The Billionaire Book Club

by Monroe, Max

  I shouldn’t be surprised—he is one of the top lawyers in the country—but still, I thought I’d have at least five measly minutes to figure out the phone before I ended up in the same situation.

  Deep breaths, Ruby. It’s just a phone. You can do this.

  “Caplin Hawkins Law,” I say, answering on the second ring just as the door to Cap’s office shuts behind him.

  The voice that greets me is breathy in a way that feels slightly uncomfortable. “Is Cap available?”

  I look to the closed door and then to the to-do list on my desk that maps out his day and hedge a bet that he won’t be upset if I filter some of his calls. Important people usually open with their name. Or like Kline Brooks, their assistant does it for them. But, hey, if Breathy Betty turns out to be the CEO of something, I’ll apologize for my stupidity when I call her back. “I’m sorry, but he’s not. He’s in a meeting at the moment. Can I take a message and have him get back to you?”

  She sighs. “I guess.”

  I try my best to be polite despite her off-putting attitude. “All right, then. Go ahead with your message,” I say, putting my hands to the keyboard of my computer. “I’m ready.”

  “Tell him Nadia called and is expecting a call back.”

  “All righty—”

  “And tell him I’m not wearing any panties.”

  I blink twice, my fingers freezing on the keys as my brain short-circuits.

  Did she just say she’s not wearing underwear?

  “Um—”

  “And my pussy’s wet and ready. Tell him that too.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Wet, ready, and tight. I’ve been training just for him.”

  Okay, so I didn’t mishear her. She did, in fact, tell me she’s not wearing underwear. And now she’s giving me a graduate-level description of her freaking vagina!

  My brain is actually bleeding. It has to be. I can feel it.

  I mean…this is a place of business. A law office, for shit’s sake!

  Does this kind of thing happen often?

  If it does, this is probably how his usual assistant Liz actually got knocked up.

  Immaculate conception, compliments of Nadia and a bevy of other sexually overzealous women, is actually possible here at Caplin Hawkins Law!

  Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Done with being polite. Done with being nice. Done with Nadia’s breathy, orgasm voice.

  “Before I give Mr. Hawkins any messages, I need to clarify a few things first,” I say, and my tongue is already locked and loaded with enough snark to power the entire fucking city. “Does your pussy need legal advice?”

  “No,” she says, and her voice somehow manages to get breathier. “Just Cap’s cock. Be sure to tell him that too.”

  It’s like she thinks osmosis is possible. If she comes on to me, then she can literally come on Cap. I don’t think so, sister.

  “Is your pussy currently in the middle of a lawsuit?”

  “No.”

  “Does it need some kind of corporate contract because it is taking over another pussy’s assets?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “Has your pussy ever suffered from mesothelioma and is trying to join a class action lawsuit to gain compensation?”

  “What does that even mean?” she asks, and thankfully, all the moan and seduction has left her voice.

  Truthfully, I don’t even know what mesothelioma is; I’ve just seen one too many of those commercials scroll across the screen at three a.m. But I do know that I’m not giving Cap this fucking message.

  “Nadia, it means I’m not going to give him the message. This is a law office. A place of business that only handles things related to the law. So, if you want to tell him your pussy’s wet or tight or any-other-freaking-thing involving your vagina or its appeal, you’re going to have to tell him yourself.”

  I hang up the phone on a huff, and not even a second passes before a distinct throat clears behind me. I close my eyes tight. There’s only one person who could be coming from that direction.

  “Oh God,” I groan before turning around and lifting my gaze to find Cap’s absolutely shimmering eyes staring back at me. They look like burned brown sugar.

  And I wanted the rest of this day to go smoothly…

  “You know, I came back out because I forgot to mention that I need you to fax the Gordon contract, but I’m pretty sure I just stumbled into something way better.”

  I roll my eyes. “You stumbled on me telling off one of your female suitors after she assaulted my ears.”

