Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(30)

The desert sun shone down across the concrete utopia, glittering rays  bouncing from one ornate building to the next, and instead of thinking  of something fun to do, all I could think was, I wish Thatch were here.

Maybe that line of thinking should have surprised me, but it didn't. He  had barged his way into my life-or maybe I'd barged my way into his?-and  I wasn't sure if I ever wanted him to leave.         

     



 

Thatch just made everything better.

Which was crazy. He should have made things worse. He was loud and  obnoxious and couldn't stay serious for more than a minute. He made a  career out of bugging the hell out of me and spent most of his day  sending me texts requesting tit pics.

But damn, that man.

That crazy fucking lunatic.

I liked him.

I tapped the last number in my call log, and it rang two times before his husky voice filled my ear.

"What are you doing, Crazy?" Thatch was smiling. I could hear it in his voice.

"Just finished having lunch with a few strippers from Spearmint Rhino,  and now I'm about to head into a brothel. You know, the usual Vegas  shit."

"Just fitting in a little sightseeing, then?"

"Yeah, you know that saying, ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.'"

"Unless you get chlamydia," he pointed out. "That won't stay in Vegas. That comes home with you."

"I'll make sure my hooker wears a dental dam, then."

He chuckled. "You're a smart woman. Putting your sexual health above all things."

I wanted to laugh, but my mood just wasn't feeling it. "You know me, safe sex and all that jazz," I muttered halfheartedly.

"You okay, honey?" His tone had changed from teasing to concerned in the span of a heartbeat.

"No," I answered as I rested my head against the window. "It's been a shit trip."

"What happened?"

"My assistant, who also happens to be the cunt I was kind enough to  mentor, is doing her best to ruin everything. She can choke on a big fat  dick while sitting on a parking cone."

"Did you fire her?"

"No," I mumbled. "Which is ridiculous. I mean, I found out that she had  commandeered half of my professional contacts list and reached out to  them for work. For herself. Which, obviously, makes me look really bad.  Talk about an asshole move, right?" I sighed, long and deep. "I've done  nothing but bend over backward for that chick. I've taught her  everything I know. Normally, I wouldn't tolerate one second of the  bullshit she's been pulling. Normally, I would have given her the boot."

"Why isn't this ‘normally'?"

"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "It's all so unlike me. What's wrong with me, T?"

"It sounds like she hurt your feelings, honey. You two were obviously close."

"That's what these are? Feelings?" I questioned in feigned shock. "I don't like these fuckers. They're killing my Vegas buzz."

He chuckled softly into the phone. "You want some advice?"

"Please," I responded and sat down on the chaise beside the window.

"Even though I think this chick deserves the whole  fat-dick-and-parking-cone scenario, I think you need to approach this  professionally."

God, could he have suggested anything more unnatural? "And how do I go about that?"

"Find out who she reached out to, and contact them. Let them know the  situation, without the use of f-bombs or cunt sentiments. I'd also  probably leave out the parking cone and dick sucking, too. Then, tell  her to pack her tube tops and glittery eye shadow and take a fucking  hike."

A small laugh escaped my lips. "Glittery eye shadow and tube tops?"

"Only one type of woman would pull a dick move like that, and she ain't doing it while wearing Louboutins."

"What about a guy who would pull that kind of shit? What's he wearing?"

"Tommy Hilfiger."

"Thatchastasia is a bit of a fashionista. I had no idea."

He chuckled. "I'll let you spank me later."

Normally, I'd toss back another snappy retort, but I was finding my  humor to still be miles away. "Awesome," I replied, lacking any sort of  enthusiasm.

"I don't like when you're sad, honey."

"I'm not sad," I lied.

"Hey, I hate to cut this short, but I've got to run," he said.

"Okay, bye," I answered and couldn't hide my irrational irritation.

"Now, wait a minute, sassy pants. Before I go, I'm adding a new rule. Number forty-five. No moping while in Vegas."

