Be My Billionaire Valentine Read Online Max Monroe

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
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Kline: I’ll order takeout.

Me: Yay! My vote is for pizza, but I’d also go for burgers or tacos. Whatever you want.

Kline: Okay. Drive safe and stop texting. I’ll see you soon. Love you.

The light turned green, and I quickly sent a heart emoji before setting my phone back in the cupholder to finish the drive to our house. Suddenly, a nagging thought popped into my head, so I grabbed my phone, scrolled to the number I wanted, and hit call to pull up the connection on my hands-free speaker through the stereo.

I’d been meaning to make this call for a couple of days now, but knowing his tendency to ramble, I’d put it off. Still, I had a quick moment now that would hopefully aid in my ability to end the call swiftly, and as it wasn’t technically texting, I figured it’d be a lesser evil in the world of distractions.

Three rings later, and Thatch came on the line, booming over the speakers so forcefully, I swerved a little before reaching forward to turn the volume knob down. “Well, well, Georgia girl. How are you, sweetheart?”

I smiled and shook my head. Thatch was a character, and I found it unbelievably hard not to love him, even when I hated him. He was my best friend Cassie in male form come to life, and I didn’t know how the world survived having two of them.

“Hey, Thatch,” I greeted much more softly. “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve been wanting to touch base about a favor, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“A favor for you?”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“You got it. Lay it on me, sister.”

See? That right there. That’s why I always found myself loving him.

“Okay, great. I’m sure you know, but Kline’s thirty-fifth birthday is coming up at the end of next month, and I’m planning on surprising him with a party.”

“Righteous!”

I laughed. “Well, I was hoping you might be willing to help. Maybe with some of the planning, but mostly—”

“Oh, you bet your sweet ass, babe. I’m in. I’m a great planner. Terrific planner. Much better than your husband, as it turns out, but that’s a topic for another time.”

My eyes widened at the huge, running stream of word vomit coming out of his mouth, so I waded back in to try to get control of the situation.

“Well, that’s great. Really. I appreciate your willingness. I just probably more need you for distracting Kline, getting him there. That sort of thing.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to handle some of the arrangements? Honestly, I’m pretty damn good at it,” he urged again, the confidence in his voice making me imagine him cocked back in his desk chair with his feet up on his desk. Still, I didn’t need a co-planner. Not really anyway. Cassie had already volunteered for the job, and she was more than enough crazy to handle.

“I’m good. If you can just stand by for instruction from me on the specifics of distraction and escorting him to the party, I’ll be forever grateful.”

“Well, then, you got it, doll. I’m at your service.”

I took one last right turn onto our quaint, suburban street and a left turn into my driveway, and I was finally home sweet home.

Thank goodness. Now I had an excuse to end the call before it got out of hand.

“Okay, then. Thanks again. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You bet. Oh, and Georgia girl?”

“Yeah?”

“Have a great weekend.”

My eyes narrowed at his weirdness, but I didn’t focus on it for too long. The thing with Thatcher Kelly was that there was always at least a little weirdness.

“Thanks. I will. Bye.”

Finally, I shut off the engine, grabbed my purse from the passenger seat, and headed for the door.

Honestly, two years ago, I never would’ve guessed that I’d find myself married, moved out of the vibrant city that is New York, and happily living in the suburbs, but here I was.

Married.

Happy.

And, as of a little over a week ago, officially moved out of the city and into the quiet suburbs.

No doubt, it was the one thing my best friend, Cassie—a self-proclaimed “I’m never fucking leaving the city” New Yorker—would probably never let me live down. But fingers crossed, one day soon, she would find the kind of man who made her eat those I-will-never-live-in-suburbia words.

As for me, my focus mostly revolved around getting inside, taking off this godforsaken bra, and releasing my poor feet from these freaking heels. I swear, besides sex with my husband, there wasn’t any better feeling than taking off my bra and heels after a long day.

I tapped the garage door closed on the switch next to the entrance to the house and stepped inside. I hooked my purse on one of the fixtures by the door and headed down the hall, but I came to a halting stop when I reached the threshold of the kitchen and looked down toward my feet. Instantly, confusion urged a furrow in my brow as I stared down at the hardwood floor, a trail of red and pink that led from the kitchen and into the main hallway that led to the upstairs all I could see.



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