Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) (24 page)

I
needed a new assistant. That much was clear to me.

Over the past two days, Olivia had started to show her true colors. Her motives for turning the tables were unclear, but whatever the reason, her professional attitude was sorely lacking and she seemed to enjoy doing the exact opposite of everything I asked. When I’d needed the lights dimmed, she had blinded everyone on set by making them fluorescent. When I’d asked her to let two of the male models know we’d changed their shoot time, she had made sure their arrival was two hours later than I needed.

If she could break it, she would, and she did.

And I was beyond tired of her shit.

Normally, I wouldn’t sweat something like this; I’d just fire her and be done with it.

But this was a girl I had generously taken under my wing and shown the ropes. She’d been with me for more than a blip in time, and I had given her an all-access pass into my career in hopes that it would help her once she started to establish herself.

Obviously, that had been a big fat fucking mistake.

Olivia was a user. Rather than utilizing what I’d offered respectfully, she had chosen to try to screw me over. I’d found out from one of my close friends at
Men’s Health
that she had already started reaching out to
my
contacts and worming her way into their good graces. The girl appeared hell-bent on destroying me and then taking my career.

I hated that this was bothering me as much as it was. I hated that I was letting this cunt get the best of me. And I hated that I’d even tried to make nice with her yesterday. I should’ve kicked her lying ass to the curb and been done with it.

I plodded through my hotel suite at the Wynn and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. As I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the Vegas Strip, I wasn’t real sure what to do with myself.

I felt pathetic. I mean, fuck, I was in Vegas, and I was holed up inside my suite. I should have been out on the Strip, grabbing a drink, playing a little blackjack. Basically, anything but moping around like a sad sack.

The desert sun shone down across the concrete utopia, glittering rays bouncing from one ornate building to the next, and instead of thinking of something fun to do, all I could think was,
I wish Thatch were here.

Maybe that line of thinking should have surprised me, but it didn’t. He had barged his way into my life—
or maybe I’d barged my way into his?—
and I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted him to leave.

Thatch just made everything better.

Which was crazy. He should have made things worse. He was loud and obnoxious and couldn’t stay serious for more than a minute. He made a career out of bugging the hell out of me and spent most of his day sending me texts requesting tit pics.

But damn, that man.

That crazy fucking lunatic.

I
liked
him.

I tapped the last number in my call log, and it rang two times before his husky voice filled my ear.

“What are you doing, Crazy?” Thatch was smiling. I could hear it in his voice.

“Just finished having lunch with a few strippers from Spearmint Rhino, and now I’m about to head into a brothel. You know, the usual Vegas shit.”

“Just fitting in a little sightseeing, then?”

“Yeah, you know that saying, ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.’”

“Unless you get chlamydia,” he pointed out. “That won’t stay in Vegas. That comes home with you.”

“I’ll make sure my hooker wears a dental dam, then.”

He chuckled. “You’re a smart woman. Putting your sexual health above all things.”

I wanted to laugh, but my mood just wasn’t feeling it. “You know me, safe sex and all that jazz,” I muttered halfheartedly.

“You okay, honey?” His tone had changed from teasing to concerned in the span of a heartbeat.

“No,” I answered as I rested my head against the window. “It’s been a shit trip.”

“What happened?”

“My assistant, who also happens to be the cunt I was kind enough to mentor, is doing her best to ruin everything. She can choke on a big fat dick while sitting on a parking cone.”

“Did you fire her?”

“No,” I mumbled. “Which is ridiculous. I mean, I found out that she had commandeered half of my professional contacts list and reached out to them for work. For
herself.
Which, obviously, makes me look really bad. Talk about an asshole move, right?” I sighed, long and deep. “I’ve done nothing but bend over backward for that chick. I’ve taught her everything I know. Normally, I wouldn’t tolerate one second of the bullshit she’s been pulling. Normally, I would have given her the boot.”

“Why isn’t this ‘normally’?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly. “It’s all so unlike me. What’s wrong with me, T?”

“It sounds like she hurt your feelings, honey. You two were obviously close.”

“That’s what these are?
Feelings?
” I questioned in feigned shock. “I don’t like these fuckers. They’re killing my Vegas buzz.”

He chuckled softly into the phone. “You want some advice?”

“Please,” I responded and sat down on the chaise beside the window.

“Even though I think this chick deserves the whole fat-dick-and-parking-cone scenario, I think you need to approach this professionally.”

God, could he have suggested anything more unnatural? “And how do I go about that?”

“Find out who she reached out to, and contact them. Let them know the situation,
without the use of f-bombs or cunt sentiments
. I’d also probably leave out the parking cone and dick sucking, too. Then, tell her to pack her tube tops and glittery eye shadow and take a fucking hike.”

A small laugh escaped my lips. “Glittery eye shadow and tube tops?”

“Only one type of woman would pull a dick move like that, and she ain’t doing it while wearing Louboutins.”

“What about a guy who would pull that kind of shit? What’s he wearing?”

“Tommy Hilfiger.”

“Thatchastasia is a bit of a fashionista. I had no idea.”

He chuckled. “I’ll let you spank me later.”

