The Billionaire Book Club

by Monroe, Max

  “Jesus, Betty Crocker, can we fucking focus on the important shit?” I grumble. “I need Quince because he’s like the little puppy in the pet store window women can’t help but love. He’s got his expertise ingrained, and I need a little bit of his innocence. That’s fucking why.”

  “Is it just me, or does anyone else think this book club has gotten a little intense?” Harrison asks.

  “Don’t speak, sister-chaser!”

  He laughs and puts up his hands. “I didn’t even say anything about your sister!”

  “But you will. I know it. And I don’t have any patience for it right now.”

  Trent pulls the phone away from his ear and shrugs. “He didn’t answer.”

  “He’s probably putting Huddy down,” Milo suggests.

  “Fucking hell!”

  “Let’s just do this without him, Cap,” Theo says. “I’m not about to go barging into his house and wake up a sleeping baby. My mom taught me better than that shit.”

  I heave a sigh and grab my book. “Fine. Do any of you at least have anything helpful to suggest we look at?”

  Kline raises his hand, ever the rule-follower. “I bookmarked the first real wooing.”

  “Wooing?”

  “Wooing,” he confirms.

  “Do I even know what that is? Is it some kind of sex?”

  He rolls his eyes. “He’s romancing her, Cap. Jesus. In order to win a woman, you have to woo her. Romance her. Help her experience the things she’s always wanted to but doesn’t even know.”

  “I’m supposed to know shit even she doesn’t know? What in the hell sense does that make?”

  “Women give clues,” Wes explains. “Surely after all these years of sleeping with a million of them, you’d understand that.”

  “The only clues women give me are getting naked, sucking my dick, and climbing on top to take me for a ride.”

  “Good God,” Theo mutters. “It’s safe to say writing love letters is out of the question for you.”

  “Look, I’ve never had to try this hard to…”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say sleep with someone, but as far as these fuckers are concerned, I’m after a whole lot more. If I want their help, I’m going to have to keep up the charade.

  “Pursue someone.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been with this caliber of woman. I haven’t met her, but just the fact that she’s kept her panties on this long means something.”

  I scowl. I don’t really like the idea of Harrison talking about Ruby’s panties.

  “Hey, asshole,” I say. “Keep it classy.”

  For some reason, Kline, Thatch, Wes, Trent, and Milo all exchange looks. I don’t know what they mean, and I don’t have time to figure it out. The timetable of this pursuit is long enough without their bullshit.

  “What page is this Wu-Tang shit you’re talking about, Kline?”

  He laughs. “Wooing. Not Wu-Tang.”

  I shrug. “Whatever. What page?”

  “111.”

  I flip to the page in Hanging on a Hero and start skimming the text. They’re on their way to the hero Smith’s firefighter’s ball. But apparently, the heroine, Vivian, doesn’t know it.

  “Where are we?” Vivian asks, looking around the room at the hotel I’ve had set up just for her.

  A rack of dresses lines one wall, and a chair with a lighted mirror sits in the corner. A hair and makeup artist is just waiting to be called in after the surprise.

  “I know you worry about making the right impression, Viv. You’re beautiful to me, always, but I wanted you, tonight, to feel beautiful to you.”

  “Smith,” she whispers. “You did all of this for me?”

  I nod. “You can pick any dress you want. And Jasmine from the Spa Seville is just waiting to pamper you.”

  “Pamper me?”

  “She’s going to do your hair and makeup. Just how you want it.”

  A tear settles into the corner of Vivian’s eye.

  “And when you’re ready, I’m going to walk into that ball tonight, knowing I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm—inside and out.”

  “One day, motherfluffers, this book club is gonna read a motherfluffing rom-com,” Thatch says as he tucks his sniffling face behind his arm.

  “For the love of God,” Wes says, sighing heavily as he shoves back in his chair.

  “Is it just me, or is he getting weepier with age?” Harrison stage-whispers, and everyone else laughs.

  I smooth a hand through my hair and shake my head. “He’s always been a sensitive bastard. Two years ago, I negotiated a contract for him with two of the biggest players on the stock exchange, and he sent me Edible Arrangements for a month.”

  “No flowers from your dick for Cap?” Wes teases, and Thatch gives him the finger.

  “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, asshole.”

  “That’s great. Really helpful information, guys. But I’m pursuing a woman. Do you think we can focus on that for a minute and a half? Maybe even two?”

  Trent sighs and leans back in his chair. “Well, in this, he’s making her feel special before taking her to the firefighter’s ball. What have you got that you can take—” He pauses for a second, purses his lips, and then shakes his head slightly. “You know, I don’t even know that I know her name.”

  Kline smirks. “It’s Ruby.”

  My eyebrows come together so fast, I’d imagine they’re shaped somewhat like an inchworm, with a hump in the center.

  “How do you know that?”

  Thatch lowers his voice to a serious whisper. “Kline has a way of knowing things.”

  I frown.

  “It’s like he’s got some sort of powers. Like a wizard,” Thatch continues.

  I’m shaking my head before he can finish, while Kline smiles behind his drink as he puts it to his mouth.

