Mother Fluffer (A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella)(18)

“He acted like he lost Ace this morning, Georgia,” I defended. “I mean, I nearly had a heart attack over it.”

“You need to see a doctor,” she said with absolute shock in her voice. “Seriously, Cass, I think you have too many pregnancy hormones. This is completely and totally f-u-c-k-e-d.”

She had a bit of a point about too many pregnancy hormones, but I was surprised she wasn’t seeing the situation from both sides of the coin. “If I were you, I’d probably be more focused on the fact that Thatch hasn’t called you to tell you that your dog is missing.”

Georgia stopped. And then she stared.

She stayed like that for a few quiet moments until she muttered, “That motherfluffer.”

“I know, right?” I questioned, even though I didn’t necessarily think Thatch needed Georgia’s wrath. I just kind of needed her on my team for the rest of the day. A pregnant lady could only handle navigating a horse through the city sidewalks for so long, and my husband was just going to have to take one for the team. The marriage team, not the prank team. On that, we were clearly on opposing sides.

Luckily, Georgia reeked of determination. The smell was so potent, I knew I’d just forced a crossover. “He thinks my dog is missing, but he doesn’t call me to tell me my dog is missing… Is this a joke right now?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I mean, I’d be a little pissed if I were you…”

That’s it, Cass. Stoke the fire.

She snagged her phone from the table and tapped her fingers against the screen in rapid succession. Once she set it back down on the table, the sent text message shone like a beacon.



Don’t tell Thatch we have Stan. I’m handling it.



Wes’s response came a minute later.



Wes: Jesus Christ, Georgia. Don’t tell me she pulled you over to the dark side…



Mwa-ha-ha.

Welcome to Team Cassie, Wheorgie.





Like a fresh beat in a club, “Thong Song” started to play on my phone.

Okay, so the last time “Thong Song” was fresh was in 1999. But I think I mentioned that I’m coming up on forty. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle that birthday, to be honest.

I reached for it quickly, hoping to see Wes’s name on the screen, calling with a plan. I’d finally resigned myself to the fact that I’d lost Kline and Georgia’s sweet, precious monster dog, and I vowed to kill the person responsible with my bare hands. As long as that person wasn’t, you know, me. Because I still hadn’t figured out the logistics of how this was possible.

My door lock company would be receiving a strongly worded phone call when this whole ordeal was over, hopefully with a safe and sound Stan back in Walter’s arms. He was straight up losing his shit. Hissing and clawing and making bold moves toward me to threaten attack. I’d ended up locking him inside of the nursery after Evie and I just barely escaped with our skin intact.

But God, as I saw the name on the screen—not Wes—big, manly bouts of hyperventilation wracked my body. And they were masculine because, come on, it was me, but I smothered them quickly as Ace and Julia came running. I didn’t want to alarm them.

“Hey, Thatch!”

“Uh…hey, Georgia girl.” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. She deserved to know what was going on, but I was a little scared of her. Not really her directly, but her husband and the life algorithms he would recalculate in his wife’s name. I wasn’t sure how it all worked, he was too smart for me, but I was certain he could destroy me with just one click of a mouse. “How’s work?”

“Oh, I finished up a few minutes ago. I could be there in a half hour or so if you want me to come pick up the four-ring circus before dinner. With three kids and just as many animals, you must have your hands full.”

A fresh wave of panic overwhelmed me as I pictured Georgia arriving to the news that her dog, the one she’d fought valiantly to adopt and raised to monster-size—the one that was the only antidote to the possessed nature of their cat—was missing.

I wasn’t proud of it, but on instinct, the totally fucked version of me jumped back into action and straight into a lie.

“Actually, why don’t you go do something for yourself? You’ve got two kids now, the feline spawn of Satan himself, Stan, and a deadbeat husband, so you could probably use the me time.”

Kline’s not a deadbeat, my mind said on a panicked whisper.

You’ve got to play the game, hater, I silently shouted back.

“Really? You don’t mind keeping them?”

Tears threatened. I want to keep all of them forever. STAAANN.