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

my room.
    I followed again, expecting to find her gathering her clothes, but she climbed into the bed and pulled the down comforter and her cup up to her nose.
    “I, uh…” I started. “I have to leave for work.”
    “I know,” she confirmed with a nod. “Have a good day.”
    What the… ?
    “Oh—okay. I’ll, uh, see you later?” I said with the lilt of a question.
    “Yeah, sure thing,” she agreed, gulping down a slurp of coffee and reaching to the nightstand for my remote.
    “Do you get the Bravo network?”
    “I…” I shook my head. “What?”
    “I missed the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules , and Georgie’s got me hooked on that shit.”
    “Yeah,” I agreed without being able to understand why. “I’m pretty sure I get all the channels there are to get.”
    “Fucking excellent.”
    I tried my hardest to understand what was happening again. “So…I’m leaving for work now. You’re gonna hang out for a little while?”
    “Yep,” she said with a smile and wave. “You have any food? I’m dying for some breakfast.”
    I tried my hardest to wrap my brain around what she was asking. I knew mornings were rough for her, so maybe she just needed a little extra time.
    “Yeah, I think there are some eggs in there. Maybe some bacon.”
    “Ooh, bacon,” she hummed. “Have any lettuce and tomato?”
    I thought about it. “Yeah.”
    “Fantastic. I love BLTs for lunch.”
    “Lunch?”
    She nodded and shushed me. The playback of her show was starting, and she snuggled even deeper into my covers.
    “So. Bye?” I said with uncertainty.
    She smiled impatiently. “See ya. Good luck.”
    “Thanks.”
    I turned and left my room, walked down the hall, grabbed my jacket, wallet, and keys, and stepped out the door.
    Only when it shut behind me did I let all of my manic, unorganized thoughts channel themselves into one burning question. “What the ever-loving fuck is going on?”

    My focus today had been almost nonexistent. The night. The morning. All of it together had my brain sprinting all out around one fucked-up loop. I’d barely been able to do any work, and if I remembered the highlights from any of my meetings, it’d be a miracle.
    Normally, I worked efficiently from one task to the next. Today, I couldn’t even find the surface of my desk.
    Paralyzed by the unknown, I’d fired off an experimental text to Cassie in an attempt to push her until she broke. All it had done was perplex me more. She’d been overzealously responsive—to the tune of nearly a dozen texts—and so comfortable with her banter that I would have sworn we chatted all the time.
    I grabbed my phone and stared down at the text conversation in question.
     
    Me: Can you run the dishwasher?
     
    Cassie: I can’t right now. I’m trying to figure out your DVR. I don’t want to miss this Lifetime movie that’s on at 2.
     
    Me: What are you doing at 2? And you realize it takes all of two seconds and a press of a button to run the dishwasher, right? I know you can multitask, honey. I’ve seen you play with your tits while riding my cock.
     
    Cassie: But that was for an orgasm. Your dishes aren’t that much fun. Anyway, I’m very
     
    “Kline Brooks is on the phone for you,” my assistant, Madeline, buzzed in.
    I shook off the confused stupor, moved the rogue folder that had slightly muffled her voice, and answered the phone.
    “Kline.”
    “Hey, T,” he greeted casually. I bounced my knee, and the sole of my dress shoe tapped erratically on the tile underneath my desk. “I need to talk to you about—”
    “You don’t need to talk to me about shit,” I broke in, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sit through a hot minute of him going on about mergers and acquisitions and technical internet mumbo jumbo. “But I sure as fuck need to talk to you.”
    “Huh? What are you talking about?”
    Too amped up, I did the exact opposite of burying the lede. I shot that shit straight into the stratosphere before a launch