A sharp laugh escaped my lungs. "Yeah, I'll do my best to get right on  that rule, even though I'd rather curl up in the fetal position and  watch reruns of The Office from my hotel bed."

"I mean it, honey. No moping."

"You're not the boss of me, T."

"We'll see about that, Crazy."         

     



 

"Number forty-six. Take a hot bath and a nap."

"Stop adding rules," I demanded. "And that's a weird rule."

"Everything feels better after a hot bath."

"I forgot bubble baths are one of your and Oprah's favorite things."

He laughed. "When you're in them, they are. But I can't speak for Oprah. I'm not sure what she digs."

"All right. Consider me naked and in the bath, then," I teased.

"Consider me hard and annoyed that I'm not there."




Six hours later, I had taken a hot bath-twice-and charged eighty bucks'  worth of room service and movies to my room. Nothing was making me feel  better. Not even the phone call I'd made to Olivia to tell her she was  no longer my assistant.

That should have been an awesome call. I should have savored every  second of telling her she'd been blacklisted from everyone she'd  attempted to contact behind my back and she no longer had a job. But it  didn't make me feel better.

I felt worse.

I hated that someone I had considered a close friend had screwed me over  and forced my hand like that. If I was being honest, I had enjoyed  mentoring her. I'd wanted to see her succeed, and if she had handled  things the right way, I would have done everything in my power to get  her foot in the right doors.

But greed and power and success made people do stupid things. The world  was filled with good people who had genuine intentions, but it was also  filled with manipulative users like Olivia.

Good riddance, asshole.

The sun was starting to set, and my mood was no better than it had been prior to calling Thatch.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and sent him a quick text.



Me: Rules #45 & #46 suck. I want to remove them from the list.



Thatch: Rule #47. See Britney in concert whenever you're in Vegas.



Me: Stop adding rules!



Thatch: Rule #48. Answer the door.



Me: Huh?



Three soft knocks sounded from the door, but instead of getting out of bed to answer it, I sent him another text.



Me: Did your cock send me more roses?



Thatch: Rule #49. Always, ALWAYS follow rule #48 when I tell you to.



Two hard knocks on the door spurred me into action. I hopped off the bed and padded toward the entry. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Housekeeping," a male voice mimicking a tiny female's voice replied back.

I grinned. "I don't need housekeeping."

"Do you need towels?"

"Nope."

"Toilet paper?"

"Nope."

"Pillow mints?" He continued the charade.

I fought my laugh as I peeked through the peephole and found Thatch  standing on the other side of the black metal barrier. "Nope."

He smirked. "What about a massage? Do you like happy endings?"

"Sure. Okay," I finally agreed as I swung open the door.

And there he was, standing in front of me in all of his handsome glory.  His brown eyes gazed into mine as a giant grin consumed his face. I had  the overwhelming compulsion to burst into tears and maniacal laughter at  the same time.

"You flew all the way from L.A. to give me a massage?"

He shook his head. "I drove, actually. There weren't any last-minute Vegas flights available."

"You drove?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, his voice dropping to an even sexier level. "I  drove all the way here to cheer you up. So, are you going to invite me  in?"

I launched myself at him and wrapped my arms and legs around his body  like a little monkey. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and  savored the smell of his cologne and the inherent scent that was only  Thatch.

God, I hadn't known how much I wanted him to be here until he was actually here.

"What about your meetings?" I mumbled into his skin, unwilling to let go of the hold I had on him.

He squeezed his arms tighter. "I only really needed to be there for the  walk-through I did this morning. I can work on the rest from home."

"You're fucking insane," I whispered into his ear. "Thank you for this."

"You're welcome, honey." He held me tight and carried us inside my hotel  suite. "Did you take a hot bath and get a nap?" he asked as his long  legs crossed the room. He sat down on the bed and adjusted me so that I  was straddling his lap, making my hotel robe fall open slightly.