The Billionaire Book Club

They’ll think I’m chasing their version of a happily ever after while I get my kind of happy ending.

Ha. Suckers.

I sigh heavily, put a hand to my face, and really get into the part. The best acting is born in the soul—or so I’ve heard Leonardo DiCaprio say.

“All right. I guess…if you must know…” I pause. Clear my throat raggedly. “I met someone.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Turn scoffs. “Just a couple nights ago, you were practically licking our bartender’s tits.”

I put up my hands defensively, resisting the urge to visualize them closing around the tits he’s talking about, and dredge up every conversation I’ve had with these fuckers in the last year and a half to guide me. “I know. But you guys were all saying when it hits, it hits, and I really think I met someone who feels different.”

Quince squints, but Thatch, the most romantic of the group, backs me up, and I swear to God, he has a little tear in his eye. “Come on, guys. You know this is how it works. Our boy’s telling us he’s growing up.”

I flinch a little at the insult but keep a sad-sack smile in place. I know the look well enough to pretend—I’ve been watching it grace all of their fucking faces for years now.

“I…well, she’s my intern and temporary assistant until Liz comes back from maternity leave. And she loves books. Romance novels, in particular. So, I’m trying to read some too. Maybe get a leg up in my pursuit. I thought you guys might want to help.” When no one says anything, I put the focus back on them. “Nobody? Come on! You’ve all been trying to marry me off for years at this point. I’m telling you I’ve found her, and this is how you react?”

Kline’s eyes study me carefully. I avoid them and their freaky power and look back to the now weepy, smiling giant.

“Yes! I fluffing love this shit. We can all read them together and use poker nights to discuss. Who the fluff needs to play cards anyway?” He makes a point to toss his cards back onto the table. “And we’ll call it Thatch’s Book Club!”

“Thatch’s Book Club?” I scoff. “Why the hell do you get top billing?”

He rolls his eyes, leans back into the leather of his chair and rests both of his hands behind his big fucking head. “Because I’m the one who started this fluffing poker night, asshole.”

“Right,” I challenge. “You started poker night. Not book club. I’m the one chasing bookworm tail, and book club is my idea. It should be Cap’s Book Club.”

“Christ,” Milo sighs, rubbing his face like he can somehow scrub away the pain we’re causing him.

“Guys, there’s an easy solution here,” Kline says, ever the diplomat. “Obviously, it shouldn’t have either of your names in the title—”

“And obviously,” Wes Lancaster adds, “we should never mention this shit in public anyway.”

“It’s the Billionaire Book Club,” Theo says casually, rearranging his cards into one hand and taking a puff of his cigar before finishing sagely, “It’s what we all have in common.”

“Except for Harrison,” I say mockingly, and he reels open his middle finger like he’s fishing.

“I’m a multi-fucking-millionaire, motherfucker.”

I shrug. “So, not a billionaire.”

Trent laughs and jerks his head to me. “What do we have in common with this guy other than our money? Anyone? Anyone?”

I lift a finger—a very specific finger—in his direction and roll the title around on my tongue. “The Billionaire Book Club, huh?”

Thatch smiles. “I have to admit, it’s got a nice fluffing ring to it.”

“What’s the first title?” Kline asks, and I reach into the jacket hanging on my chair to pull out my prop.

I set it on the table like a showcase, turning the front of the book around the circle so they can all get a look. “It’s called Can’t Handle This. It’s the book she’s reading right now. And you should all probably pick up a copy tonight.”

“I haven’t even agreed to this, and it is already starting to feel like a pain in the fucking ass,” Wes grumbles.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Whitney,” Thatch says sweetly, and Wes flips him off in a loving response.

I, on the other hand, am getting annoyed because these fucks apparently can’t stay on one very important topic for more than thirty fucking seconds. “Geez, guys, come on. Let’s focus on me here.”

“I bet if I looked in your high school yearbook, that would be your senior quote,” Milo remarks, and Quince and Trent snicker before Trent pipes up.

“Though fitting, it is not. His senior quote is—”

“Don’t you dare!” I say with a point, but he ignores me completely.

“Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme, get on up, it’s graduation time!”

Fucking hell.

“No!” Kline shouts on a bark, laughing, losing all semblance of his normal decorum. I scowl.