The Billionaire Book Club

by Monroe, Max

  “Don’t be so fucking elementary, bro,” Thatch challenges quickly. “It’s not about being a mythical creature. It’s metaphorical. For being what the woman you’re pursuing needs. Georgia needs Kline’s level head and stability. Winnie needs Wes’s surprisingly supportive nature of both her and her daughter. Greer needs Trent’s unconditional acceptance, and Emory needs Quince’s ability to be easygoing and positive. Maybe needed Milo’s confidence in her and her abilities, and Cassie needs my dick. The magic is in the match, motherfluffer. Cap just has to figure out what it is his Ruby needs and how the hell he’s the perfect one to give it to her.”

  The room grows silent for a long minute as we attempt to digest Thatch’s long-winded ramble.

  Until Wes pipes up on a laugh. “God, it still surprises me, to this day, how fucking intuitive this motherfucker can be.”

  The rest of the group breaks out in smiles.

  Thatch just grins, adding, “Harrison and Theo…well, you fluffers will just have to wait your turn, but I’m sure we’ll get to you eventually.”

  “What is it that Ruby needs from you?” Quince asks, his eyes moving to me, and it’s only a short moment before something comes to mind.

  It was true at the party, it’s true at the office, and maybe, just maybe, it’s true all the time.

  “Fun,” I respond. “Pushed boundaries. She doesn’t know how to let go and lead with her heart instead of her head.”

  Trent snorts, Kline smiles, and Wes, Theo, and Harrison all tuck their faces behind their bottles of beer as they take a swig.

  Thatch and Quince, though…they smile so big, their gums almost bleed.

  But it isn’t long before Thatch’s smile melts into a sniffle. “It’s perfect. Motherfluffing destiny deals a hand.”

  I shake my head as a pang bounces around on the left side of my chest. It’s a foreign feeling—and an uncomfortable one.

  I have no idea, however, what it is.

  Guilt over my deception?

  Or does fate have really pointy hands?

  Ruby

  To say the office has been weird since I basically peaced out of Cap’s dad’s birthday party last weekend is an understatement.

  Don’t get me wrong, I said goodbye—I’m not a complete degenerate—but I left super early, and I barely made eye contact with Cap when I told him I was leaving. Now, it’s Friday, a full five and a half days later, and he still hasn’t mentioned it. He hasn’t brought up the half kiss. He hasn’t even acted aloof.

  Basically, he’s given me nothing, and I’m officially coming to the end of my wits’ rope.

  Are we really both just going to go on, forever, pretending none of it ever happened?

  I mean, that scenario seems ideal, but I know, for my part, it’s impossible. Because my stupid brain won’t let me forget it.

  The memory of his lips grazing mine is seared there like grill-lines on a premium cut of beef.

  Luckily, I finally have a secondary assistant hired, and going through the ropes with her is serving as the perfect distraction. She’s younger than I was going for, just about twenty-five, but she’s got a good head on her shoulders, I can tell. So far, she dresses appropriately and arrives on time, and well…I feel a little guilty about profiling like this…but she’s gay.

  How do I know this? Because not only does she have a cute little rainbow flag tattoo on her wrist, but she also talks about her fiancée, Tiffany, a lot.

  I know it’s terrible to put people in a box based on gender or sexuality or anything really, but in this instance, it’s a hirable quality. The last thing we need around here is someone getting distracted by the boss.

  Are you sure you don’t mean that this office doesn’t need someone distracting the boss? Because you already seem to have the whole being distracted by the boss thing down, my brain mocks. I largely ignore it.

  “So, you just push F4, and then the Caps Lock,” I continue training Betsy on the various computer tasks that are vital to her daily responsibilities.

  “Got it.” She nods and follows my instructions perfectly.

  “That brings you into the call log,” I say, moving right along. “You can just make simple notes about the person and their reason for calling. They’ll all info-dump into an email to Mr. Hawkins at the end of the day.”

