The Billionaire Boss Next Door

“What the hell?” Milo mutters.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he shakes his head at the same time, scanning the messages on his phone a second and third time. You know what? Fuck scanning. The motherfucker is staring. Hard.

I try to sneak a peek, but the bastard snatches it away too quickly.

“What the fuck, dude? What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” I grin. I can’t help myself. Something fucking juicy is in those texts, and goddamn, I want to see.

I hold out my hand. “Let me see.”

“Fuck no.” Like a damn teenage girl, he locks the screen of his phone and slips it back into his pocket.

“Someone sending you titty pics?” I ask with a grin, and that simple question has his face scrunching up into something that borders on shock and horror and intrigue.

“Don’t be a fucking dick.”

“What?” I ask and raise both of my hands in the air. “It’s a valid question.”

Because it is a valid question.

But more than that, it’s that question that riles him the most.

No doubt about it, those text messages are from a woman.

Looks like another one is about to bite the fucking relationship dust.

I swear to God, sooner rather than later, I’ll be the only sane, single motherfucker left in New York.

THE END