Redeeming the Billionaire Playboy (Taming The Bad Boy Billionaire 6)

“I thought it was only a joke in the movies. Do guys really use those?”

“I don’t know. But I know I’m not screwing a guy that has been screwing a blow-up doll on the side.”

“I hear ya.”

“Now tell this knight to get on his white horse and get the hell outta here. Shouldn’t he be out there slaying a ferocious dragon or something? Because I’m not embarking on a heroic quest for a merry good time.”

“He’s probably the most action you’ve gotten in years.”

“Funny!”

“Hurry up and get down here! I have a wonderful surprise waiting for you.”

“Your cooking. That’s not wonderful,” I whispered so she couldn’t hear.

I grimaced against her early-morning pep and threw a pillow against my curtains to stop the rosy pink light from filtering in through the window. It felt as if I’d only climbed into bed a few seconds earlier, yet I was already staring at another long day before me.

In light of my catastrophic disaster at the office the previous night, I put minimal effort into getting ready that morning. I settled on a plain black sheath dress and swept my hair back in a simple ponytail. I slid my feet into black heels and didn’t bother with make, except a couple dots of concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. The girl staring back at me from the mirror looked just as glum as I felt, like a woman heading to a funeral or just coming back from one.

“Don’t judge me,” I muttered, glaring over my shoulder at Ronald, the ancient suit of armor, still propped up in my bed. “Great. Now I’m actually talking to you. Tell me, Ronald, do you have an evil twin out in the world somewhere?”

Oddly enough, the knight in empty armor fell over at that precise moment, and his arm clattered to the floor.

After swiftly brushing my teeth, I was out the door, marching sullenly past the rows of polka-dotted teacups and rare Arabian jewelry and artwork on my way to the kitchen.

With that cheery bit of wisdom on my mind, I rounded the corner and found my roommate and landlord perched on the kitchen table, listening to her Cambodian meditation tapes at full volume while balancing a mug of strong-smelling coffee in one hand.

I smacked the side of the stereo, and the chanting went dead. “Did you put Ronald in my bed again last night?” I asked.

Her eyes opened slowly, widening slightly for her to give me a once-over. “Who died?” she asked, arching her eyebrow in disapproval of my morbid attire.

“Answer the question, Madison. Did you put that suit of armor in my bed?”

She hopped off the kitchen table and landed lightly on her feet. “Of course I did. You were all alone, and I thought he might cheer you up.”

It made no sense to me that she was able to move the thing in the first place, let alone place it in my bed without waking me. It had to outweigh her by at least 200 pounds.

“Madison,” I said, snapping my eyes shut and inhaling sharply through my nose then exhaling slowly through my mouth, trying to vent my frustration, “we talked about this. He’s not a teddy bear. You can’t just tuck him in the covers like that. I could get tetanus from that damn thing.”

“What?” Her delicate eyebrows turned up into a sarcastic point. “You’d rather sleep alone than with a brave knight? Now who’s not making any sense?”

“I can’t do this today.” I raised both hands to my temples and rubbed gently as the beginnings of a migraine built up behind my eyes. “You realize Ronald’s not actually alive, don’t you? At this point, I seriously have to ask.”

Her lips parted uncertainly, but she was spared having to answer when my eyes flickered suddenly over her shoulder to a steaming platter of French toast.

“Did you call a caterer for breakfast?” I walked across the kitchen to investigate, wondering if I was going to end up at a funeral after all. “You didn’t try to make this yourself, did you?”

She shrugged cheerfully, looking significantly more lighthearted than she did the other day at the office. “I had a little help.”

As if on cue, the cellar door opened, and James walked in, with a bottle of maple syrup in one hand and a ceramic pot of honey in the other. Somehow, that made even less sense than Madison hauling a 300-lb. artifact into my bedroom to keep me company, but I was still stuck in replay mode.

Wait. What?

“Hi Della,” James said.

“Hi James. It’s great to see you. I was so damn worried about you. Thank God you’re okay!”

I lifted my head suddenly and saw four concerned eyes staring down at me, James and Madison wearing identical expressions, tilting their heads at me as if I was drifting away before their very eyes.