Page 2 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“Your handbook is missing at least several chapters, including the one where if I kill you and bury your body with my bare hands, it’s justifiable homicide and I can’t get jail time.”

“Oh, I definitely didn’t see that chapter.”

“You’re too blitzed to see much.”

I glanced at the bottle of Jack beside the mouse. “Nah, just a little fuzzy.”

“Truer words.” She sighed again. “What do you need?”

“I need to know the name and number of pink pantsuit hottie.”

She choked. “Excuse me?”

“Pink Pantsuit Hot—”

“Listen to me carefully. Put down the alcohol, pour your rank self into a hot shower then put yourself to bed and sleep off your latest psychosis. Call me in the morning once you’re sober. And you better be sober in the morning, my friend, or your mother is getting a phone call. Don’t even bother begging.”

“If I ever begged you for anything, sweetness, you wouldn’t ask me not to.”

“Oh, Lord, you and your supposed charm is enough to give me nightmares. I can’t believe those corny-ass lines actually work for you.”

I grinned. “I could tell you stories.”

“And if you even try to, I’ll move away and leave no forwarding address.”

My gasp wasn’t the least bit faked. “You can’t leave me. I can’t get by at work without you. You’re the glue that holds me together. The glass that keeps me contained. The jelly that layers perfectly with my peanut butter—”

“The Kevlar jacket that prevents people from choosing violence against you. Yeah, on with it. Who or what is Pink Pantsuit Hottie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dex, I’m going to kick your ass so hard your ancestors are going to cry.”

“If that means my father, I’m okay with it. He probably deserves a good ass-kicking.” No probably there, but the alcohol was making me a little sentimental. Or loopy. “I’m serious, I don’t know. I just put down that notation to remember her in the address book, and boy, do I remember that pantsuit she was wearing the last time I saw her. It gapped just a bit in front and she wore this lacy thing under it.”

“You put that recollection in your address book?”

“She was no-nonsense, but that hint of lace was just a knockout.”

“Great. I’m sure I’d want to do her if I wasn’t strictly dickly. What do you want from me?”

“Hopefully, her name and contact info. You started altering the record, but you stopped halfway through. Maybe you had to look up her info?”

“How would I know the number for your pink hottie?”

“She wasn’t pink, just her pantsuit. Maybe we talked about her.” I snapped my fingers. “I mentioned that she was decorating Bishop’s office with my traitor of a sibling.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Ohhh. You mean Shelby.”

“Shelby.” I rolled the name around on my tongue. It sounded good there. As if that was a name I could say every day.

Especially while I still had Jack left in the bottle. I shook it with amusement.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, I think so. Sounds familiar.”

“I just bet.”

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