Banking Her: A Billionaire Bad Boys Novella (Book 2.5) (Bad Boy Billionaires) (14 page)

I was shopping, so the numbers were slightly skewed.

This time, when I saw the name on my phone, I actually smiled.

“Hell—” I started to answer before Kline interrupted me.

“Where are you?”

Glancing around the busy Phoenix outdoor mall, I made note of all the places that would make a good hiding spot. The fountain. The children’s rides. The dark hallway with the bathrooms. They had to be there somewhere.

I clucked teasingly into the mouthpiece of my phone and laughed. “I’m pretty sure you guys already know.”

“Nope,” he disagreed. “We stopped following you after you left the shoot. But I’ve got some news for you.”

Instantly on alert, my smile turned upside down, and I focused on the call as hard as I could. “Good or bad? Is Cassie okay?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s fine.”

I took a deep breath and admitted to myself,
Okay, maybe you’re not
completely
over the whole overprotective thing.

“But if you’re in your room, I’d find a way to be somewhere else, and fast. Georgie let it slip that you’re here—”

Let it slip, my ass.
Shit.

“And knowing what I know of Cassie—”

Oh, yeah. And he didn’t even know half of the truth when it came to my crazy woman.

“She’s already talked the hotel into disclosing my room number,” I finished for him. “Fuck.”

I’d used a code name, but God knew, Cassie was deeper inside my head than anyone. She’d probably thought of that goddamn name before she’d remembered my real one. She was a prank specialist, for fuck’s sake, and with the pregnancy hormones running rampant in her lithe little body, her ability was probably enhanced. That’s how the fucking things worked with everything else—hair, nails…sexual appetite.

I was so fucked.

“Yep. Obviously, maybe this is a good thing,” Kline went on. “You decided to stop following her anyway, so now you can enjoy the game with her tomorrow without any secrets between you.”

Yeah, great. Except I’d just spent the last two hours arranging more secrets. Lots of them. Ones I still wanted to be able to conceal until the most opportune moment.

“But, since you didn’t get to break the news on your own…”

Georgia squeaked with indignation in the background. “She tricked me! She’s a fucking asshole!” There was some scraping and scrapping, like maybe she was grabbing at Kline’s hands or the phone or tackling him to the ground or all of the above. Directly into the phone, she yelled, “Your fiancée is an asshole!”

Kline did his best to talk over her like she wasn’t shrieking. “I wanted you to have a heads-up.” If he had been tackled, he was doing a good job of making it sound like he hadn’t been. Only Georgia and I were out of breath and hyperventilating.

He never failed to be cool as a motherfucking cucumber in all situations.

“Thanks.” Advanced warning was better than nothing.

I looked down at the bags in my hands briefly before it really hit me. If I had any hope at all of pulling everything off, I was going to need help.

“Actually, I have one more favor to ask of you guys.”

“Okay,” Kline agreed easily with a smile in his voice. “Anything shy of grand larceny or murder, and we’re probably willing.”

Georgia’s giggle cut right through the phone line and seemed to fill the open air around me. It was infectious, seeping in through my skin until I couldn’t hold back my smile. “No murder today. Maybe next week.”

Even Kline laughed at that.

“I just need you to store some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Not drugs. Or prostitutes. Or guns.”

“Oh, well, okay. As long as it’s not those three things.”

“Great.” Glancing down at my watch, I noted the time. “Georgia?”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice getting louder as though Kline had put her on speakerphone.

“I’m gonna need you to use some of your new skills to keep an eye on Cassie. Over.”

“Don’t worry, Thatch,” she assured me seriously. “Her ass won’t touch grass without me knowing about it. Over.”

“Over and motherfucking out,” I agreed as I clicked the screen to end the call.

Five tasks down. Approximately twenty to go.

A few hours later, after I’d showered and changed out of my sweaty clothes from the shoot, I was ready to head down to Mr. Phil Latio’s room and confront that clocksucker head on.

Of course, I’d also managed to shave, exfoliate, apply Thatch’s favorite shade of lipstick, and toss on the tightest shirt I could find that didn’t reveal a nipple. Well, it showed nipples, but that probably had more to do with the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra, and it wasn’t like you could distinguish areola color.

Yeah, yeah, I know I should be mad at him right now, but I’m looking at the big picture.

Fights always equal makeup sex. And let’s be real, my puss-ay barely let me cover her up with a skirt and panties for this occasion.

Even though I was peeved over the lying, I didn’t believe Thatch’s motivation for deceiving me was malicious. Sure, I’d had a few irrational, crazy scenarios cross my mind, but deep down, I knew that’s all they were: crazy and irrational. The man brought me midnight snacks in bed and made my coffee every morning for fluff’s sake. He all but worshipped the ground I walked on and never failed to show me he was devoted—one hundred percent committed to me, this relationship, and our family.

Three quick glances in the mirror and one elevator ride later, I stood in front of his hotel room. The numbers 455 were displayed proudly on the door, and I rapped my knuckles a few times against the wood.

I covered the peephole and pressed my ear against the door as I listened for his movements inside the room, but besides the buzzing of an air conditioner kicking on, I heard nothing but silence.

After three more quick knocks, I disguised my voice in a high-pitched tone and announced, “Housekeeping for Mr. Phil Latio.”

Still, nothing.

“Housekeeping for Phil Latio,” I announced again as a man holding an ice bucket walked past me. His eyes all but bugged out of his head as my words registered.

I had to fight my laughter when I realized how ridiculous I sounded, propositioning my cleaning services for oral. Of course, I had to give it another go for comedic effect.

“Towels for Phil Latio? What about pillow mints? Pillow mints for Phil Latio?”

