Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) (4 page)

A
shrill ringing in the distance echoed in my ears. I stirred in my sleep, turning over to blearily glance at the clock on my nightstand. The blood-red numbers revealed it was half past two in the morning.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I mumbled to no one in particular, pulling the comforter back over my head to form a cave of covers.

But the phone continued to ring, vibrating across the nightstand and mocking my sleep-deprived brain. I loved my sleep.
Loved. It.
While most women daydreamed about Henry Cavill sexing them into oblivion while his Superman cape slapped them in the face, I split my daydream time between Henry Cavill, Channing Tatum, and my bed—and the men weren’t the majority of my fantasies.

I could only assume whoever was calling me must have lost a limb or literally been on fire because anyone who knew me understood
not
to interrupt my sleep time.

Two seconds away from screaming myself into a full-on tantrum, I wrenched the blankets off my body, and with eyes still closed and fumbling hands—knocking shit onto the floor in the process—I grabbed my phone, held it to my ear, and let fly with my best guess. “Georgia, I swear to God, if this is you, I will kick your husband’s big dick so hard he won’t be able to spend his nights banging you into the headboard.”

A chuckle filled the receiver, but it wasn’t of the female variety. It was deep and throaty and one hundred percent male.

When no words replaced his laughter, I sighed, pulling my comforter back over my head. “Seriously, dude. If you don’t tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re calling me, we are going to have some serious issues.”

“What kind of issues?” he asked, amusement evident in his voice.

“My-foot-up-your-ass kind of issues,” I snapped back.

He chuckled again. “Maybe I’m into that kind of kinky shit.”

“All right, you deranged psychopath,” I said, irritation highlighting my tone. “I don’t care what kind of kinky shit you get off to. You could enjoy jerking off with cream cheese smeared on your schlong, and I wouldn’t care. What
I do
care about is the fact that you’re calling me at two in the morning.”

“Cassie,” he responded, still sounding irritatingly amused by fucking up my sleep. “It’s Thatch.”

“Thatch?
I don’t know a Thatch,” I lied. I knew it was him, and more than that, I’d known before he told me. That voice had been rooting around inside my brain for a while now. Fucking
Thatcher Kelly
. He’d wiggled his way into my thoughts and hung around for-fucking-ever, seemingly quite the parasite.

Hopefully, if I continued to feign confusion, he’d let me go back to sleep.

He laughed again at that. “It’s the guy you’ve been finger-fucking that perfect pussy to for the past month. Don’t you remember? We were in a wedding together. I helped you find Walter after you lost him. You even called me from Key West because you missed me so much.”

“None of this is ringing a bell.”

And I didn’t lose that goddamn cat.
He
did.

“I even let you feel my dick. Which you fucking loved, by the way.”

“I did not fucking love feeling your dick,” I retorted. “It was hardly memorable, if we’re getting down to the
real
details.”

“How big is it?”

I was
this
close to fucking answering.

“Why are you asking me so many goddamn questions?”

He chuckled
again.

Yeah, the whole Jolly Green Giant nickname was right on the money, wasn’t it?

But seriously, if he laughed again, I was adding “Kill Thatch” to my to-do list for Monday morning.

“Why are you calling me? Couldn’t it have waited until, I don’t know, the sun is up and I’m not sleeping?”

“Sorry,” he responded, clearing his throat. His breathing was muffled as though he was moving around. “But this couldn’t wait. I’m in a bit of a bind, and I could really use your help.”

“My help?” I asked, sitting up on the bed. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” He started to say more, but he was cut off when someone in the background shouted, “Your three minutes are up, Kelly!”

My eyebrows scrunched together of their own accord. “Where are you?” I questioned, highly suspicious. “And who was that?”

“Oh, that was just Sheriff Miller,” he answered, his tone nonchalant. I could almost picture him shrugging as he said it.

“Sheriff Miller?” I repeated his words, having a pretty good idea where this conversation was headed. I mean, I was still kind of half asleep, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce the basic details. “Tell me you’re not calling me from where I think you’re calling me from.”

“Yeah, about that…” He trailed off, voice uncertain. “Have you ever been upstate before?”

“For fuck’s sake, Thatch,” I muttered, rubbing sleepy irritation from my eyes.

“Listen, Cass, I know I’m a pain in the ass.”

“I’m gonna put a fucking pain in your ass, all right,” I grumbled, voice thick with sleep and exasperation.

Thatch forged on, unfazed. “But I kind of got arrested tonight and I was hoping you’d be a sweetheart and come bail me out,” he said, just as a robot-like voice warned that the allotted time for his call would be ending soon.

“Kind of got arrested?” I spouted back. “It sounds like you
are
arrested, motherfucker.”

“So you’ll do it?” he questioned, sounding far too hopeful.

“What about Kline? Or Wes? Or a fucking family member? How the fuck did I end up being your one fucking phone call?”

“I’m starting to realize fuck is your favorite word.”

“What?”
What was he even talking about?

He laughed again, and I wanted to reach inside the phone and strangle him.

Go ahead and mark the time as 2:35 a.m.

Kill Thatch is now number one on my to-do list for Monday.

“You say it a lot. Any variation.”

“And?” I snapped when he didn’t elaborate further.

“I
fucking
like it, honey.” I could sense the smile in his voice.

“Are you hitting on me? In the same conversation where you just asked me to bail you out of jail?”

