Bad Swipe
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Bad Swipe
Billionaire’s Club #12
Elise Faber
BAD SWIPE
BY ELISE FABER
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
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BAD SWIPE
Copyright © 2021 Elise Faber
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-63749-019-8
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-63749-018-1
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
Contents
Billionaire’s Club
Billionaire’s Club Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Epilogue
Bad Girlfriend
Newsletter
Billionaire’s Club
Also by Elise Faber
About the Author
Billionaire’s Club
Bad Night Stand
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Bad Breakup
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Bad Husband
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Bad Hookup
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Bad Divorce
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Bad Fiancé
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Bad Boyfriend
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Bad Blind Date
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Bad Wedding
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Bad Engagement
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Bad Bridesmaid
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Bad Swipe
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Bad Girlfriend
Billionaire’s Club Cast of Characters
Heroes and Heroines:
Abigail Roberts (Bad Night Stand) — founding member of the Sextant, hates wine, loves crocheting
Jordan O’Keith (Bad Night Stand) — Heather’s brother, former owner of RoboTech
Cecilia (CeCe) Thiele (Bad Breakup) — former nanny to Hunter, talented artist
Colin McGregor (Bad Breakup) — Scottish duke, owner of McGregor Enterprises
Heather O’Keith (Bad Husband) — CEO of RoboTech, Jordan’s sister
Clay Steele (Bad Husband) — Heather’s business rival, CEO of Steele Technologies
Kay (Bad Date) — romance writer, hates to be stood up
Garret Williams (Bad Date) — former rugby player
Rachel Morris (Bad Hookup) — Heather’s assistant, superpowers include being ultra-organized
Sebastian (Bas) Scott (Bad Hookup) — Devon Scott’s brother, Clay’s assistant
Rebecca (Bec) Darden (Bad Divorce) — kickass lawyer, New York roots
Luke Pearson (Bad Divorce) — Southern gentleman, CEO Pearson Energies
Seraphina Delgado (Bad Fiancé) — romantic to the core, looks like a bombshell, but even prettier on the inside
Tate Connor (Bad Fiancé) — tech genius, scared to be burned by love
Lorelai (Bad Text) — drunk texts don’t make her happy
Logan Smith (Bad Text) — former military, sometimes drunk texts are for the best
Kelsey Scott (Bad Boyfriend) — Bas and Devon’s sister, engineer at RoboTech, brilliant
Tanner Pearson (Bad Boyfriend) — Bas and Devon’s childhood friend, photographer
Trix Donovan (Bad Blind Date) — Heather’s sister, Jordan’s half-sister, nurse who worked in war zones, poverty-stricken areas, and abroad for almost a decade
Jet Hansen (Bad Blind Date) — a doctor Trix worked with
Molly Miller (Bad Wedding) — owner of Molly’s, a kickass bakery in San Francisco
Jackson Davis (Bad Wedding) — Molly’s ex-fiancé
Kate McLeod (Bad Engagement) — Kelsey’s college friend, advertiser extraordinaire, loves purple and Hermione Granger
Jaime Huntingon (Bad Engagement) — vet, does excellent man-bun
Heidi Greene (Bad Bridesmaid) — science, organization, and Twilight nerd
Brad Huntington (Bad Bridesmaid) — travel junkie, dreamy hazel eyes, hidden sweet side
Stef McKay (Bad Swipe) — Stargate SG-1 nerd, her best friend is her golden retriever named Fred
Ben Bradford (Bad Swipe) — closet nerd, businessman, pretends his heart is ice even though it’s pure fluff
Additional Characters:
George O’Keith — Jordan’s dad
Hunter O’Keith — Jordan’s nephew
Bridget McGregor — Colin’s mom
Lena McGregor — Colin’s sister
Bobby Donovan — Heather’s half and Trix’s full brother
Frances and Sugar Delgado — Sera’s parents
Devon Scott — Kels and Bas’s brother
Becca Scott — Kels and Bas’s sister in law
Cora Hutchins — Kels’ friend since childhood
Chapter One
Stef
“Marry me, Fred,” she murmured, tugging her man close and wrapping her arms around him.
He nuzzled into her throat, his warm breath on her skin—
And then started licking her face.
