Tapping The Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys 1)

I didn’t even have to think about it.

“No.”

I pulled the door shut behind me and walked slowly down the hall and around the corner to the main office space.

“She’s twenty-nine, long dark hair, well kept and attractive—”

“No.”

“Her name is Stacey Henderson. I don’t know if you’ve been at any social engagements that she’s attended in the past—”

Stacey Henderson? Oh, hell no.

She was well kept and extremely attractive. And an eleven in vapidity on a scale from one to ten.

“Mom. No.”

“She’s really excited—”

“Mom—”

“Said she had just the thing to wear—”

“Mom,” I snapped, finally speaking firmly enough to earn her attention.

“What?”

Excuse. I needed an excuse.

My marketing director’s back and bright red hair caught my attention from across the office, and the words left my lips before I could think of anything else.

“I already have a date.”

“Oh. Oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll have to call Stacey and cancel, then—”

“Yes!” I agreed eagerly. “Cancel Stacey.”

Her voice turned suspicious.

“Kline—”

“Gotta go, Mom. Have to touch base with my date.”

Convince her to go with me.

“Kline—”

“Loveyoubye.”

With a tap of my thumb, I hung up fast, hoping I wouldn’t find myself in too much hot water for ending the call so quickly but desperate enough to end the conversation that I didn’t care.

Thirty-four years old and, if anything, my mother was “mothering” me the most she had in my entire life. Wanting a respectable woman to take under her wing and claim as her own was a powerful motivator, apparently, compelling her to meddle like she’d never meddled before.

Most of the time I gave in, but living with Walter on a day-to-day basis was a pretty unforgettable lesson. The grumpiest cat in Manhattan—if not the world—lived with me, and it was all my mother’s fault.

I don’t want you to be lonely, she said.

We’re traveling too much to take care of him, she said.

You’ll love him, and he’ll love you, she said.

Ah, to go back in time.

There were days I actually avoided going home—to my apartment—because Walter lived there.

But that was a subject for another time.

I crossed the office quickly, my shoes slapping out a muted rhythm on the marble tile and a whistled tune flying from my lips.

Georgia Cummings.

My employee and the cure for my Stacey Henderson-themed nightmares.

She’d been working for my company for a couple of years now, but as I approached, I realized I’d never actually looked at her in all that time.

A glance here, a smile there, a professional exchange every week or so. But I’d never studied her body the way I was now.

I knew I hadn’t.

Because I sure as fuck would have remembered.

Petite in stature but curvy in shape, her body was a perfect pint-sized hourglass perched precariously on top of razor-thin five-inch stilettos.

Her goddamn calves looked like they had been carved out of granite, and the rounded cheeks of her ass grabbed on to my eyes and refused to let go.

She moved slightly as I got closer from behind, and she bent at the waist to do something in the filing cabinet in front of her.

The gloriously short filing cabinet.

I watched as she went about her business, wondering how I’d managed to so effectively blind myself to her. I worked really hard at treating every single employee with fairness and without prejudices. I could remember the looks Dean had given me when he’d thought I wasn’t looking, and the friendly crinkles at the corners of Pam’s eyes. The devil was in the details, my dad had always told me, and I did my best to notice them. Except for hers.

As I tried to picture her smile from memory—and couldn’t—I knew all of my compartmentalizing engines must have been running at full fucking steam to protect me from getting into something I shouldn’t.

But those engines weren’t running now, the override switch turned and fully engaged thanks to Meddling-Mom-Maureen, and as the fabric of Georgia’s creamy white dress pulled tight over her ass, alarms started blaring.

“My neck.”

A sway of her tight-white-fabric-covered hips accompanied her off-key singing.

Something told me she didn’t know I was standing behind her.

“My back.”

More torture in the opposite direction.

“Lick my pussy—”

Ears bleeding. Pants tightening.

“—and my crack.”

Holy. Fuck.

I had to stop her before it got even worse. Better.

Quickly, I shook my head to clear it and then reached forward to tap her smooth shoulder.