Tapping The Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys 1)

A small hiccuplike laugh bubbled up her throat and right out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“Because Georgia Cummings is a beautiful, smart, intriguing woman, and until yesterday, he hadn’t seen her at all.”

“Good God,” she muttered to herself.

I smiled wholeheartedly, with nothing held back, and felt my heart jump in my chest when her eyes flared like she noticed.

“Kline is like Mr. Brooks in some ways, though. He hates to be stupid. And now that he knows, he’s not too keen to be stupid ever fucking again.”

She swung toward me on instinct, the movement excruciatingly slow and too fast to consider all at once. I grabbed her hips, squeezing them too hard, I knew, but I couldn’t help it. The thought of leaving my mark on her skin had my hands clenching again.

Heat settled in my palms and shot straight to my crotch as I caught a whiff of all that was her. A mysterious mix of fruit and flowers, her scent stabbed me right in the fucking chest like some kind of olfactory voodoo doll.

I slid my hand up her side with little finesse before cresting her shoulder and forcing it into the tresses of her bright red hair at the back of her head.

Her eyes were open and searching and a whole lot frightened, but her lips moved toward mine with purpose. My fingertips flexed in her hair of their own accord, and a cross between a whimper and a moan caught right at the top of her throat.

“Kline,” she whispered emphatically. The puff of her hot breath on my lips was enough to push me right over the goddamn edge.

“Knock knock,” Leslie called as she was pushing open the door.

The two of us shot apart like Leslie’s arrival was a hell of a skeet shooter and we were the clay pigeon. At the sudden release of so much sexual tension, I would have sworn shattered pieces of me littered the room.

My heart beat at double its normal speed, and Georgia’s cheeks were the color of cherry Kool-Aid. Though, given the fact that Kline had been milliseconds away from eating Georgia alive, I’d say Mr. Brooks’ and Ms. Cummings’ level of faux composure was impressive.

“What do you need, Leslie?” I asked, straining to make my voice sound even, but she was clueless. Most of her attention focused inward, on herself, rather than the things going on around her. I swore it was the first and only time in my life I’d be thankful for that kind of woman.

It had been one of those days where staying in bed and calling in sick would have been a better option than actually participating in life. Kline Brooks left his new intern, Leslie, under my watchful eye while he flew out to L.A. for the day to schmooze investors and impress potential advertising clients for TapNext.

I was certain she had been sent straight from Hell. The devil might as well have wrapped a big red bow around her neck and attached a note.

Dear Georgie,

Have fun with this one.

Love,

Satan

I’d seen more of her tits today than I had of my own in the past month. Either she had a severe body temperature control issue or she didn’t wear a bra. I didn’t care who was setting the dress code policy; nipples would never be considered business casual.

Why Kline had hired her was a goddamn mystery at this point. And I hadn’t even brought up her predilection for selfies. Her social media was busier than a Las Vegas escort during March Madness. Which I guess was fine—if only she’d put the same amount of work into her actual job.

Finally at home, I settled into my favorite pastime—sweatpants, a bag of sour cream and cheddar potato chips, and a DVRed episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Despite the ridiculousness that this family had made a fortune off reality television, I still found myself recording every damn episode. It was a true mind-suck of valuable time and brain cells, but I couldn’t deny my consistent guilty indulgence. What could I say? I was a true American—enjoying every trashy reality show produced for my viewing pleasure and shit-talking them the next day.

Kim had just declared that women wearing the wrong foundation color is, like, the worst thing on the planet when my phone rang.

Incoming Call Kline Brooks

What in God’s name does he need now? He should’ve been on a plane headed home from L.A. His absence was the exact reason why I would have five pounds worth of potato chips on my hips and ass tomorrow morning. Two days ago, I would have told you he’d put stars in my eyes with swoony almost kisses and confidence in my ability. Now, after a visit to the depths of incompetency hell, the blush on my feelings had more than worn off.

That cocky, demanding bastard damn well knew what he had been doing when he’d asked me if I could handle being in charge.

After five rings’ worth of muttered curses, I decided to put him out of his misery. “Good evening, Mr. Brooks. What else can I assist you with today?”