Thatch is busy trying to one-up me,  I've been busy getting our old apartment back up to snuff. I'm meeting  with a contractor tomorrow to get the floors and kitchen redone."

"Well, shit. That's convenient," she responded. "But I'll reiterate … Chelsea isn't that bad."

"Oh, puh-lease." I laughed, loud and boisterous. "You are so far out of  the Chelsea loop it isn't even funny, sweetcheeks. Your opinion means  jack shit when you're living in a goddamn suburban oasis with your mogul  husband where all you have to worry about is which room to bone him  in."

A guy had replaced Mickey's number one fan across the aisle, and he grinned at me. I held his eyes until he started to blush.

Georgia giggled. "Speaking of my husband, he just walked into the  bedroom. Are you almost home? I'd sleep better if I knew you were back."

Right. Like Big Dick was going to let her go right to sleep.

"Wait … which home are you going to?"

"Yes," I answered as I walked off the train and headed for the steps  that would get me to street level. "And my swank new pad in Midtown, of  course."

"Okay, well, call me tomorrow if you're free for lunch."

"Sounds good." I ended the call and slid my phone into the pocket of my jean shorts.

The walk to Thatch's apartment was about five blocks, and since I was  getting home so late, the sidewalk traffic was a breeze. Six minutes  later, I was getting off the elevator and unlocking the front door of my  home away from home.

"Thatcher, I'm home, and I'm hungry as a motherfucker!" I shouted as I  kicked the door shut with my Converse-clad heel. My mind was already  one-tracking straight for the special delivery of roses I had sent  around two this afternoon, and I didn't give two fucks if I woke him up.

I probably should have cared, but I wanted at least one interaction with  him. Now that, wanting it so bad I didn't really have control of my  actions anymore, I cared more about.

Perfect, I thought to myself once I saw the outrageously large bouquet  sitting on the kitchen table. They looked ridiculous in his neutral  apartment, their blood-red petals damn near blinding compared to the  black-and-white décor. I plucked the note from the center of the vase  and couldn't stop myself from grinning as I read the brilliant words.         

     



 

God, I'm a fucking genius.

Well, a horny genius.

I had come up with the flower delivery plan on my break, while I was  three spanks deep into my fanfic scene. My brain had been so goddamn  fixated on Thatch while I was writing that I could not stop thinking  about having sex with him again. Hell, my pussy might as well have  written that chapter. If only she could hold a pen.

But I wanted Thatch to ask for it. And if I couldn't have that, I wanted  some outside reason, like a floral offering from his dick.

"Well, look who's home," Thatch greeted as he walked into the kitchen,  wide awake and completely fucking fuckable. He was freshly showered and  dressed comfortably. It should've been illegal for a man to look as good  as he did in a simple pair of black jersey shorts and a white cotton  tee. His eyes caught sight of the note in my hand. "You're getting in a  little late. Busy day?" he asked with a knowing smirk.