  “I don’t think that’s it, Thatch,” I refute. “But, really…how do you know?”

  “I talked to her, remember?”

  What the fuck is this guy talking about?

  “I called your office and spoke to her on the phone.”

  I roll my eyes. This fucker. “About business. She’s filling in for Liz while she’s on maternity leave.”

  “I know,” Kline remarks with a smile.

  “No,” I say. “There’s no way you gathered some kind of voodoo intel on that call. It was just a phone call about your contract. You talked to her for practically no time at all.”

  He shrugs. “Think what you want. But I’m not hearing you say Ruby isn’t the one. Anyone else hear him say that?”

  The motherfuckers all shake their heads, but Trent and Theo do it with big, shit-eating grins.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Her name is Ruby. Can we fucking continue, please?”

  “Take Ruby to something. Some kind of event. Set up some real special shit for her beforehand like the dude does in the book,” Trent finally says, presumably finishing his original thought.

  “You really think that’ll work?”

  Trent shrugs. “It worked in—” He turns the book to face him so he can read the title he’s obviously forgotten. “Hanging on a Hero.”

  I nod. If it worked for some other schmuck, surely I can make it work for me.

  Ruby

  I’m in the middle of poring over my fifth application for a secondary assistant at Caplin Hawkins Law and at the tail end of my third dose of caffeine.

  Now that I’m well into my second week of working for Cap in addition to my normal schedule, my caffeine intake has doubled. I’m downing cans of Monster Energy like I have a goddamn sponsorship. But I’m also feeling surprisingly invigorated by the challenge.

  I wake up in the morning ready to jump out of bed, even if my head only hit the pillow a few short hours before. I think about what I might learn or what major case I might get an inside peek into, and my stomach flutters.

  In addition to being one of the most ridiculous
humans alive, Cap is astonishingly smart. He’s on top of what feels like one million things at once, and he never bobbles when something unexpected gets thrown his way.

  He’s also always in a good mood, which I find both alarming and enjoyable. I try to be a positive person, but to be as happy as he is one hundred percent of the time seems like some kind of witchcraft.

  With the way all four of my professors seemingly went along with this internship plan without any hesitancy only raises more questions about Cap’s effect on other people. At this point, if I found a book of spells lying around the office, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  All in all, though, it feels like I’m settling into this new aspect of my life in a way that I know I won’t regret taking a chance on it.

  I move the resume I was looking at to the “definite no” pile—she seems entirely too eager to climb some sort of ladder that doesn’t exist in this position—and start reading through a new one as the door to Cap’s office opens with a soft whoosh behind me.

  I finish reading the sentence I’m on before peeling my eyes away, but when I do, Cap is staring right at me.

  Like, hard. So hard, it seems like he’s trying to look through me. I glance down at myself, just to make sure I haven’t taken some kind of transparent form.

  When I look back up and draw my eyebrows together, he speaks. “Hello, fair lady.”

  I squint. “Uh…hi.”

  “I trust the day is treating you well.”

  Why does he sound so strange?

  “Um, sure.”

  “Great, great. That’s fantastic. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying your day.”

  His smile is wonky around the edges and weirdly stationary. I’m legitimately starting to wonder if he’s a pod person, inhabited by some alien after being abducted. He doesn’t sound like himself at all.

  I shrug and look around a bit to see if there are any hidden cameras. But I don’t see any. When I look back to Cap, he’s waiting expectantly for an answer, so I supply the only one I can think of. “Yep. No complaints here. So far, so good.”

  “Right, well, I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of your attendance at an upcoming event. A lavish ball, so to speak.”

  “Excuse me?” I scrunch up my nose and assess his face closely to make sure I’m not missing some kind of indicators of a stroke or seizure.

  But his face never changes. No weird twitches. No signs of emergent red flags. Instead, that weird, wonky smile remains intact on his lips. “Madame, I’d love the pleasure of your beautiful company at an extravagant event, and perhaps, if the night proves to be delightful, we’ll also find ourselves enjoying a languid walk in the moonlight. Or a lovely twirl around the promenade—”

  Delightful? Moonlight? Lovely twirl? What in the hell is he talking about?

  I strive to decode his words, but in no time at all, right smack between my brows, a headache begins to set in.

  “Okay, yeah. Stop.” I raise a hand between both of our faces. “Seriously. You’re starting to creep me out.”

  He pauses before huffing out a breath. “I have a work function I need you to attend.”

  Finally, he speaks English again.

  “Oh,” I say. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

  He shrugs and laughs a little, murmuring to himself, “I have no idea. How silly of me.”

  “When is it?”

  “This Saturday night.”

  “Saturday night?” I ask. “A work function?”

  “Yes,” he affirms.

  “That’s weird. What kind of work function for a lawyer happens on a Saturday night?”

  “It’s a party, but it’s for work, and I need you to be there, okay? There are assistant-type things to be done, and you are the assistant,” he huffs.

  “All right,” I say, holding up my hands. I fear if I don’t agree, he’ll start using words like lovely and delightful again. “I’ll be there.”

  He nods frantically, and I widen my eyes when he doesn’t say anything else. He widens his back, apparently unable to determine what I’m waiting for.