Full stop.
With completely unattractive, smelly breath.
“Ick,” she grumbled, burying her face in her pillow to get away from her eighty-five-pound golden retriever.
The only man in her life.
He was hairy, had the aforementioned smelly, doggy breath, but he was loyal and didn’t cheat. So, although he would go home with anyone who offered him the smallest morsel of food, his tail always went propellor when he saw her, and he always nuzzled close, especially when she was feeling down.
Yeah, she picked up his shit and waited on him hand and foot.
But how was that different from anyone she’d ever dated?
Spoiler alert . . . it wasn’t.
Fred continued licking, thinking her burying herself into her pillows was now the best game ever and attacking her in earnest.
“Okay,” she said, pushing him off and sitting up. “Do you want breakfast?”
Breakfast being the magic word, since it sent Fred sprinting from the bed and skidding toward the kitchen, his claws clicking on the tile loudly enough that she could mentally track his path the entire way.
Sighing, she tossed the covers back. She needed to get up anyway, to take Fred on his walk, and then get him off to doggy day care before she headed into work.
Carefully, she shifted out of bed, wincing a bit when she put weight on her ankle.
She’d broken her ankle a few months before—well, Fred and his obsession with a squirrel had been the cause of her injury—and it was still a bit weak a
nd tender. Because of that, she was still going to physical therapy, even though the cast had been off for a while now, and her doc said that she might have to undergo another surgery at some point to remove her “jewelry.”
That jewelry being the six screws and two plates currently freeloading their way around town in her body.
And causing her pain when she walked too far or stood too long or, really, just turned in the wrong direction. So truly, it hurt most of the time unless her ass was parked on her plush gray couch or propped up in bed on the special pillow that her friend Heidi had bought for her right after her surgery.
Ah, to be a woman in her thirties.
Sadly single.
Hobbling like a motherfucker.
Pretty soon she’d be bent in half like an old crone, sporting a bedazzled cane. Which—she paused, considered that—might be cool. She could see herself rocking some rainbow sparkles.
They’d go perfectly with her numerous T-shirts and skinny jeans (and side part, so take that, Gen Z!).
Before she could go too far down her obsession with TikTok, Fred whipped back against the corner, bull in a china shop style.
“Sit!” she ordered, and since he was a good boy, he did just that. Unfortunately because he was eighty-five pounds and had been moving at approximately the speed of light, his sitting didn’t mean he actually stopped moving forward.
His ass hit the floor.
His body kept sliding . . . right into the wall.
“Oh, Fred,” she murmured as he righted himself just as quickly, sliding some more, his nails clicking on the tile like he was a tapdancing crab until he was finally sitting in front of her.
His tail thumping on the floor.
She stepped by him, careful to not mention the b-word (breakfast), in case he did some more slip and sliding and took her out.
And she did not need that on a Monday morning.
“Come on,” she said, once she was out of the line of fire, because—like the good boy he was—Fred had waited where she’d told him to sit. And aside from his squirrel obsession, he really was a good boy. He was just big and clumsy and all legs and no sense of balance.
Like her.
Ha.
He danced around her legs as she scooped his food, added his vitamins, and then a scoop of supplements that kept his teeth clean and was supposed to battle that doggy breath of his.
Stef wasn’t convinced that it helped.
Or it could be a million times worse without it.
Either way, it wasn’t something she was going to find out.
Then she sprinkled some shredded chicken because Fred was her boy and yes, he was spoiled as hell.
Once his bowl was in front of him and he was scarfing it down, she got the coffee going, and the moment the bitter, smokey fumes hit her nose, she started feeling less like a Monday Monster and more like an actual human being.
Bagel in the toaster.
Cinnamon cream cheese on the counter.
Plate from the cupboard beside it.
To-go mug open and ready to be filled.
Other mug put in place of the pot and filled with the steaming brew. She took a large sip as her bagel toasted, enough to further chase the Mondays away, and then when it was done, she set about slathering on the cream cheese and doing her level best to replace her blood with the spicy, tangy spread.
It was her absolute favorite.
She bought it by the tub at the local bakery—now bakery chain—Molly’s.
And by the tub, she meant by the double tub, because she always (always!) had a spare container in her fridge.
