Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(46)

"Trust me, baby. They enjoyed the view."





I cradled my cell phone between the crook of my neck and shoulder in  order to grab a mint out of my bag. These Wintergreen Lifesavers were  like crack.

"Will you have time to stop by the apartment and feed Phil before your  meeting this afternoon?" I asked as I walked down 28th Street, weaving  in and out of lunchtime pedestrian traffic. "I'd do it, but I'm supposed  to meet Georgie and Will for lunch, and then I have to stop by ESPN's  offices to drop off some files."

"Yeah, that's not a problem," Thatch responded in my ear, and the sound of papers shuffling filled the receiver.

"Boy, you're awfully accommodating today," I teased. "Does it have anything to do with this morning?"

"I'll do pretty much anything you ask if you wake me up like that every morning."

I grinned. "Sometimes I forget how happy blow jobs make you."

"First of all, rule number sixty, don't ever forget that. And secondly, your blow jobs make me happy," he clarified.

"You don't want blow jobs from anyone else?" I tested. I knew the answer he better fucking say.

"No," he responded quickly. "Once you've experienced a Dyson, no other brands come close to cleaning the carpets anymore."

I grinned. "What about my tits?"

"Those too."

"My pussy?"

"You're just fishing for compliments now, but I'll play along," he said  with an amused tone. "Yes, luscious Cassie, your pussy gets my dick  hard."

"What about my ass?"

"Are you extending an offer? Because I'll drop everything I'm doing  right now to sign on the dotted line that leads to claiming your ass."

Good try, Thatcher, but it's not going to happen. A lady has to keep one get out of jail free card in the tank.

I laughed and remembered the other reason for the phone call. "Stop distracting me. I actually called you for a reason."

"What else can I do for you, honey?"

"Well, I have a bit of surprise," I announced as I crossed 5th Avenue. "Are you getting excited?"

"No," he responded in a flat tone. Two long drags of a cab horn punctuated the sentiment.

"Well, that's really fucking ungrateful of you."         

     



 

He showed no signs of remorse. "The last time you got me a surprise, I  ended up with a pig and the city of New York thinking I have chronic  anxiety."

I laughed. "But you love Phil!"

"Yeah, now, I do," he answered. "He's grown on me. But initially, no. I  wasn't thrilled with the idea of a barnyard animal sleeping in the  corner of my bedroom."

"Well, this is even more exciting than Phil," I announced. My voice was  ecstatic over the idea of getting a rise out of him again. It was  literally one of my favorite things. And after his little "fear of  heights" test last week, I was really itching to one-up him again.  Although, it should be noted, that test had gifted me with the most  powerful orgasm of my entire life.

But those were just minor details, right?

"Get ready, Thatcher, because guess what? You're going to be a Big Brother!"

"Huh?"

"A Big Brother!" I repeated.

"What are you talking about?"

"I signed you up to be a Big Brother for the Boys and Girls Club of Manhattan."

The line went silent before he finally asked, "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because I felt like it was the next big step in our relationship," I  explained as a devilish grin kissed my lips. "It will prepare us both  for kids someday."

"How does me being a Big Brother prepare you for kids?"

This fucker. He kept my bullshit game on its toes.

And I kind of loved it.

And him.

"You can teach me everything you know. One of us has to be the expert on  children, and I just felt like this was more your realm than mine," I  explained. "There are just a few confidentiality papers and other legal  mumbo jumbo that you have to sign, but otherwise, you're all set. You'll  get to meet your little brother next week!" I exclaimed, but stopped  abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk when I came across a booth with  the word GuyFi displayed on the side.

My eyes scanned the fine print below the logo. Masturbation Booth for  men that comes equipped with a chair, a privacy curtain, and a laptop.

"What in the ever-loving fuck is this shit?"

A twenty-something woman dressed in Doc Martens and a baby-doll dress  stopped beside me and stared at the booth with a disgusted look on her  face. "Gross, huh?"

