Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(29)

He laughed openly. "You drive a hard bargain, but it's done. I'll make sure there are donuts and coffee waiting."

"Fantastic."

If anything could pull me out of my funk, it'd be sweet treats and a run under the California sun to burn them off.

As soon as my desk phone landed in the cradle, I picked up my cell and unlocked the screen.         

     



 



Me: How's Las Vegas?



Cassie: Hotter than a ball sac.



Me: Is that your chosen analogy because the actual temperature of a ball sac is fresh in your mind?



Cassie: Huh?



Me: Have you been fondling anyone's balls?



Cassie: Fuck no. Do you have any idea how quickly I'd have to make  contact after showering to avoid ball sweat? It's pretty much  impossible, and I'm not really into that kind of thing like Georgie.



Me: Wait … what about Georgia being into ball sweat?



Cassie: Nevermind. It was a whole thing during the Kleorgie breakup debacle. I think you had to be there.



My thumb hovered over the little phone icon when a banner for another  message crossed the top of my screen. I tapped the icon to open my  messages again instead.



Cassie: I gotta go. My entourage is calling. Say hi to your boner for me.



Me: He says hi back. And he misses your tits.



I miss you. I sighed and took a deep breath as I stared at my phone for  an embarrassingly long amount of time before accepting there wouldn't be  any more messages. She was busy working, the very thing I should have  been doing, but my concentration was pretty much shot.

There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell I'd be able to get my head back  into third-quarter analytics and projections based off my suggested  budget cuts and advertisement allocation for Hughes International.

I considered calling Kline, but I knew he'd actually be working.

I dialed Wes instead. He answered on the third ring.

"What's up?"

I spun in my chair to face the window. "Just seeing what you're up to, Whitney."

"On the West Coast again."

"Ah. Back for another round. Where are you this time? I'm headed toward that end of the country tomorrow."

"Seahawk territory. I've got a couple of meetings with guys coming to the end of their contract."

"A Tuesday afternoon and everyone is actually working? I don't understand."

"It's that whole being an adult thing. I can see why you wouldn't be familiar with it."

"Ha-ha," I mocked.

"Why aren't you working?"

"My eyes were starting to cross," I lied.

"Ah. Well, sorry I can't spend hours on the phone giving you a cuddle."

"I'm flipping you off right now, in case you were wondering."

"We don't have time for that either. Go get something to eat. Preferably at my restaurant."

"Discount?" I asked even though I knew his answer.

"Fuck no."

"You know, it's okay to admit you're in love with me. It won't make you less of a man."

"Bye, Thatch."

I laughed as I pulled the phone away from my ear. That had actually made me feel better. Fuck, I have weird comforts.

I looked down at my phone once more before deciding to be done for the  day. I had work, but I didn't have meetings, so I could pretend I had  nothing.

Shutting down both of my monitors, I grabbed my suit jacket from the  coat hook and filled my pockets with my keys, wallet, and phone.

Madeline looked up as I walked out. "I'm gonna take off for the day. I  just got a last-minute meeting with Carl Sanchez, so I'm headed out  there tomorrow on a noon flight out of JFK."

"I'll book you a car," she replied, making a note on a convenient stack of Post-it notes.

"Thanks. Feel free to work from home while I'm gone, okay?"

She smiled, and I knew it'd been the right move to offer. She worked  really fucking hard for me no matter where I was or what time I called. I  had other people who worked for me in a sense, but she was the only  other one I kept in the office, and she did a pretty bang-up job of  managing my entire life.

I spent a large portion of my time out of the office, meeting with  clients and doing a lot of it after hours. The time clock never really  stopped, but no matter how much I took on, it never turned into a group  activity. When these people came to me, they paid a very large premium  to get financial advice or planning from me-not someone working for me.

She smirked. "I would have done it with or without your permission."

I laughed outright. "See, Mad, that's why we work well together. You don't take any of my shit."

"I'm also an organizational genius."

"That too."

"Have fun in L.A.," she said in dismissal, and I laughed.

