Page 50 of Sexting the Billionaire

Now,as I drop my keys on the counter and kick off my shoes, my phone buzzes with a text. I already know who it's from before I look.

Your dress looked good on my floor. Just so you know.

I smile as I type my response:

Your shirt looks better on me than on you. You're not getting it back.

His reply comes almost immediately:

Keep it. I like the thought of you wearing something of mine. Even if no one else knows.

I flop onto my couch, clutching the phone like a teenage girl with her first crush. This is insane. I'm insane. We're playing with fire, and someone—probably me—is going to get burned.

But as I pull the collar of his shirt to my nose, breathing in the lingering scent of him, I can't bring myself to care about the inevitable flames.

Some things are worth the risk of getting burned.

12

CASSIE

"And you're making me late to brunch... why exactly?" Olivia demands three hours later as I slide into the booth across from her, looking distinctly rumpled despite my best efforts.

"Traffic," I lie, avoiding her eyes by studying the menu with unusual intensity.

"Mm-hmm." She doesn't sound remotely convinced. "And does this 'traffic' happen to be about six-foot-two with a net worth in the billions?"

I peek over the menu to find her grinning like the cat who got the cream, the canary, and probably several other metaphorical prizes.

"I hate you," I inform her pleasantly.

"You love me," she counters. "And you're going to tell meeverything."

I sigh, knowing resistance is futile. "Fine. But I'm going to need a mimosa first. Or three."

Olivia flags down the waiter before I can change my mind, ordering us two mimosas with a cheerful "Keep 'em coming" that promises this brunch will be more booze than breakfast. Themoment he steps away, she leans forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on her hands.

"Start talking."

"Can I at least order food first? Some of us worked up an appetite this morning." The words slip out before I can stop them.

Olivia's eyes widen to cartoon proportions. "Oh. My. God. You didn't just spend the night with him—you had morning sex too?"

"Can you please lower your voice?" I hiss, glancing around at the nearby tables where New York's brunching elite are pretending not to eavesdrop. "I'd like to maintain at least the illusion of dignity."

"Dignity is overrated," Olivia dismisses with a wave of her hand. "Details are not. Spill."

The mimosas arrive, and I take a fortifying gulp before setting the glass down. "Where exactly would you like me to start?"

"How about with whatever happened after you texted me 'Leaving now' from the gala, then mysteriously went radio silent until your 'running late' message this morning?" She uses actual air quotes, because subtlety has never been Olivia's strong suit.

I take another sip, then decide to just rip the Band-Aid off. "I went home with Roman."

"I'm aware of that much, Captain Obvious. I want to know everything—what his place is like, what happened when you got there, how many times you..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"This isn't one of your romance novels, Liv."

"Clearly it is, or you wouldn't be sitting there in yesterday's makeup with a hickey poorly concealed by that scarf."

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