Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) by Max Monroe

interrupting a lunchtime jerk-off sesh?”
    He chuckled in response and looked up and to the side. From the vast knowledge afforded to me by TV crime drama, I took that as a yes.
    “Christ,” Georgia muttered, the color of her perfect cheeks deepening to a rosy flush. “Can you stop calling my husband that?”
    “When you stop being embarrassed about it, I’ll stop doing it.”
    “And this isn’t a ‘jerk-off sesh,’” she corrected, air quotes accompanying her words. “This is Kline’s daily video chat where he offers me a job and I politely decline.”
    “Come on, Benny. You’ll have way more fun at my office,” he chimed in, waggling his eyebrows. His blue eyes shone with innuendo.
    This frequent conversation between the two of them wasn’t a surprise. Kline had been trying to get her to come back to Brooks Media ever since she had resigned and had taken a job working for Wes at the New York Mavericks. But Georgia was her own woman, and even though he teased her about working for him again, he was ultimately proud of his wife and everything she had accomplished.
    Kline was so good for Georgia it wasn’t even funny. His presence in her life didn’t hold her back from anything. No , he made her flourish into an awesome woman, who also happened to be getting some fan-fucking-tastic loving on the regular.
    “Gotta go, baby. It’s lunchtime, and I’m starving,” she said, and despite Kline’s best efforts to keep her on the phone with pouts and good-natured humor, she managed to end the call.
    “Where to?” she asked as she got out of her chair and grabbed her purse.
    Orange-yellow gooey goodness flashed before my eyes. “Shake Shack? I’ve been jonesin’ for their cheese fries.”
    “Sounds good to me.”
    We headed out of her office, and after a three-block walk, we were sitting at an outside table, feasting on chocolate shakes and cheese fries, and enjoying the sweet summer air laced with the delicious aroma of burger grease. And human excrement. You never really escaped the lingering hint of every form of human foulness in New York.
     
    I know it sounds awful, but upward of a million people put up with it daily. It’s all about priorities.
     
    “All right, spill it. What happened between you and Thatch last night?” she asked after taking a hearty sip from her straw. Her eyebrow hooked up with intrigue, and I couldn’t help but notice she’d plucked a really nice shape for her brow bed this time around.
    “How’d you know about last night?”
    “Oh, come on,” she said through a laugh. “Kline, Thatch, and Wes are worse than gossiping teenage girls. My husband was way too excited to share his conversation with Thatch this morning. Normally, his video chats start with, ‘Come on, Benny. Come back to work for me,’” she imitated his deep voice. “But today, he went straight for the juicy gossip.”
    “What did Thatch tell him?”
    “Nope. I want to hear your side first.”
    “Fine,” I said around half-chewed meat and cheese sauce, wiping the grease off my fingers with a napkin. I was obviously a delicate lady. “It was typical Thatch and Cass. We talked about his boner. You know, same old shit, different day.”
    She rolled her powdery blue eyes. “You spent the whole day and night together, Cass. Tell me you talked about something else besides his boner.”
    “And my tits, too. He’s a big fan.”
    “Your boobs are the size of my head. Of course, he’s a big fan.”
    “They’re not that big.”
    She snorted. “You have double Ds. And both Ds stand for damn .”
    I laughed at the inflection of her voice and the size-specific gesture she added to the front of her own chest. “True.”
    “So, did you make any progress on the topics of conversation?”
    “Sorta. We fucked last night. That seems to have helped. It at least channeled part of his focus to my pussy.”
    “Jesus! You what? Talk about burying the goddamn lede.”
    “Why are you so shocked? I figured that