"Okay, I get it. I'm going now."

She just raised her brows.

I jumped toward the exit and laughed while raising my hands in the air. "Okay, okay. Geez. And in my own office."         

     



 




L.A. looked pretty much the same as the last time I'd seen it. Bright and bustling and filled with traffic.

Big palms lined the streets, and the sun beat down on the exposed skin  of my forearms. The intensity of the rays seemed stronger here, but at  least it didn't feel like you were being choked by the humidity.

The overwhelming odor of piss also wasn't as strong as in New York. It  existed, kind of lingering in the background, but it wasn't nearly as  pungent.

Pulling my arm back through the window and into the cab, I grabbed my  phone from my pocket and opened up the text messages. I hadn't heard  from Cassie since yesterday.



Me: Rule #40: Take at least one recreational trip to L.A. a year.



Cassie: Recreational? Are you talking about drugs, Thatcher?



Me: I'm here on business. I'd rather be here for fun.



With you.



Cassie: How did I not know you were going to L.A.?



Me: I just found out I was coming yesterday. After we talked.



Technically, I'd found out before we talked. I wasn't sure why I hadn't  said anything, but it was probably more because she'd cut the  conversation short than anything nefarious.



Cassie: Oh.



My eyebrows pulled together at her uncharacteristically normal-simple-response.



Me: Everything okay?



Cassie: Yeah. It's nothing.



Me: What's nothing?



Cassie: Just my assistant. It's not really worth going into it. We had a  little disagreement earlier today, but I think it's resolved. Honestly,  it's nothing.



It seemed like she was trying awfully hard to convince someone. I didn't know if it was her or me.



Me: Call me. We can talk about it.



Cassie: Thanks, but I can't right now. About to start shooting.



Desperate to make her laugh, I typed out a message.



Me: With your camera, right? I know how much you're dying to shoot some kids.



Cassie: Ha fucking ha. The FBI is probably monitoring both of our phones now.



Me: You better send a tit shot, then. That'll save us.



Cassie: Put your boner away, Thatcher.



I smiled then and started to type a message when her text bubbles stopped me.



Cassie: Would I ever be able to manage your ego if I told you I missed you?



I smiled and typed the least funny thing I'd ever been excited to say.



Me: I miss you too, honey.





I needed a new assistant. That much was clear to me.

Over the past two days, Olivia had started to show her true colors. Her  motives for turning the tables were unclear, but whatever the reason,  her professional attitude was sorely lacking and she seemed to enjoy  doing the exact opposite of everything I asked. When I'd needed the  lights dimmed, she had blinded everyone on set by making them  fluorescent. When I'd asked her to let two of the male models know we'd  changed their shoot time, she had made sure their arrival was two hours  later than I needed.

If she could break it, she would, and she did.

And I was beyond tired of her shit.

Normally, I wouldn't sweat something like this; I'd just fire her and be done with it.

But this was a girl I had generously taken under my wing and shown the  ropes. She'd been with me for more than a blip in time, and I had given  her an all-access pass into my career in hopes that it would help her  once she started to establish herself.

Obviously, that had been a big fat fucking mistake.

Olivia was a user. Rather than utilizing what I'd offered respectfully,  she had chosen to try to screw me over. I'd found out from one of my  close friends at Men's Health that she had already started reaching out  to my contacts and worming her way into their good graces. The girl  appeared hell-bent on destroying me and then taking my career.

I hated that this was bothering me as much as it was. I hated that I was  letting this cunt get the best of me. And I hated that I'd even tried  to make nice with her yesterday. I should've kicked her lying ass to the  curb and been done with it.

I plodded through my hotel suite at the Wynn and grabbed my phone off  the nightstand. As I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with  a view of the Vegas Strip, I wasn't real sure what to do with myself.

I felt pathetic. I mean, fuck, I was in Vegas, and I was holed up inside  my suite. I should have been out on the Strip, grabbing a drink,  playing a little blackjack. Basically, anything but moping around like a  sad sack.