Normally, I’d toss back another snappy retort, but I was finding my humor to still be miles away. “Awesome,” I replied, lacking any sort of enthusiasm.

“I don’t like when you’re sad, honey.”

“I’m not sad,” I lied.

“Hey, I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to run,” he said.

“Okay, bye,” I answered and couldn’t hide my irrational irritation.

“Now, wait a minute, sassy pants. Before I go, I’m adding a new rule. Number forty-five. No moping while in Vegas.”

A sharp laugh escaped my lungs. “Yeah, I’ll do my best to get right on that rule, even though I’d rather curl up in the fetal position and watch reruns of
The Office
from my hotel bed.”

“I mean it, honey. No moping.”

“You’re not the boss of me, T.”

“We’ll see about that, Crazy.”

“Number forty-six. Take a hot bath and a nap.”

“Stop adding rules,” I demanded. “And that’s a weird rule.”

“Everything feels better after a hot bath.”

“I forgot bubble baths are one of your and Oprah’s favorite things.”

He laughed. “When you’re in them, they are. But I can’t speak for Oprah. I’m not sure what she digs.”

“All right. Consider me naked and in the bath, then,” I teased.

“Consider me hard and annoyed that I’m not there.”

Six hours later, I had taken a hot bath—twice—and charged eighty bucks’ worth of room service and movies to my room. Nothing was making me feel better. Not even the phone call I’d made to Olivia to tell her she was no longer my assistant.

That should have been an awesome call. I should have savored every second of telling her she’d been blacklisted from everyone she’d attempted to contact behind my back and she no longer had a job. But it didn’t make me feel better.

I felt worse.

I hated that someone I had considered a close friend had screwed me over and forced my hand like that. If I was being honest, I had enjoyed mentoring her. I’d wanted to see her succeed, and if she had handled things the right way, I would have done everything in my power to get her foot in the right doors.

But greed and power and success made people do stupid things. The world was filled with good people who had genuine intentions, but it was also filled with manipulative users like Olivia.

Good riddance, asshole.

The sun was starting to set, and my mood was no better than it had been prior to calling Thatch.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and sent him a quick text.

Me: Rules #45 & #46 suck. I want to remove them from the list.

Thatch: Rule #47. See Britney in concert whenever you’re in Vegas.

Me: Stop adding rules!

Thatch: Rule #48. Answer the door.

Me: Huh?

Three soft knocks sounded from the door, but instead of getting out of bed to answer it, I sent him another text.

Me: Did your cock send me more roses?

Thatch: Rule #49. Always, ALWAYS follow rule #48 when I tell you to.

Two hard knocks on the door spurred me into action. I hopped off the bed and padded toward the entry. “Who is it?” I asked.

“Housekeeping,” a male voice mimicking a tiny female’s voice replied back.

I grinned. “I don’t need housekeeping.”

“Do you need towels?”

“Nope.”

“Toilet paper?”

“Nope.”

“Pillow mints?” He continued the charade.

I fought my laugh as I peeked through the peephole and found Thatch standing on the other side of the black metal barrier. “Nope.”

He smirked. “What about a massage? Do you like happy endings?”

“Sure. Okay,” I finally agreed as I swung open the door.

And there he was, standing in front of me in all of his handsome glory. His brown eyes gazed into mine as a giant grin consumed his face. I had the overwhelming compulsion to burst into tears and maniacal laughter at the same time.

“You flew all the way from L.A. to give me a massage?”

He shook his head. “I drove, actually. There weren’t any last-minute Vegas flights available.”

“You
drove?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his voice dropping to an even sexier level. “I drove all the way here to cheer you up. So, are you going to invite me in?”

I launched myself at him and wrapped my arms and legs around his body like a little monkey. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and savored the smell of his cologne and the inherent scent that was only Thatch.

God, I hadn’t known how much I wanted him to be here until he was actually here.

“What about your meetings?” I mumbled into his skin, unwilling to let go of the hold I had on him.

He squeezed his arms tighter. “I only really needed to be there for the walk-through I did this morning. I can work on the rest from home.”

“You’re fucking insane,” I whispered into his ear. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome, honey.” He held me tight and carried us inside my hotel suite. “Did you take a hot bath and get a nap?” he asked as his long legs crossed the room. He sat down on the bed and adjusted me so that I was straddling his lap, making my hotel robe fall open slightly.

I nodded. “Two baths, actually.”

He smirked and ran a finger along the swells of my breasts. “Did you fire your assistant?”

I nodded and breathed a little faster.

“Are you ready to have some fun with me in Vegas?”

I shrugged as my fingers found the nape of his neck and played with the edges of his hair. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

My eyes followed his as he glanced down at his T-shirt.

It’s Britney, bitch.

He winked. “Rule number forty-seven.”

Fuck, I haven’t had time to enter all of these into my phone
. I struggled to remember for two seconds before it clicked.

“You’re taking me to see Britney?” I shouted and hopped off his lap. “Don’t fuck with me, Thatcher. Don’t you dare fuck with me right now.” I pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

He laughed and slid his hand into his back pocket to pull out two tickets. He held them up for my excited eyes.