  “What time is this event?”

  “Eight.”

  “Huh,” I murmur. “That’s pretty late—”

  “For a work function,” he cuts me off. “Yes, I get it. But that’s when it is. You can come as you are at six-thirty, though, because I have some…stuff…we need to do beforehand.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Yes, stuff. Very important lawyer stuff with my assistant. Can you be there or not?”

  “Geez, yes. I record in the morning, but I can be there at night, okay? Relax.”

  “I’m relaxed.”

  I laugh. Outright. He looks like a lot of things right now, but relaxed is not one of them. “No. No, you’re not. You’re like one of those wind socks in front of a car dealership, shifting back and forth constantly. Only they have an excuse, and you don’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Well, for one thing, the wind doesn’t blow in here.”

  He quirks a challenging brow. “And for another?”

  “I don’t have another point. Just the one.”

  “You said for one thing,” he argues and searches my eyes like he’s trying to find a fucking loophole inside my brain. “That implies multiple points.”

  “Well…I don’t have them.” I raise both of my hands in the air on a sigh. “I’m all out of points, Cap.”

  He doesn’t believe me, and his expression shows it. “I think you do, but for some reason, you’re not saying it. Why are you not saying things to me, Ruby? I want you to say all the things to me.”

  “You are so seriously weird today.”

  “I’m perfectly normal.”

  “Are you hormonal?” I raise a teasing brow. “On your man period, maybe?”

  “That’s really insulting, you know.”

  I scoff through a laugh. “Yes, I know. I’m a woman, and I’ve had that said to me only about one million times. It’s horribly tacky.”

  “People actually say that to you? That you must be on your period because you’re moody?”

  “Men,” I correct. “Men say that. And yes, they say it all the time.” I shake my head and mutter softly, “Especially my ex-boyfriend.”

  I don’t intend for him to hear me, but it’s clear he does anyway. “Obviously, he was a fucking prick.”

  I roll my eyes and then laugh. “Yeah.” I nod. “I guess he was.”

  Brent was a prick, but he’s one of the relationships, well, relation-shits, that I prefer not to remember. A man who thinks half-dead roses and a bottle of Astroglide—because he felt my birthday was the exact day that I would want to give anal sex a try—are the perfect gifts for his girlfriend is the kind of man you choose to completely forget.

  When Cap stands there for another ten seconds, still just looking at me, my stomach starts to churn. What is going on with him?

  “Do you need something else?”

  “What? Oh. No. I’m good.”

  “Good,” I say, putting my head back down to the resumes I’m organizing.

  Fifteen seconds later, I can still feel the weight of his stare.

  This time, I look up and raise my eyebrows.

  He startles. “Oh, right. I guess I’ll let you get back to it.”

  I nod. Yes, please, let me get back to work, and you go back in your office and try to find a sense of normalcy again.

  “So, we’re all set for Saturday, then?”

  I laugh. “Yes. Just email me where to be, and I’ll be there. Now can I get back to my secondary assistant search, please?”

  “Of course.” He smiles and points at my face with a couple finger guns and backs away, right smack into his office door—his closed office door. He chuckles, fumbles for the knob, and pushes it open while I look on dubiously. “Officially leaving you alone now.”

  I look back down at the stack of resumes as he finally shuts the door behind him, but instead of focusing on the pape
rs, all I can do is blink.

  That was weird.

  Like, really weird.

  I pick up the resumes and stand up to walk over to the copy machine when I get an idea. I backtrack the five steps to my desk, grab my phone and a fax that needs to go out, and then head toward the machine.

  After setting up the papers and typing in the number, I wait patiently as the thing does its job to send a file over to HawCom. I’ll do that first, before making copies of the possible assistant candidates’ resumes.

  It’s obnoxiously thick, so I imagine it’ll take quite a while to complete—which is exactly what I’m after.

  I look over my shoulder, just to make sure that Cap hasn’t appeared out of thin air and is now hovering behind me, even going so far as to spin around an entire 360 degrees.

  Thankfully, my boss, the pod person, is nowhere in sight.

  I lift up my phone, open up the text app, and type out a quick one.

  Me: I need your help with something.

  I wait impatiently as the little moving bubbles pop up to show he’s responding.

  Kevin: Like…a law question? Cleaning your apartment? What are we talking here?

  I tap my toe against the tiled floor as I type quickly.

  Me: Male/female dynamics.

  Kevin: Oh. Okay. Something simple, then.

  Smartass.

  Me: Shut up. It’s about my boss. And me. I don’t know. It’s complicated.

  Kevin: Well, that really tells me a lot. I should be of great service to you.

  I shake my phone as though it’s Kevin’s neck.

  Me: WHY ARE WE FRIENDS?

  Kevin: Fine. Relax, geez. What kind of “dynamics” do you need help sorting out between you and your boss?

  Me: He just invited me to a work function.

  Kevin: And…you think he’s not paying you enough for your internship?

  Me: No! Jesus! WOULD YOU FOCUS, PLEASE?

  I glance around the office again, just to make sure Cap hasn’t popped up unexpectedly. With the coast clear, I open Kevin’s next message and read as quickly as I can.