  I’m not sure why I didn’t call him Cap when I started training Betsy this morning, but something about it felt so personal. Which is ridiculous since it’s his name, but once I started with the formalities, I couldn’t make myself stop.

  “I should do that for all calls?” Betsy asks. “Or is there some system you use to filter through more important ones?”

  I nod because that’s a great—and oh so complicated—question. While the phone calls from female suitors have decreased to practically nothing, I’m afraid to leave the possibility undiscussed. “Right. So, the first line of filtering I use is based on his schedule. If it’s one of the cases he’s working on or one of the companies he’s working with right now, I’ll put them through. If it’s a name I recognize as a major CEO or company president, I put them through.” She widens her eyes slightly, but to her credit, she nods anyway. “Also,” I begin, and I swear, my voice must come with its own personal rain cloud because Betsy can sense the doom.

  “What?” she asks nervously, a dramatically adorable hand to her chest. “What is it?”

  “Well, it’s pretty much stopped as far as I can tell…but there’s still a chance you’ll get a phone call—or a fax—from a woman in personal pursuit of Mr. Hawkins.”

  “And, what? They get desperate?”

  “Betsy…I hate to be the one to tell you this…but they don’t hesitate to describe their genitalia. In detail.”

  Her eyes go even wider in surprise. “Seriously?”

  “It’s happened more than once. But he did buckle down on it, and I told a few women off—”

  “Good for you,” she says with a smile. “Don’t let anybody come in here and steal your man.”

  Wait…what?

  My laugh is both stilted and rapid-fire like a machine gun all at the same time. It’s one of the weirdest sounds I’ve ever made in my life, and I’m not even sure I can properly explain it. “No, no. No. He’s…he’s not my man. We are not together.”

  She jerks back at my vehemence and winces. “Oh. I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

  “Why…why…” I stutter. “Why would you assume?”

  She shrugs, and the simplicity of the statement that follows catches me completely off guard. “The way you look at each other.”

  How, I have to know. How do I look at him?

  And maybe more importantly, how does he look at me?

  I don’t have time to settle into a death spiral of wholly complicated thoughts, though, because Cap pops his head out of his office and calls my name.

  I jerk my head up and around like I’ve been caught in the middle of a heist.

  “Yes, sir, Caplin, sir?”

  Oh my GOD, could I be any more awkward?

  The narcissistic part of him smiles. The more I get to know him, though, the more I realize that it’s only a tiny sliver of who he is. It’s just the showiest of all his qualities.

  “Can I see you in my office for a second?”

  I nod, turning to Betsy to say something, but she’s busy shooing me away, and then I follow Cap through the open office door.

  When I turn to close it behind me, my heart kicks into a full gallop.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask with a calmness I don’t feel as I come to a stop in front of his desk.

  Cap’s eyes are frighteningly assessing, so I avert my gaze to the window to watch a bird fly by.

  Of course, there’s no bird, but he doesn’t have to know that. If he asks, I am the Steve fucking Irwin of birds.

  “I actually just asked you in here to tell you to take the rest of the day off.”

  My running heart skids to a stop. “What?”

  “Ruby,”
he says softly—so softly, in fact, my chest squeezes. “How often do you have a day to yourself?”

  I shake my head as I try to understand the question, but he doesn’t let me get any words out before answering for me.

  “Never. I know you’re busy with school and recording, and these days, when you’re not doing either of those, you’re here.”

  “You work more than I do,” I challenge stubbornly. I have no idea why I’m fighting so hard against having the day off, but for some reason, it feels…awful.

  Why the hell does it sound so bad?

  “I know. I should take the day off too. But unlike your boss, mine is a real asshole.” He flashes a wink and a grin, and both feel like they have a direct line to my freaking chest. “He’s insufferable, really.”

  “Cap, you are your own boss.”

