Banking Her: A Billionaire Bad Boys Novella (Book 2.5) (Bad Boy Billionaires) (13 page)

Kline might have been smart enough to cover their devious tracks, but my ears didn’t miss the sigh of relief escape from Georgia’s lips.

These two knew something I didn’t, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

Right the fluffernutter now.

I pretended to scroll through Leslie’s pictures, even though I already followed her account religiously. This chick’s social media was better than the Kardashians hopped up on meth, posting Snapchat videos. I paused on one very ridiculous photo of Leslie with a shot glass nestled inside her cleavage. Her jet black locks had been dyed blonde, and her cliché comment of “Blonds have more fun. Winky face” sat below the picture.

Yes, she literally spells out “winky face.”

If you find enjoyment out of Max Monroe telling you my and Thatch’s story, imagine what a book filled with Leslie would look like…

Exactly my point.

Someone needs to start a petition to get that book written right the fluff now.

“Hashtag someone got bigger implants,” I added.

“That’s what I said!” Georgia agreed and poked Kline in the chest. “I told you!”

He just shook his head and chuckled in response. “I refuse to add commentary on anything related to Leslie or her plastic assets.”

Even though I had the urge to let my inner psycho bitch come out to play and run off with Kline’s phone and lock myself in the safe confines of the bathroom so I could search for evidence, I kept it classy and handed back his phone.

Obviously, pregnancy looked good on me. Well, besides when I was ugly crying over YouTube videos of soldiers coming home to their families because yeah,
no one
can pull off the ugly cry.

“Hey, have you heard from Thatcher today?” I asked Kline in a nonchalant tone.

“No, why?” he asked while his facial expression stayed irritatingly neutral. His poker face was on point.
Goddammit.
The man could play Switzerland better than anyone I knew.

“Just wondering.” I shrugged. “He’s been acting weird lately. Canceled our nightly Skype sesh last night. And then couldn’t chat on the phone when I had a few free minutes this afternoon.”

“I know he’s been taking some Saturday meetings with clients while you’ve been out of town,” he offered, and it only added to my frustration.

Damn Kline and his crazy-smart brain. He was too flipping intelligent to be tricked into telling me what Thatch was up to, which was why I set my sights on his wife, Mrs. I Suck at Lying.

“Don’t you think that’s weird, Georgie?”

She cleared her throat, which put her at about a two on the “Wheorgie’s About to Break” meter. “Do I think what’s weird?”

“That Thatcher canceled our Skype sesh last night.”

She shrugged and kept her face impartial. “Maybe he was tired?”

I watched the line of her throat swallow three times, and I knew I had just increased her to about a five. We’re getting closer…

“Hmm… Maybe.” I pretended to think it over and then pushed out an Oscar-worthy sigh from my lungs. “I just have this awful feeling I can’t shake. It’s freaking me out a little. Like, this nagging feeling that has my brain racing with thoughts that Thatch is up to something.” I looked away and pretended to swallow down emotion before meeting her now concerned eyes. I forced my eyes to go theatrically wide. “You don’t think he’s…” I feigned shock and covered my mouth with my hand. “God, I can’t even say the words,” I muttered for dramatic effect.

Before she could offer the reassurance that rested on her lips, I covered my mouth with my hand and did my very best impression of Rose when Jack lets go of her hand during
Titanic.
“Sorry,” I whispered and scrunched my eyes together to stave off the fake tears. I covered my mouth with my hand again and shook my head back and forth. “I just can’t shake this feeling that something awful is going on.”

Of course, I knew my fiancé wasn’t cheating on me. That might sound naïve to most, but I knew Thatch. I knew him, and I trusted him implicitly. He’d never given me any reason to doubt that trust.

Plus, he knew that him cheating on me would lead to a homicide situation. He might be one big-ass motherfluffer, but I’d find a shovel and a hole big enough—and if I couldn’t, I’d train as a blacksmith and a gravesite attendant and
make
them.

Georgia’s eyes went wide with panic. “Stop thinking like that. There’s no way he would… Thatch loves you. No way would he do anything to jeopardize that. You guys are in love—you’re having a baby. Yeah, he’s definitely not doing what you’re thinking he’s doing,” she rambled.

And there it was, ladies and gentleman. Georgia had just hit a nine on the meter. Only a few more fake tears and she’d be handing me the key to Thatchora’s box of lies.

“Yeah, but Jay Z loved Beyoncé and look what happened to them. He cheated on her. And no one thought Britney would cheat on Justin. I mean, they wore matching denim outfits, for frankfurter’s sake!”

“Just trust me. He’s not fucking around.” She tried to calm me down, but she sounded so helpless, so upset…so very close to telling me what was going on.

I feigned hysteria and buried my face in my hands. “What am I going to do? I’m pregnant, and my fiancé is having a relationship with another woman!”

“Kline,” she whispered, “I’m telling her.”

“Wait. Ben—” he started to interrupt, but she was already set in her decision.

“He’s here.”

“—ny.” Kline’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

I lifted my head from my hands. “What do you mean, he’s here?”

Georgia looked at Kline for a little reassurance.

He gestured toward me. “Well, fuck. No going back now, Benny.”

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked with a hand on her hip.

“Realize that Cassie is a really good actress.”

