Wife Wanted (A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance)(12)

 

Phoebe took the shot of clear liquid. “To desperate times,” she muttered.

 

“That’s the spirit!” Charlotte shot hers back, too, then poured two more. “Now, where were we?”

 

***

 

Phoebe giggled as she shot the last of the tequila. “Did you see this one?” she asked, her words slurring as she pointed at the screen. Charlotte scooted closer, laughing uncontrollably too as she squinted at the image. “He’s got a dead cat on his head!”

 

“Oh, man, you should go with him. Look how much money he’s worth!”

 

“Nope, not happening…hey, we’re out of tequila.” Phoebe held the empty bottle upside down and pouted. “Well, crap.”

 

“Wait, scroll back up.”

 

“What, what did you see?”

 

“I’m not sure…no way. That’s the guy who’s like Bruce Wayne-level rich! Click on him!”

 

Charlotte did it for Phoebe when she took too long, and they both stared. There was no picture of the guy, though. “Hmm, that’s too bad.”

 

“Wait, at least read about him.”

 

Phoebe wasn’t sure if she was able to read too well, but she did her best. It didn’t give too much on his background but listed the charities he donated to, what he did in the company, etc. There was a bit of talk about what he liked to do for fun…and a timeframe for when he needed to find a wife.

 

“Charlotte, look!”

 

“What?”

 

“He has to be married in two months!”

 

“Does it say why?”

 

Phoebe scrolled down the page but there was nothing. “Nope, nothing. Oh, man,” she muttered as her stomach suddenly clenched painfully. “Think…think I’m gonna be sick.” She set the laptop to the side and bolted to the bathroom. The tequila, along with everything else, came rushing back up. A few minutes later, she threw cold water on her face then staggered back to the living room. Charlotte still had the laptop open, but she’d fallen asleep and was snoring lightly. Phoebe laughed, not quite sure what she was doing, then made her way to the easy chair. She got in, popped the recliner, and let sleep take her.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

 

Phoebe woke to a bright light peeking through the blinds and the loud sound of someone banging pots around in her kitchen. Everything hurt, and she groaned as she rolled off the chair and onto the floor with a painful thud.

 

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Charlotte called from the kitchen.

 

“Meh,” Phoebe muttered, wiping drool from her lip.

 

“Oh, now that’s attractive. We should add that to your profile.”

 

Phoebe glanced at her, confused, as she made her way to the kitchen island and sat down heavily on a stool. “Profile? What are you talking about?”

 

“The profile that you made last night. Already have quite a few messages to sort through,” Charlotte said, turning the laptop around for her to see. “Even got one from that last guy we looked at. Your Bruce Wayne friend.”

 

Phoebe felt the blood drain from her face as she grabbed the laptop, nearly breaking the screen. “I thought this was a bad dream, a really bad dream…why did you let me do this? Everyone’s going to think I’m a freaking gold digger!” She checked through her inbox to find twenty e-mails just from this morning. “Charlotte, what the hell were we thinking?”

 

“That your mom needs that surgery and you need money. Unless you want to work yourself to death for the next two months, this is your only option.” Her friend walked around to her side and shrugged. “Besides, some of these guys don’t look too bad.”

 

She was right, as much as Phoebe didn’t want to admit it. Anna—the name she’d used as her alias—apparently did have something to attract a few of these guys, considering they hadn’t even seen a picture yet. Maybe she’d respond to just a few…maybe.

 

“I have to head to the hospital,” Charlotte said, pulling her out of her trance.

 

“What, already? How come you aren’t hungover?”

 

“Because unlike you, I’m a pro.” She gave Phoebe a quick hug and said she’d call her with updates on her mom in exchange for updates on the manhunt. The door closed behind her, and Phoebe got up to lock it before she took one more glance at the screen and then headed for a shower. She needed to be fully awake before she dealt with any of that craziness.

 

An hour later, and feeling slightly better, she headed back to the kitchen and took the laptop to the couch. Charlotte would be back for it later, she knew. Phoebe’s computer didn’t exactly work too well. If ever. Not that she had money to fix it.