Banking Her: A Billionaire Bad Boys Novella (Book 2.5) (Bad Boy Billionaires) by Max Monroe Page A

chest. “You scared the crap out of me! I nearly peed myself.”
    Kline just chuckled and wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side.
    “What are you guys doing down here?”
    Her eyes went wide for a beat before she schooled her face into neutrality. Georgia had been practicing her lying skills. “Uh… Just—”
    Kline chimed in. “Georgie was looking over Leslie’s Instagram.”
    “Oh, hel-ck yes!” I held out my hand. “Let me see! I want to see what Loose Leslie has been up to lately.”
    Surprisingly, Kline obliged, pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking the screen before opening his Instagram app.
    I snuck a glance at Georgia and noted her silent panic as he handed me his phone. I looked through his Instagram searches, and sure enough, there she was, @LaLaLeslieLaLa, the most recent search in his browser.
    Kline might have been smart enough to cover their devious tracks, but my ears didn’t miss the sigh of relief escape from Georgia’s lips.
    These two knew something I didn’t, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.
    Right the fluffernutter now.
    I pretended to scroll through Leslie’s pictures, even though I already followed her account religiously. This chick’s social media was better than the Kardashians hopped up on meth, posting Snapchat videos. I paused on one very ridiculous photo of Leslie with a shot glass nestled inside her cleavage. Her jet black locks had been dyed blonde, and her cliché comment of “Blonds have more fun. Winky face” sat below the picture.
     
    Yes, she literally spells out “winky face.”
    If you find enjoyment out of Max Monroe telling you my and Thatch’s story, imagine what a book filled with Leslie would look like…
    Exactly my point.
    Someone needs to start a petition to get that book written right the fluff now.
     
    “Hashtag someone got bigger implants,” I added.
    “That’s what I said!” Georgia agreed and poked Kline in the chest. “I told you!”
    He just shook his head and chuckled in response. “I refuse to add commentary on anything related to Leslie or her plastic assets.”
    Even though I had the urge to let my inner psycho bitch come out to play and run off with Kline’s phone and lock myself in the safe confines of the bathroom so I could search for evidence, I kept it classy and handed back his phone.
    Obviously, pregnancy looked good on me. Well, besides when I was ugly crying over YouTube videos of soldiers coming home to their families because yeah, no one can pull off the ugly cry.
    “Hey, have you heard from Thatcher today?” I asked Kline in a nonchalant tone.
    “No, why?” he asked while his facial expression stayed irritatingly neutral. His poker face was on point. Goddammit. The man could play Switzerland better than anyone I knew.
    “Just wondering.” I shrugged. “He’s been acting weird lately. Canceled our nightly Skype sesh last night. And then couldn’t chat on the phone when I had a few free minutes this afternoon.”
    “I know he’s been taking some Saturday meetings with clients while you’ve been out of town,” he offered, and it only added to my frustration.
    Damn Kline and his crazy-smart brain. He was too flipping intelligent to be tricked into telling me what Thatch was up to, which was why I set my sights on his wife, Mrs. I Suck at Lying.
    “Don’t you think that’s weird, Georgie?”
    She cleared her throat, which put her at about a two on the “Wheorgie’s About to Break” meter. “Do I think what’s weird?”
    “That Thatcher canceled our Skype sesh last night.”
    She shrugged and kept her face impartial. “Maybe he was tired?”
    I watched the line of her throat swallow three times, and I knew I had just increased her to about a five. We’re getting closer…
    “Hmm… Maybe.” I pretended to think it over and then pushed out an Oscar-worthy sigh from my lungs. “I just have this awful feeling I can’t shake. It’s freaking me out a little. Like,