A girl never knew when she might need a spoonful to chase away the reality of being thirty-five and her longest relationship being with a furry, non-human male who liked to pee on fire hydrants.
Sufficiently caffeinated, she went to pull on a pair of sweats and her tennis shoes then tugged her hair back into a ponytail.
The moment she pulled out the leash, Fred stopped licking his bowl. A walk was the only thing that would convince him to get up because he lived his life alternating between thinking he hadn’t gotten every last drop from his dish and worrying that he would never ever eat again.
“Come on, buddy,” she said as he trotted over, clipping on his leash and reaching for her oversized hoodie.
They’d do a quick turn around the block and then she’d come back and shower, bundle him into the car for doggy day care, take herself to work, and it would be another glorious Monday.
“Joy of joys,” she muttered.
But truthfully, she didn’t mind the walk, didn’t mind the cool morning air on her face, the quiet of the neighborhood. There weren’t many cars on the road at this hour, not with the sun still mostly below the horizon, and it was a peaceful way to start her morning.
Just her and her man.
Smiling when Fred did a little butt wiggle as they moved down the front steps of her condo, she set them on a quick pace as they turned right, looped down through the dew-covered grass in the small park at the end of the street, then back up a block over, before turning onto her street and completing their loop.
His tongue hanging out, Fred sprinted back over to his bowl the moment she opened the door and took off the leash, returning to the business of licking up every last crumb.
Stef flicked the lock and headed into the bathroom to shower.
Was mid-shower with shampoo suds dripping down her spine when the doorbell rang.
She ignored it.
Continued washing her hair.
It rang again.
Sighing, since she’d just slathered conditioner on, she kept the water running—yeah, yeah, she knew about the drought, but also, she knew it would take even more water to warm up her shower since her water heater sucked ass—snagged a towel, wrapped it around her head, grabbed her robe, and made her way to the front door . . . just as the bell rang for a third time.
A glance through the peephole made her want to spin around and head right back into the shower.
But she also knew that the knocking wouldn’t stop.
Not with Jeremy.
Girding her loins, she unlocked and opened the door. “Yes?” she asked, purposefully blocking the opening so he couldn’t just stroll his way into her place. He’d lost that privilege when he’d unceremoniously dumped her months before.
“Where is it?” he snapped, shoving at the door so roughly that she stumbled back a step.
Fred spun around the corner, nails clicking, excitement at seeing a new person—any new person, and especially one who’d occasionally fed him in the past—fueling his barreling. “Wait,” she ordered before he could burst out the front door and take her on a sprint through the neighborhood.
He waited, skidding to a stop.
She grabbed the door, pushed the panel back, returning it to its previous position of only being open a crack. “What are you talking about, Jeremy?”
“I’m asking where it is,” he growled. “And I’m asking where it is right now.”
Water was dripping down her spine. The cool air that had felt good on her face earlier now felt like shit because she was wet from the shower and fucking freezing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
A sharp sigh. “You know.”
Why had she been forced onto this particular merry-go-round so fucking early on a Monday morning?
Did the universe hate her?
Was the god of evil ex-boyfriends determined to make her life miserable?
“No, Jeremy,” she said, grasping at the straws of her calm. “I don’t know. However, if you’d clue me into what you’re looking for, I’m happy to tell you.”
Silence.
Narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. God, once she’d thought he was the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on. But now as she was looking at him, she could only see an angry, sad man and wonder how in the hell had she wasted so much time being upset about the breakup.
“Vase. Blue with white flowers.”
His lips pressed flat. “My mom gave it to me. She’s flying in today.”
Stef read between the lines. He needed it back or his mom would freak the fuck out, and . . . here her petty streak came out because it was so tempting to refuse, knowing that Jeremy would get an earful from his uber-controlling, feelings-hurt-at-the-drop-of-a-hat mother.
It would be glorious.
But . . . here her rational streak came out. If she fought Jeremy over this, he would stay, and he wouldn’t give up. He’d browbeat her into giving it back, or at the very least, he would annoy the shit out of her until she was so fed up that she chucked it at him.
And then she’d have glass in her entryway, and she’d be further contributing to the drought because she would have another delay returning to her shower.