Free Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1) by Max Monroe Page B

stranger. I couldn’t deny my enjoyment out of seeing this side of him, but dear God, it was completely knocking me off my game. I felt like a fish out of water, floundering for an equally charming response.
    And seriously, when had I started wanting to appear enchanting to the enigmatic Kline Brooks?
    I cleared my throat. “Mr. Brooks, w-why did you call me?”
    “Ms. Cummings, why are we being so formal tonight? I thought we got past the formality bullshit.”
    He was probably right. I’d say it happened around the time he pulled my hips into an impressively unprofessional erection in his office two days ago.
    “Okay , Kline,” I agreed with a mouthful of sass. I didn’t really want him referring to me by my middle school joke of a last name anyway. “If you’re not calling to chat about work, why are you calling me?”
    “I actually need a favor. Are you busy?”
    “No, not really. I’m just sitting here…” I paused, reaching for the remote and turning down the volume. Even though we were past “formalities,” my boss didn’t need to know about my reality show obsession. “Just sitting here reading through emails.”
    He chuckled into the phone. “I’m sure those emails can wait until tomorrow. I’m in a bit of a bind. Can you turn on ESPN?”
    “ESPN?”
    “The Western University-New York State game is on. Thatch and I can’t get the fucker to stream on the plane. I need to know what’s happening.”
    Thatcher Kelly, the ever-mysterious financial consultant of Brooks Media. He worked as a contractor, providing expertise for several companies, or so I’d heard, but no big money decision within Brooks Media happened without him. I’d heard his husky voice and boisterous personality on several conference calls. Even received emails with his signature sarcasm. But I’d never met the man. Hell, I’d yet to successfully locate an actual photo of him. All of his social media accounts were private and most had some random sports-related profile picture.
    “This is life or death here, Georgia,” Kline interrupted my thoughts. “Thatch is a big New York State fan, and I’ve got five on the fact that his Tigers are no match for the Mustangs.”
    I scrunched my nose up. “So…what exactly do you need me to do?”
    “I need you to give me the play-by-play for the next twenty minutes until we land.”
    “Isn’t there anyone else you can bug? I’m probably not the best person for the job.” The last football game I’d watched had been the Super Bowl where Janet Jackson’s nipple had made its television debut, and I could honestly have told you more about her areola than the game. I literally knew zilch about sports, especially football.
    “Please, Georgia.” He rasped his words, confusing me by making me think about sex. “I’m begging you.”
    I held in my answer until I knew I wouldn’t stutter. “You owe me. Big time.”
    “Anything you want, sweetheart.”
    The promise of his double meaning oozed from his voice, but I ignored him, grabbed the remote, and switched the channel. “Okay, it’s on.”

 
     
    T hatch waved his arms manically, trying to get an update. Our personal flight attendant flashed him a look of distaste, but with one quick wink, her contempt turned into consideration. I didn’t have much to my name that said billionaire , but the private plane sure did. With the amount that I traveled and the necessary fluctuation in timing, it was just easier.
    When his attention came back to me, I flipped him off, putting Georgia on speaker. “What’s the score? How much time is left? Who has the ball?” I rambled, desperate to know if Western University was pulling through. Fucking Thatch wouldn’t let me live it down if New York State won this thing. It was a nothing game—early season, Thursday night, and unquestionably obscure teams. But Thatch could turn anything into a competition, and he’d created this rivalry out of thin air years ago.
    She gave us the rundown