"What shit?" Thatch questioned, but his call wasn't my number-one  priority anymore. I needed my own answers, and I needed them now.

"How long has this been here?" I asked her.

"I think about a month." She shook her head. "I swear, girlfriend, New  York just keeps getting weirder, and men are pigs," she added before  resuming her stroll down the sidewalk.

I agreed with her one hundred percent. My blood started to boil, and my  anger rose by the second as I continued to glare at the vile display.

"Cassie," Thatch voiced louder in my ear. "What shit?"

"This shit!" I shouted and pointed to the booth in an erratic gesture,  even though he couldn't see me. "This fucking jerk-off booth in the  middle of the sidewalk!" I stomped my boot-clad heel against the  concrete.

"And it figures it's just for men! What if I'm a horny broad who needs to rub one out?"

For fuck's sake, I was a horny broad.

"Can I not go into this stupid little booth and work things out?"

"Cass-" he tried to interrupt me, but it was too late. I was already on a tirade.

I pointed at a man walking past me. "How about you, baldy? You need  alone time to tug on your wang?" He averted his eyes and picked up his  pace to an almost sprint and crossed the street in a blur of  uncomfortable avoidance.

"Cass-"

"Hey, guy in the red hat! What about you?" I gestured toward the booth.  "You need a little afternoon jerk sesh before you head back to work?" I  threw my hands in the air in disgust. "Fucking perverts! Goddammit,  Manhattan! Get your shit together!"

Why couldn't they choke the chicken at home into their socks or in the  bathroom at work like every other goddamn guy in the country?

"Hey, Crazy." Thatch's loud voice caught my attention.

"What?" I snapped.

"Stop verbally assaulting every man who walks past you."

"I can't help it, Thatcher. I'm appalled."

Quite frankly, it was probably more about the blatant gender discrimination than anything else.

"Wait, where are you?" he asked. "Are you on the corner of 28th and 5th?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you have the Big Brother paperwork with you?"         

     



 

"Um, yeah."

"Fantastic. I'm in the booth, enjoying my lunch break. Just bring them in here."

My face scrunched up in confusion. "What?"

"Bring the papers in here," he instructed again, speaking slowly as if that'd help me understand.

"Shut up, you liar. You're not in that booth."

"Just come inside the GuyFi booth, honey. I could use your tits for the  motivation. All of the commotion outside the curtain has kind of ruined  the mood."

"How'd you know it's called a GuyFi booth?"

"How do you think? Because I'm in here."

My jaw dropped, and before I could think through the situation with a  rational head, I was stomping toward the booth like a madwoman. I fisted  the black curtain and yanked it back hard enough to shake the walls of  the metal cubicle.

The second my eyes met the shocked expression of a guy I'd never met  before, holding a penis I didn't recognize, I shrieked. "Oh my God, I  don't know that dick!"

"Close the curtain!" the man shouted. "Close the fucking curtain!"

"Sorry," I apologized and yanked the curtain shut. Then, on a whim,  pulled it open to add, "Happy jerking!" before closing him back in.

Thatch's loud, boisterous laughter filled my ear as I damn near sprinted away from the booth.

"You're such an asshole!" My words had the undertone of a wheeze thanks to the adrenaline and abnormal exercise.

Thatch never stopped cracking up. "I can't believe that actually worked on you."

"You just forced me, your girlfriend, to look at some other dude's dick, Thatcher. That is totally fucked."

"Aw, honey, do you need to cleanse the palate and come stare at my cock for a few minutes? Would that make you feel better?"

"Fuck you, T. Fuck you hard," I said and hung up the phone before more of his laughter could fill my ear.



Me: Rule #61. Don't trick me into looking at other dudes' dicks.



Thatch: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA



I snapped a picture of my middle finger between my tits and sent it his  way, adding the words, Say good-bye to blow jobs for the next three  weeks.



Thatch: Hey, now. Let's not get too hasty here.



Me: Too late for negotiations. Three weeks. Suck on that.