  “I heard.” His smirk is one-hundred-percent amused. “And I gotta say, the mesothelioma bit was really fucking good.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “Do you really give out your office number to these women?”

  “I don’t give it out. They just find it.” He laughs it off and shrugs like it’s no big deal that women are practically giving GPS coordinates of their beavers to his assistants.

  “Well, it’s really terrifying that this is the kind of thing I might be dealing with on a regular basis. Hell, I was so annoyed, so freaking traumatized, I hung up on her. Maybe you wanted to speak to her, I don’t know.”

  He waves it off. “Eh. It’s fine. You can say whatever you want to them if they call here spouting that shit.”

  “Really?” I quirk a challenging brow. “A woman calls and practically offers to send a 3-D model of her vagina, just for your personal use, and you’re okay with me sending her away?”

  “Trust me, if she’s that willing and ready, she won’t stop just because you told her off. And 4-D is the new technology. I’m sure her 3-D model is outrageously outdated.”

  I shake my head, mystified. “Is it always like this for you?”

  He shrugs again, the bastard.

  “Never mind. I truly don’t want to know anymore,” I say and quickly change the subject. “You said something about faxing the Gordon contract?”

  “Yes. It needs to go out this morning for review.”

  “And where exactly will I find it and the information about where to send it?”

  “In your email.”

  “I have an email?”

  He laughs and pulls me and my desk chair to the side so he can lean down and type on the computer. I watch as he pulls up the browser, clicks on to the firm’s personal server, and types in my apparent email.

  RRockford@HawkinsLaw.com

  He clicks the next box, the spot where I need to input my password and types again, but the letters are encrypted, and his fingers are moving too fast for me to see what he does.

  “What was that password? You know, just so I know for future sign-ins…”

  “Capital C, lower case a-p,” he begins to recite it, and I quickly grab a pen and jot it down on the notepad beside my computer. “Capital L, lower case o-v-e-r.”

  I look down at the password etched on the notepad and roll my eyes when I see it actually spells something.

  “CapLover,” I say simply, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in my chair with a tilt of my head. “Are you being serious with this?”

  He chuckles and flits his eyes between me and the notepad like he’s completely clueless. “Oh, is that what that spells?”

  “You know that’s what it spells.”

  He shakes his head innocently. “I just threw some random letters together.”

  “Right,” I say with a barked laugh. I can’t help it. He’s just ridiculous enough that it’s funny.

  “Anyway, this is how I’ll send you pretty much everything. Just keep an eye on it throughout the day, and everything you need to do will be in there.”

  I give a lame, double thumbs-up. “Got it.” He bites his lip—a very obvious attempt to keep himself from laughing at me.

  Annoyed, I shove him out of the way with the chair and open the email about the Gordon contract. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. In fact, why don’t you go ahead and give me your lunch order so I don’t have to interrupt you late
r to get it.”

  Cap’s smile is so big and brilliant, it’s almost blinding. “See? This is working out great. I don’t know what you were so worried about.”

  I grab the notepad and pen, hand it to him, and prompt, “Lunch order,” instead of responding.

  He smiles even harder, the charm he was telling Kline Brooks about damn near seeping out of his pores, it’s so potent.

  I steel my nerves and turn back to my desk, determined to quiet the very startling thought that I could actually be enjoying Caplin Hawkins’s company.

  God, what have I gotten myself into?

  Cap

  Ruby has been gone for an hour and a half when I finally decide to call it a night. Truth is, I thought about leaving when she did, just to have the chance to watch her squirm at having to be inside a confined space like the elevator with me for fourteen floors, but the workaholic in me won out.

  Contracts don’t get done without me, cases don’t get won, and a minute and a half in the elevator isn’t going to make Ruby ready to sleep with me by tomorrow.

  No, she’s a real challenge. A woman with virtue that has to be earned.

  I haven’t encountered someone like her in a long time…or ever, if I’m being honest.

