Zero To Sixty (BWWM, Sports, Billionaire) by Tamara Adams Page B

this girl, what does she look like?"
                  The cop laughed and slapped his knee.
                  "You got that many girls running around?"
                  Ansel shrugged. He did have a lot of girls. But very few repeat customers. In fact, zero of them.
                  "She's a dime man. Perfect ten. Classy looking too. Like I said, you are a very lucky man."
                  The coffee was empty by the time they led him out. He collected his personal possessions. One pair of aviator sunglasses. One phone, with about fifty missed calls and texts. And one almost entirely empty bottle of bourbon.
                  Well, that explained the headache.
                  Ansel walked out to the waiting room to meet the mystery woman who had bailed him out.
                  Holy hell.
                  He slid his sunglasses on in the nick of time. He definitely did not want anyone to see the expression on his face at this moment. His eyes, bloodshot as they were, were wide open with surprise.
                  Shock made him stop in his tracks. Shock and something more visceral. Pure, unadulterated lust shot through him, heading straight to his gut.
                  "Ansel?"
                  He nodded, not sure if his mind was playing tricks on him. He was looking at one of the best looking women he'd ever laid eyes on. No, the best.
                  And he'd laid eyes on a thousand hot chicks in his day. Hell, more than his eyes. His whole body, usually.
                  Only trouble was, he was seeing two of her.
                  Long dark hair, a heart shaped face with huge doe eyes and the softest, poutiest, sexiest lips he'd seen in his life. And that body- damn! The girl would put a victoria's secret model to shame. Long, lean and curvy as hell.
                  Good Lord the girl was stacked!
                  Even if she was dressed like a sexy librarian. A very, very sexy librarian.
                  He smiled at her, wondering if he'd already bagged her. No- he would have remembered. Besides, he'd never been with a black girl before. Every other kind of woman under the sun, yes, but this would be a first time.
                  He couldn't wait, hungover or not. His cock was already starting to pulse with blood. That was alright though.
                  Better his dick than his head.
                  She stood and held out an elegantly manicured hand.
                  "Hi, I'm Denise. I'm with Black House Whiskey."
                  "Oh."
                  Well, that explained it. She was here to chastise him. Damnit. And he was so looking forward to taking her to bed. Or, anywhere for that matter.
                  Hell, he'd do her up against a wall and praise Jesus for it.
                  "Can we go somewhere to talk? You look like you could use some breakfast."
                  "Sure. What time is it anyway?"
                  She gave him a look that reminded him of his Sunday School teacher.
                  "Two o'clock."
                  At that moment Ansel decided something. He was going to have this girl. He was going to have her and make her scream. It didn't matter that the cards were stacked against him. It didn't matter that she was his handler.
                  All that mattered was that she ended up beneath him. And that he wiped that disapproving look off her face. He grinned at her and held open the door.
                  "Let's go."

Two
     
     
     
     
                  Denise was having a hard time concentrating. They'd finally been seated after waiting twenty minutes for a seat in the bustling, vintage style diner on Melrose. Ansel had removed