To my satisfaction, I watched the man stop at the room four doors down and fumble with his keycard while cubes of ice fell to the floor. It took him a good ten times before he got the swipe motion right and gained access to his room.

I knocked on the door one last time until I called it quits and headed back into my room. My search to find Thatch and wring his neck would be continued…
after
I grabbed a bag of M&M’S from the vending machine, laid my tired ass on my bed, and watched a few episodes of
Teen Mom.

Once I reached my room with my vending machine loot, I slipped off my heels, took off my skirt, and plopped my ass onto the bed.

I’d find him eventually, and I figured text messages were basically the same thing as sending out a search party.

I shot him a quick, neutral text
How’s your day?
and flipped on the television. I only managed to down half a bag of Doritos before he responded.

Thatch: Terrible. I miss you.

Me: Are you home?

Thatch: Yes.

“Lying popsucker motherfudger,” I muttered to myself as I typed out a response.

Me: Since you’re home, do you want to Skype? I’m all naked and cozy in bed…

Yeah, I wasn’t naked, but he didn’t know that. I could undress with the speed of an Olympian if I had to.

Nine times out of ten, if I told Thatch I wanted phone sex and I was naked, I was. But the other one percent of the time, I offered without any intention of following through, just to earn some points, while painting my nails and reading through a
People
magazine.

Of course, that one percent had changed since pregnancy upped my randy scale to frightening—
or awesome
—levels. But before I got knocked up, I’d talk him into doing it old school, without the video chat element. That way, when one of our phone-sex sessions ended on day one of shark week, I could lie in bed, sporting a pair of granny panties, with an ice pack on my vagina, faking moans and doing my best to dirty-talk Thatch to completion.

But like I said, he didn’t know that, nor did he ever need to know that.

Thatch: I think I’ll pass on the Skype sex tonight, honey.

Me: For the second night in a row?

Thatch: Yes, but I have good reason so you can’t be mad about it.

Me: Unless you’ve come down with an incurable disease that requires a dick transplant and you’re literally in the hospital waiting on your donor penis, there is absolutely no reason good enough to cancel on me and my tits two nights in a row.

Thatch: Are you sure about that?

Me: Yes.

Thatch: Sure enough to bet on it?

Me: Yes, but I’m not taking your stupid bets tonight.

Thatch: But the last bet ended so well for you… Don’t you remember?

Me: Of course I remember.

Thatch: Wait…Which bet are you thinking of?

Me: The night you bet me one hour of oral and a pair of my now favorite Louboutins that I couldn’t suck you off in under a minute.

Thatch: So, oral trumps our first engagement?

Whoops
. But in my defense, it was the best goddamn oral effort of my life, and my red suede Louboutins were so fluffing pretty.

Me: I guess you need to up your engagement game.

Thatch: Up my game? I’m pretty sure I can’t up my game if we’re already engaged to be married, honey. Three times, in fact.

Me: Are you sure about that? If my memory serves me right, the last proposal was from ME, and YOU gave me a goddamn MAYBE.

Thatch: You wanna marry me?

Me: I’ll have to think about that later. I’m too busy staving off insanity because I’m all horned up and you don’t wanna bone me via Skype.

Thatch: Can I bone you in person?

Three knocks to my door followed his message.

Thatch: Open the door, honey.

Slowly and without urgency, I got out of bed and walked toward the door. I opened it on a swing and came face-to-face with Thatcher, standing in my doorway, looking so goddamn good in jeans and the “Cassie’s Bitch” T-shirt I’d bought him months ago that I swore Zeus himself had sent me my very own version of a Greek god straight from Mount Olympus.

“You’re not at home.”

“You’re not naked.”

We both blurted out in accusation, and the big, bad, lying man had the audacity to look upset over my tiny white lie. I poked him directly in the chest on a hard jab. “Don’t try to turn the tables on me,
Phil Latio
. I know you’ve been lying like a mothertrucker all weekend.”

“Are you going to invite me in so I can explain?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know… Should I?”

He nodded and had the nerve to flash his version of puppy-dog eyes. I hated when he did that. If I had a nickel for how many times he ended up getting a blow job from that look alone… Well, I’d have a lot of fudging nickels.

I acquiesced and held the door open but kept my expression neutral, even though I had the overwhelming urge to throw myself into his arms and breathe him in. When my nose caught a whiff of his body wash and cologne as he walked past me and into the room, I had to practically shove my puss-ay back inside my underwear.

Jesus. Thirsty much, you randy bitch?

Thatch sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “Come here, honey,” motioning with a wave to match his words. I rolled my eyes but followed nonetheless. The sad truth was I had missed him too much not to.

He pulled me between his thighs and rested his hands on my hips as he moved the bottom of my sleep shirt up with his nose and pressed his mouth to my belly. He stayed like that for a long moment, his lips touching the skin below my belly button, and I watched as relief and happiness and overwhelming love consumed his face.

When his warm gaze met my eyes, I had to swallow a dreamy, content sigh.

He smiled. “I know it’s only been two days, but God, I missed you.”

“I would’ve thought you were too busy coming up with lies to find the brainpower to actually miss me.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then, what was it like? Because, honestly, even though I know you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize what we have, I can’t deny I’ve had a few awful thoughts cross my mind.”

But who wouldn’t? Being lied to wasn’t one of those things that encouraged confidence and contentment. If anything, it did the complete opposite and left you feeling vulnerable and uncertain.

“I’m a little afraid to tell you the truth.”

I scrunched my eyebrows together. “Well, now I’m a little afraid for the truth too.”

“Cass, honey, I love you. This isn’t about anything besides that, so put those outrageous thoughts out of your mind.”