  I’ve had women play fake hard to get, only to cave three hours later like a goddamn planned building implosion, and I’ve had plenty of women who weren’t hard to get at all.

  I don’t really mind any of it—I’ll take my romps however I can get them—but I have to admit that the pursuit of Ruby Rockford is proving to be entertaining in a whole new way.

  Exciting, even.

  She’s a puzzle, a million pieces scattered all over the city, just waiting to be solved. They’re a taunt and a test of my skill, but I love nothing more than doing the impossible.

  And, fuck, I love her backbone. She’s strong and stubborn in a way that is completely unfamiliar to me.

  Not to mention her hilarious sarcasm and snark. Hell, I’m still laughing at the way she told off some overzealous woman on the phone earlier today.

  Fucking mesothelioma… Goddamn, Ruby Rockford is a breath of fresh air.

  I shut off the light in my office, close the door, and then step forward to click off the lamp on her desk. When I lean over, the top drawer is open just a crack, an interesting sliver of the contents showing through it like a beacon.

  I grab the handle and pull the drawer the rest of the way open to find a paperback book, the cover sporting a bare-chested man and a flirty-looking woman.

  The title, Can’t Handle This.

  I smirk and open the cover to reveal a random page inside to read a section.

  She’s got a feistiness I’ve never encountered before, and I have to admit, it’s a refreshing change of pace.

  I love the way she calls my bluff and hardens my dick at the same time.

  I laugh, muttering to myself, “What guy wouldn’t like that?”

  I just wish I knew the reason for her hesitation. Last night, she had my cock in her mouth and my heart in her hands, and today, she’s avoiding me.

  I look up from the page and glance around the empty office before adjusting myself in my pants.

  Is this the kind of shit she’s reading on a regular basis?

  I scan farther down the page before turning it and reading the next, and when I look up again, I’m at the end of the goddamn chapter.

  Shit. Now I need to know how it ends.

  I close the book and tuck it under my arm before thinking better of it. I’m waiting on the elevator’s arrival when something very important occurs to me.

  If I take the book, she’s going to know I was going through her stuff.

  I sigh heavily, walk back to her desk, and return the book to the drawer, careful to leave it exactly how I found it.

  A scowl settles onto my face, though, as I consider how much it’s going to bother me if I don’t find out the rest of the damn story.

  Frustrated, I finish closing up and jump on the elevator, clicking the button I know does nothing a million and a half times.

  Eventually, the cart starts its descent, and I take out my phone to look for bookstores between here and Thatch and Cassie’s Manhattan apartment.

  A whole list comes up, several within a block or so of the Kellys’.

  When the elevator dings its arrival in the lobby, I step off to a waiting Vinny, who falls into step beside me.

  “Mr. Hawkins.”

  “Hey, Vin. Listen, I wanna make a stop on 33rd and 6th. You think we have time to do that and still make it to Thatch’s place by seven?”

  He looks at his watch, scans the traffic outside, and nods. “You got it, boss.”

  I smile as he opens the door and leads the way to the car.

  Sometimes, it really pays to have a wizard for a driver.

  The smoke is thick and the whiskey strong as we fumble our way into our thirtieth hand of the night.

  I’ve got two kings, two queens, and a jack, and still, I can’t focus for shit. I’m too busy thinking about the book burning a hole in the chest pocket of my suit jacket and the woman who’s reading it.

  How the fuck do I bring it up now, without looking like a total psychopath?

  “You guys ever read for pleasure?”

  Orrr you could just bring it up out of nowhere, my brain mocks. Great idea.

  Trent looks up with a suspicious brow, Thatch lights a cigar, and Theo tosses out two of his cards to get new ones.

  “Sure,” Kline says, though, looking up slowly from his hand. “I was reading this great novel about philosophy by—”

  I roll my eyes and cut him off. “Yeah, no. That’s not really the kind of stuff I have in mind.”