“That depends.”

I sighed and leaned my head against the headboard. “On what?”

“If I say yes, are you going to hang up the phone?”

“I’ve been about four seconds away from hanging up the phone since I answered it.”

“Thatcher!” A loud, booming voice called in the background. I could only assume it was Sheriff Miller. This was about the weirdest phone call I had ever received on a Saturday night. And that said a lot coming from me.

“So…you think you can help me out?”

“You’re gonna owe me big time.”

“Anything you want, honey.”

“Where are you?” I put him on speakerphone and pulled up Google Maps, ready to GPS the convict’s location.

“Upstate, in a little town called Frogsneck,” he answered and proceeded to give me the address. He even told me to drive his Range Rover. All I had to do was go get it from his apartment.

“Oh, for the love of God,” I muttered after seeing that it was going to be a ninety-minute drive. “Get ready, dickhead, because I’m about to get real fucking creative with payment for this favor.”

I expected to hear laughter, but when I looked at the phone, his call had already dropped. I tossed it on my nightstand and hopped out of bed.

“What an idiot,” I said to myself as I rummaged through my closet, trying to find something half decent and comfortable to wear for the drive.

I decided on flats, yoga pants, and a T-shirt that read “I just want to drink wine and pet my,” with a picture of a cat at the bottom. Yeah, I didn’t own a cat, but I had a pussy, and I loved to masturbate, so the shirt wasn’t lying.

I threw my dark locks up into a messy bun and called it a day. I refused to waste time and energy on makeup because Numbnuts didn’t deserve that kind of appearance after waking me up in the middle of the night.

As I strode into the kitchen and grabbed my purse, I decided I didn’t want to pick him up in his car. No way, that’d be too generous on my part.

I almost called Georgia to see if Kline would let me borrow the Ford Focus she’d picked out for him, but I stopped when I thought about the fact that Thatch had called
me
over his best friend. Odd, for sure, but something in my gut told me there was a reason for it. Whatever the reason might be, I’d keep my mouth shut until Thatch said otherwise.

This left me with only one other option.
Zipcars.

I didn’t have a membership, but Tony, my neighbor across the hall, had one, and he also owed me a
huge
favor for doing a boudoir shoot for his five-year anniversary with his girlfriend, Francesca.

It was no secret I was a pretty successful photographer, and since I tended to have an open-door policy regarding anything sexual and perverted, it wasn’t the first time someone had asked me to do a risqué type shoot. And if I’m being honest, my career had me in a lot of situations where I was snapping pics of half-naked men. It was definitely a perk, and I had met a lot of
fantastic
men doing what I did.

But the huge favor wasn’t related to the actual logistics of the shoot.

The favor was because he hadn’t given me a heads-up on the PDA situation between him and his girlfriend. Picture lots of dry humping and tongue fucking. Needless to say, I could’ve done without seeing his boner for the entire sixty minutes. And since I hadn’t finished the final proofs for their shoot, I knew I had a really good chance of getting my hands on Tony’s Zipcar membership.

After a quick phone call, I was at his door and having déjà vu from their horny boudoir shoot. Francesca was literally tits out with only a pair of boy shorts covering her curvy frame. Tony stood behind her, sleepily pawing her ass.

If I hadn’t known I was in my apartment building, I would’ve thought I had just stumbled on to a soft-core porno shoot. Since I had no desire to be their fluffer, I grabbed the membership from Francesca and offered a heartfelt apology for waking them up in the middle of the night, strongly expressing that I was in a hurry.

Because I was. I needed to get the fuck out of their doorway before Tony started stroking his baloney pony.

“No worries, girlfriend. I’m just glad we could help,” she said before they headed back inside their apartment probably to bone until someone passed out or went numb.

Once I hit the sidewalk, I hailed a cab and instructed the driver to head toward the Zipcar pickup that was about twenty blocks from my apartment. Thanks to the time of night, I was hopping out and tipping the cabbie within ten minutes.

Normally, I would’ve walked there, but I figured this whole bailing Thatch out of jail situation was a sooner rather than later type of situation. And unless you’re looking to get mugged, women shouldn’t be strolling around the city by themselves after last call.

Zipcars were a pretty easy concept. Anyone with a membership could head over to a Zipcar location, and with a simple swipe across the front windshield of a vehicle of their choosing, they were given instant access.

I glanced around the parking lot, taking in my options.

Jeep Cherokee…
No, too much room.

Chevy Malibu…
Meh. I don’t like the color green.

Bright red paint glinted in the moonlight, and my eyes did the same as I landed on the final option. “Oh, yeah. That’s the one,” I muttered victoriously to myself.

Within minutes, I was heading toward Frogsneck with a grin the size of Texas smeared across my devious lips.

Yeah, he’d think twice the next time he decided to wake
me
up in the middle of the night to bail his ass out of jail.

C
assie had shown up at the Frogsneck Municipal Building just over two hours after I’d called her. Sheriff Miller had flirted with her shamelessly as she’d filled out the paperwork to bail me out on nothing more than good faith. “
Pretty ladies don’t pay
,” he’d said, and of course, she’d eaten it right up.

What she hadn’t done was say a word in my direction, choosing instead to wait outside while Sheriff Miller released me from the holding cell. He hadn’t said much, but his eyes had said a lot, unspoken mirth pointing glaringly to the fact he’d found my whole ordeal more entertaining than anything else.