  “You’re right. And I’m also yours. Which means, I’m assigning you the rest of the day off,” he instructs without hesitation. And when he moves his gaze back to his desk, I’m just kind of standing there, unsure what to do with myself.

  But Cap’s mind is made up.

  “Ruby, I meant what I just said. And today, that assignment is top priority,” he adds, but his focus never leaves the case files in front of him. “Now, for God’s sake, go do something fun.”

  Ruby

  After I made sure Betsy was all set to handle things for the rest of the day, I left the office on the weirdest official assignment of my life and made a pledge to myself to take it seriously.

  To do the things I never do because I don’t have the time, or money, or some combination of the two.

  I walked straight from the office to the nearest salon and spa and begged them to cut and style my hair. And it didn’t take long before I added on a ten-minute massage, and then I finished it up with a manicure and a pedicure.

  It took four hours, but my body feels more human than it has in the last three years.

  I swear I didn’t know it, but I’m pretty sure all the long hours and sleepless nights and endless anxiety that come with being in law school had transformed me into a gremlin.

  I was basically the equivalent of one of those random, super-long chin hairs that just appears on your face seemingly overnight. You have no idea how long it’s been there, who has seen it, or how in the hell it grew so fast, but it’s your reality, and the only thing you can do is pluck that fucker. Or, in my case, groom myself.

  Thankfully, the several hours I spent getting pampered worked in my favor, and now, no one will shriek when they see me walking down the street or worry about feeding me after midnight.

  Now, I don’t know what’s on the rest of my agenda for the day, but I’m fairly certain it’ll involve a bookstore or two.

  I smile to myself and slide my sunglasses on my face, wrap my coat tightly around my body, and step out into the muted October sun.

  It’s cool but crisp, and the heat from the sun is just enough to warm me from the inside out.

  My phone rings in my pocket, so I reach carefully inside with my fresh nails and pull it out.

  When I see Cap’s name on the screen, the air in my lungs freezes.

  Something must be wrong.

  I answer as quickly as possible, my eyebrows drawn into a harsh line.

  “Hello?”

  “Ruby!”

  Oh God.

  “Cap? Is everything okay?”

  “No,” he says dismally, and my chest compresses.

  “What’s wrong?”

  When he doesn’t answer immediately, I shake the phone against my ear and repeat my directive. “Cap! What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just… Oh, Ruby.”

  “Cap,” I whisper, and my heart falls into my damn shoes.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “Tell me already!” I snap.

  “The contracts are ready at the Porvost office. They can’t fax them because they have to be the watermarked originals.”

  “And what else?” I ask, absolutely certain there must be more to the story. That he wouldn’t panic me over a goddamn daily task. Because if he did, I just might have to kill him, and that’s not at all part of the relaxing plans I had in mind.

  “And I need them,” he says, and I can hear the pitiful pout in his sappy voice.

  “Did you ask Betsy to do it?”

  “Yes. I did. But Betsy is so Betsylike.” He sighs. “She does things like a Betsy would do them, and I need this done like a Ruby. It’s totally different.”

  Is he being serious right now?

  I blink three times. “Cap, I know this might shock you…but the world doesn’t revolve around you. Especially mine. I pretty much have a whole other life to lead.”

  “Okay, but can your life lead you in my direction? Just this once?”

  “You gave me the day off!”

  “Well…I’m revoking it for a couple hours. And then you can have it back.”

  I grind my jaw as he lays it on thick. “Come on, Ruby. Don’t be greedy.”

  I glance at my watch, calculate the time it’ll take me to run across town to the Porvost office, and come up with a solution. It’s a solution that doesn’t necessarily benefit me as much as it will benefit Cap, but it’ll have to be good enough because I have a sneaking suspicion it’ll still be quicker than if I say no and Cap keeps me on the phone so he can come up with different ways to beg.

  “Fine,” I huff. “Meet me at Amsterdam and Fifth Street. I’ll have the contracts.”