Georgia turned and looked at me. Her eyes interrogated my no longer distraught face. Her concerned expression turned to a glare within seconds. “How can you be so evil yet growing my sweet little baby godson inside your belly at the same time?”

I shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“You’re an asshole.”

I covered my belly with both hands. “Hey, watch your fluffing language. My kid can hear you.”

She just stared back at me and then shouted toward my stomach. “Your mother is an asshole!”

That made me laugh, and Georgia flipped me off…with both hands.

“All right, just go ahead and spill it, G. Why is Thatch here? And if he’s here, where in the heck is he?”

“I’m not telling you anything else.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be like that.”

She shook her head and, surprisingly, stood her ground. “Nope. Not happening. Figure it out on your own.”

I looked between her and Kline a few times before realizing I knew plenty of ways to figure out what was going on. Thatch might be a world-class prankster, but I knew all of his cards. Every. Single. One.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I will.” I winked and turned in the other direction. As I strode back down the hallway, I called over my shoulder, “But, hey, thanks for the info, Wheorgie! You’re a sweetheart for telling me he’s here.”

“Asshole! You’re ruining all of my fun,” she shouted back, and I just grinned in response.

So, Thatch was here, and whatever he was doing, Kline and Georgia were getting amusement out of it. Yeah, I’d crack this case wide fluffing open.

I was back at our hotel fifteen minutes later and standing in front of the bellhop, ready to start Plan A of my “Where is Thatch-o?” situation.

“Excuse me,” I politely asked the twenty-something man behind the desk. “I was wondering if I could find out someone’s room number. I completely forgot the number he told me, and I’m already a few minutes late in meeting up with him.”

“Of course. What’s his name?” the man asked with a smile as he tapped the mouse of his computer, bringing it back to life.

This is why it’s a good idea to go sans bra. No way this shithead would have given me this information without a hint of my nipples in play.

I knew if Thatch was on some covert mission, he wouldn’t use his actual name to reserve the room. So, I went with my very best guess. His idea of the perfect porn name should he ever decide to join the sex industry. “Phil Latio.”

His green eyes went wide as saucers.
“Fellatio?”

“No.” I shook my head and bit back my grin. “
Phil
, P-h-i-l.
Latio
, L-a-t-i-o.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flushed the color of a cherry-flavored Charms Blow Pop.
“Phil Latio.”

In my scheming, slightly evil but very hilarious brain, this conversation had now become a challenge for how many times I could get this guy to make everyone in the lobby believe he was talking about actual fellatio.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him.”

“Phil Latio?”

There’s three.

“Yeah, he’s actually pretty famous.”

“Mr. Phil Latio is famous?”

Four.

“Oh, yeah,” I lied. “He’s a very popular porn star.”

He offered an amused grin. “I guess the name makes sense now.”

I smirked and nodded my head.

His eyes searched my face in question, and I knew what he was asking before he found the strength to will the words out of his mouth. He was damn near gagging over the curiosity of whether I was a porn star, too.

“I’m actually writing his tell-all book,” I continued the lie. “It’s really a shame he had to make such an abrupt departure from the porn industry, with the whole penis transplant fiasco.” I feigned sympathy. “He had the best money shot in the business.”

“Penis transplant?”
he blurted out.

“Yep,” I answered as I tapped my fingers across the marble of the hotel desk. “It’s all very new-age. He’ll be one of the first penis transplants in the world. Fingers crossed it all goes well, right?”

I could tell it took all of his strength to force his face into something other than complete and utter shock laced with, “I’m going to tell everyone I work with about Mr. Phil Latio and his bionic penis.”

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat a few times. “I really hope it goes well for him.”

“Did you happen to find his room number?”

“Oh, right,” he muttered. “Give me just a second here.” He clicked the mouse a few times and scrolled the screen until he nodded. “Mr. Phil Latio is in room 455.”

And there’s five.

I grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Thank you so much. Have a fantastic rest of your day.”

There were going to be some seriously uncomfortable looks in my baby daddy’s future.

Serves you right for lying to me, T.

As I hopped on the elevator and headed toward my room to strategize my second move, I couldn’t deny that I felt elated and giddy and was practically bouncing around on the balls of my feet from the excitement.

I hadn’t felt this surge of adrenaline since the early stages of our prank war.

I was hit with a wave of sentimental emotion.

This feels like the good old days all over again, before Thatcher finally realized I’m the ultimate prankster.

Get ready, Phil Latio. I’m coming for you, and it won’t be for the money shot.

Okay, yeah, maybe it would be, but
after
I wrung his neck.

W
ith the too hot Arizona sun shining directly in my eyes and the birds chirping their delight, I lifted my face to the sky and breathed in the possibilities of what I was cooking up. I knew no woman could resist a man who was truly in love with her, his intentions as pure as the driven snow, even when he was being a world-class idiot. Because, really, if they could, no woman would ever settle with any man. Because sometimes—oftentimes—we were idiots.

What do you expect? We’re biologically driven toward sex and connection and procreation. Women were gifted with the ability to think outside the box. And I’m okay with that. I’d rather be the lesser person in our relationship. Because I know, with how hard I’m trying, that makes her one hell of a woman.

My phone rang loudly, echoing against the two-story building and drawing the attention of several women, children, and a couple of men.