  Harrison pipes in. “I started the new Jack Reacher novel about a month ago. Been too busy to finish it, though.”

  Theo shrugs as Trent and Quince both look at me like I’ve grown another head. I pause, consider my options, and decide I might as well just fucking say it. “I started reading a romance novel earlier today. It’s pretty good.”

  “Excuse me?” Trent says, a whisper of an annoying fucking smile making him look like a prick.

  I roll my eyes again.

  The rest of the group starts to laugh a little bit, except, surprisingly, Thatch. The big fucker grins and nods. “I dabble in romance occasionally, my man. Actually, Cassie started writing a bit, and I was beta reading most of it. The kids have become a little overwhelming as of late, though, and she hasn’t had as much time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trent says with a laugh. “I’m still trying to figure out where the fuck this came from.”

  I shake my head and sweep my real intentions under the rug. No need to give them any actual details now. “It’s just small talk, Turn. Jesus.”

  “No,” he says through a rolling laugh. “I don’t think it is. Quince, what do you think?”

  Quince smiles, the fucker. “Why, yes, Trent. I think something’s going on.”

  I toss my cards down and replace them with two middle fingers. “Fuck you, guys. Can’t a guy just start reading for the sake of reading?”

  Theo cracks a smile, and that’s how I know I’m in trouble. Obviously, I got way too defensive.

  Theo doesn’t really speak much, unless there’s something important to say, and he hardly ever gets involved in the petty bullshit. All in all, he’s a quiet, thoughtful guy. Pretty much the opposite of me, to be honest. “I was on your side until you said that, dude. Now I know something is going on.”

  I sigh, shuffle my cards around on the table, and run a hand through my hair. I should have known bringing it up would have consequences. They’re going to make me start blabbing in two point five seconds.

  But how the hell am I going to do that?

  These guys will never understand my real reasoning here—strategizing to get into Ruby Rockford’s undoubtedly perfect pussy—much less condone it. They’ll give me shit and call the pope and the governor, send out an emergency alert, twe
et Ruby directly, and then set up their chicks as some kind of electric-shock, high-voltage fence, meant to zap off my dick if I even come close to the beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed woman.

  But I really could use their help…

  Inspiration strikes suddenly, and my dick gives me a proverbial pat on the back.

  Yeah. I’m certain. It’s the perfect idea. And if I just smudge the truth, put a little more performance into my backstory, maybe they’ll be my accomplices without even realizing the endgame.

  They’ll think I’m chasing their version of a happily ever after while I get my kind of happy ending.

  Ha. Suckers.

  I sigh heavily, put a hand to my face, and really get into the part. The best acting is born in the soul—or so I’ve heard Leonardo DiCaprio say.

  “All right. I guess…if you must know…” I pause. Clear my throat raggedly. “I met someone.”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Turn scoffs. “Just a couple nights ago, you were practically licking our bartender’s tits.”

  I put up my hands defensively, resisting the urge to visualize them closing around the tits he’s talking about, and dredge up every conversation I’ve had with these fuckers in the last year and a half to guide me. “I know. But you guys were all saying when it hits, it hits, and I really think I met someone who feels different.”

  Quince squints, but Thatch, the most romantic of the group, backs me up, and I swear to God, he has a little tear in his eye. “Come on, guys. You know this is how it works. Our boy’s telling us he’s growing up.”

  I flinch a little at the insult but keep a sad-sack smile in place. I know the look well enough to pretend—I’ve been watching it grace all of their fucking faces for years now.

  “I…well, she’s my intern and temporary assistant until Liz comes back from maternity leave. And she loves books. Romance novels, in particular. So, I’m trying to read some too. Maybe get a leg up in my pursuit. I thought you guys might want to help.” When no one says anything, I put the focus back on them. “Nobody? Come on! You’ve all been trying to marry me off for years at this point. I’m telling you I’ve found her, and this is how you react?”