  “Ooh, a clandestine meeting. I like it.” I can actually picture the teasing smirk that goes along with his words. “Should I bring the ski masks and grappling hook, or do you have it covered?”

  I sigh heavily, and he chuckles.

  “You really are a buzzkill sometimes, you know that, Rube?”

  His arrow is sharp and swift and hits me right in the place where it hurts the most—the truth. I hate to admit it. I hate to face it. And it’s probably why taking a day off felt so painful in the first place.

  But he’s right. I’m so busy and so overwhelmed, I forget to have any sort of fun most of the time. I’m letting my life live me instead of the other way around.

  “You’re right,” I admit, and he snorts.

  “I cannot believe you just agreed with me. This must go against everything they lay out on page one of the Women’s Tactics Against Men Handbook.”

  I sigh wistfully. “If only there were such a thing.”

  “Riiiight,” he says knowingly. “I understand. You have to keep it confidential.”

  I laugh and shake my head as I look at the ground and scuff a piece of dirty sidewalk with the toe of my shoe. “I’ve already said too much,” I say, finally playing along.

  “I bet.”

  “Anyway,” I mumble, confused by how I started this conversation in a bad mood and ended it talking about a nonexistent women’s handbook. “I changed my mind. Meet me at the park across from Driscol’s instead. We can chat about the contracts and get a coffee. Well, coffee for you and something that doesn’t taste like gasoline for me.”

  He chuckles. “All right, but listen. I have a few very important notes about John Porvost.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s partial to cherries, tequila, and redheads. He doesn’t like toast, apples, or any form of unrecyclable plastic, and he must, I mean must, end every conversation.”

  I roll my eyes as he continues.

  “If you talk to him in his office, make sure you’re on the east side, with the sun at your back.”

  “Is that even physically possible?”

  “Don’t joke at a time like this. Are you even listening?”

  I roll my eyes, but I also feel the way amusement starts to turn up the corners of my mouth. “Yes, of course. I’m writing all of this down in a very important place.”

  “Good,” he says, and this time, I can hear the smile in his voice. “And, Ruby?”

  “Yes, Cap?” I ask with a sigh.

  “I’m sorr
y about revoking your day off, but I’m not really sorry. Do you want to know why?”

  I shake my head, unsure I want to hear the reason, but sure I’m going to hear it all the same.

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “You really are good with the feelings. Always so accurate.”

  “Cap,” I prompt.

  “I’m not sorry because I’ve missed you this afternoon,” he says, dropping a nuclear bomb all over my heart. “And I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

  The line clicks over to dead air, and my head swims in much the same.

  Apparently, he’s done giving me nothing.

  And now, he’s replaced it with a big fat fucking something.

  Cap

  I spot her in the middle of the park. Tight black jeans hug her hips and thighs in a perfect display of curves, and a cute pink sweater dips just slightly off one shoulder while her long mane of blond hair is draped artfully over the other. She sits on a bench, bent over at the waist, giving a tail-wagging dachshund scratches behind both its ears.

  The dog looks smitten, and I don’t blame it. Ruby Rockford is hands down one of the most interestingly beautiful women I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a whole lot of women.

  Unfortunately, when I follow the leash up from the dashing dog, I find a man—a fairly attractive, thirtysomething man—smiling flirtatiously at my…assistant.

  “Ruby,” I call, waving with a wink when she looks up.

  I’m not sure she realizes it, but when her eyes meet mine, the corners of her mouth curl up in a smile and spur my heart into a quick and steady rhythm.

  I maintain my stride as she exchanges goodbyes with whatshisface, and I arrive just as the nameless, dog-using woman-chaser walks away.

  I don’t acknowledge him, though. The quicker she forgets he ever existed, the better.

  “A dog park?” I ask once I sit down beside her. “That’s the place you had in mind to meet?”

  “Yeah? So?” She shrugs one nonchalant shoulder, as if meeting in a dog park is a completely common practice. “You got a problem with dog parks?”