Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(62)

"Enough?"

"Yes," he snapped. "I've had enough. I can't do this right now. I need  you to give me some space to process what just happened. I need time to  cool down."

"So that's it?" My voice rose with my anger. "You're just going to walk away?" I stabbed a harsh finger into his chest.

He didn't budge. Didn't react. Didn't do anything but stand there and stare down at me.

His reaction made me feel crazy. This was worse than his angry words. He  wasn't giving me a single fucking emotion besides indifference.

"Stop acting like that! Stop acting like you don't care!" I slapped at  his chest, hard and erratic. I was desperate for him to show me  something. Anything. "You're done with me, Thatch? I do one thing that  pisses you off, and all of a sudden you need space away from me?" I  screamed. "Why don't I get a say in any of this?"

"You did get a say," he corrected, his deep voice cracking in the  middle. "And I heard you loud and clear when you jumped off that cliff."  He opened the driver's side door, and I tried like hell to push it back  closed.

But he was too strong, swinging it open with ease. I tried to climb  inside with him, but he must have signaled for Kline because I was  wrapped up in strong arms and pulled away from the vehicle.

"Put me down!" I yelled as Thatch shut the driver's door and started the engine.

"Calm down, sweetheart," Kline whispered in my ear. "It's going to be okay."

"No! It's not going to be okay! He's leaving!" I cried, and Georgie's  sad eyes blocked the view of Thatch driving away. A few tears dripped  from her lids as she wrapped me up in her arms and held me tight. "I've  got you. I've got you."




I was sitting inside my shitty apartment, inside my least favorite  neighborhood in New York. The only thing Chelsea and I had in common was  that we both needed a goddamn shower.

It had been three days since the camping trip. Three days since Thatch  lost his shit because I had decided to recreationally cliff jump, off a  cliff I knew other people had been jumping off for years.

He had made no attempts to reach out to me.

I had made three attempts to reach out to him.

The responses I got revolved around the fact that Thatch wasn't ready to talk to me.

He was being a dick.

And I was fine.

No, you're not.

I. Was. Fine.

Three soft knocks on my apartment door woke me from my heart-fucked  stupor. I shuffled across the redone hardwood floors in my "Classy  Bitch" socks and flung it open without checking to see who it was.

I lumbered back to my home base-the couch-and plopped my ass back down  into the cushions. With the TV remote in hand, I searched through all of  the DVR'd episodes that had accumulated since I'd been living at  Thatch's apartment.

"So, you look great," Georgia said as she meandered through my  apartment, occasionally picking up random takeout containers and tossing  them into the trash. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"That's great." She glanced around the apartment. "The new floors look nice … well, at least what I can see beneath the trash."

"Thanks." I pushed play on the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules.

Georgia walked over toward the television and turned it off.

"Hey! I was watching that!" I flipped the television back on.

She turned it off.

I glared and turned it on again.

She turned it off again.

"Okay, I think it's time for you to leave."

"I'm not leaving."

"Well, then, I'll leave." I got to my feet and trudged into my bedroom.

She followed.

"It's nap time, G," I said as I tossed a pizza box onto the floor and crawled into my bed. "I'll call you later."

She got into the bed with me.

"Go cuddle with Big Dick. I don't feel like cuddling," I whined and pulled the comforter over my head.

She yanked it off of me, and my annoyed eyes met hers. She looked concerned, and that sympathetic expression pissed me off.

"Stop it. I don't need you over here worrying about me. I'm fine."

She shook her head. "No, you're not."         

     



 

"Yes. I. Am."

"Honey, your apartment looks like New York relocated the garbage dump,  and you're wearing your underwear outside of your yoga pants."

I peeked under the covers to find out that she was right. Big deal, so  my underwear was outside of my pants. I'd seen numerous homeless people  sport that look every fucking day in the city.

"It's okay not to be fine, you know? I wouldn't be fine if I were in your shoes."

"I'm not wearing any shoes."

"Yeah," she said through a soft laugh. "But you're wearing your Classy  Bitch socks, and I've only seen you bust those out on two occasions."  She held up one finger. "When they canceled Friday Night Lights." She  held up another finger. "And when you found out that Prada purse you  bought in Soho was a knockoff."

I had the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. I covered my face with  my hands. "I don't like feeling like this. I never feel like this. About  anything or anyone."

"Yeah, but Thatch isn't just anyone."

"You got that right. He's the biggest fucking asshole I've ever met. I wish I'd never fallen into that giant ogre's trap."

"You don't mean that."

"No," I whispered, "but I wish I meant it."

Georgia sat up and rested her back against the headboard as she  rearranged me so my head was resting in her lap. Her fingers ran through  my hair, occasionally getting caught in the numerous knots that had  taken up what I considered permanent residence. My hairbrush could suck a  fucking goat scrotum.

For a few quiet moments, I let her calming energy soothe the myriad emotions I was trying so hard to avoid.

"Why did that happen, Georgie?" I asked on a whisper. "I didn't mean for  things to go down like that. I wouldn't have jumped off the cliff had I  known he would freak out like that."

She glanced down at me. "Are you sure about that? Because from where I  was standing, he was begging you not to do it. He looked desperate,  sweetheart. Distraught, even."

Honestly, I wasn't sure. And I didn't like that my gut feeling told me I was an asshole for being so fucking stubborn.

"But why would cliff jumping freak Thatcher Kelly out?" I changed the  direction of the conversation. "The man took me skydiving, for fuck's  sake."

She shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Are you sure you're not sure? Because I have a feeling Kline knows something. And if he knows, then you probably know."

"Kline wouldn't give me the details, which is saying a lot considering  he never keeps anything from me. But I think it had something to do with  Margo."

That had my mind racing for answers I was almost a little too scared to find out.

"C'mon, Cass." Georgia nudged me up to a sitting position. "Let's get  you out of this apartment and grab some lunch. I think a little fresh  air will do you some good."

She walked toward my bedroom door and glanced back with a smirk. "And  we're not leaving here until you shower. You literally smell like  balls."

I smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. "Like that bothers you. Everyone knows you love smelling like Kline's sac."

She flipped me off and strode down the hallway. "Get your stanky ass moving! I'm hungry!"

Slowly but surely, I got out of my bed and hopped into the shower.

I told myself it had nothing to do with Georgia being right about me not  being okay and me being desperate to stop the "I miss him" loop of  crazy that kept circling inside my brain, and everything to with the  fact I hadn't eaten since the night before.

Yeah, that's exactly what it was.

I was fine. I was hungry, but I was motherfucking fine.

Fucking liar.





"You didn't have to do this tonight," I said loudly while I leaned toward Kline's ear to be heard over the noise of Z Bar.

"Didn't have to do what?" he asked back innocently.

I nodded and laughed. "Give me a break. You know what." There wasn't a  question in my mind he'd rather be at home with his wife than in the  middle of some crowded bar with me. But Kline Brooks was a world-class  individual, and I was seriously lucky to call him my friend. "But  thanks."

He raised his glass in salute before taking a drink, and I desperately  tried to make his effort worth it. I wanted to pretend I was okay, like I  wasn't missing Cassie-like I knew how to go on. But the truth was, I  didn't. She'd become ingrained in every aspect of my life, and I liked  her there.         

     



 

I battled myself, and not for the first time since it'd all gone down.  Had I really given her a fair shot? Was I making the whole thing a  bigger deal than it was?

Half of me, the part that missed her-and yeah, it was probably the  bottom half-thought definitely. I was letting my whole traumatic history  with Margo color my opinion. But the other half had a laser-like memory  when it came to her face in the moments before she jumped.