Free Filthy Rich: The Billionaire's Baby (A Bad Boy Romance) by Erin Wilder Page B

rejection.
    “I don’t know, Molly, I don’t even know his name.”             
    “Sure you do. He’s rum-and-coke guy. He’s tall, and he’s hot, and he’s not TJ. That’s all you need to know right now, Allie.”
    I shudder when I hear those two letters. Tee. Jay. They sound so sweet on their own, but I can’t stand to hear them together.
    “What would I even say? ‘Hey, rum-and-coke guy. I’m Allie, Allie Quinn, want to come back to my place? Oh no, don’t mind all of the candy wrappers on the floor or the wet tissues on the nightstand, and try not to get your balls stuck in that half-eaten bucket of cookie’s and cream cheesecake core, I’m saving that for after. ‘ “
    Molly's lips curl into a soft smile.
    “Hey, it’s better than an after-sex cigarette. Besides, a guy like that doesn’t live at home with mom. He’ll have a mansion or a penthouse apartment or something. And, if you do decide to take him back to our place, make sure that you leave an empty tub on the doorknob so I can make myself scarce.”
    We share a laugh. Molly is amazing, and exactly what I needed after I left California. New York was intimidating at first. It’s weird how you could feel so alone when you’re surrounded by eight million strangers yet so safe with just one friend.
    “Well, Denton did say that someone’s been asking about me all week. Said he was real eye-candy too.”
    My boss, Denton, is a prize-winning asshole. He called me an enhancement hire two days into the job. Apparently having me around makes all of the other girls look even prettier. His words are so harsh they could bruise so I didn’t take him seriously at first. I thought it was a joke at my expense. Maybe he was telling the truth.
    “See! I told you he was checking you out. Your first month on the job and you’re already turning heads. I bet you’re glad you traded in that urine-yellow bathrobe for the killer pink dress now, huh?
    Molly linked her arm with mine and led me towards his table. His head was turned away, and I felt like I was going to explode, but I didn’t stop until Molly let go of my arm just a few feet from his table.
    “It’s now or never, babe,” she said as she tucked a loose curl behind my ear.
    His head was still turned. His fingers dragged along the rim of the glass. The music was loud, but I could still hear my heart race. I opened my lips to speak, but no words came out. I was just about to try again when I felt a clammy hand on my wrist.
    I spun around expecting Molly only to find a beer-loose stranger.
    He wore thick, get-in-my-van glasses that looked like they were from 1984. Not the movie, the year. A mop of thinning red curls—natural red, not Molly-red—rested on his large head, and his freckled quick-to-sunburn pale skin was so white it was almost translucent. He was short and wide. Thick blue veins ran up his muscular forearms (the right noticeably more muscular than the left) and disappeared behind the black ink of a once-in-vogue tribal tattoo.
    “I’ve wanted to ask you something all week, doll.”
    The confidence that Molly filled me with fluttered away. So this is the guy Denton was talking about. He opened his mouth again, and the smell of garlic and beer seeped out.
    “How would you like to earn a tip?” His eyes drooped as he said it. Nothing hotter than a guy that learns his pickup lines from a 1990’s porno click.
    His gruff voice was slurred from a night of heavy drinking, and his buggy eyes were magnified behind his large glasses. At least he doesn't wear clear lenses. His thinning hair swayed as air-conditioning pumped into the bar, and the breeze turned his warm grin cold.
    “I asked you a fucking question.” He said matter-of-factly, the earlier playfulness gone from his voice.
    “Can I help you?” The new voice was deep and powerful: a man’s voice.
    A steady hand appeared on the bug-eyed man’s shoulder. My eyes climbed over the solid-gold Rolex watch and dragged