Bad Swipe Bad Swipe (Billionaire's Club #12) - Elise Faber Page 0,13
boss?”
She glanced up at him as they stepped onto the elevator. “You realize we’ve been friends for near on a decade,” she said. “Just because I’m your assistant—”
“Should I point out that you’re my assistant because you refused my offer to be VP?”
She made a face. “I don’t have the requisite fancy letters after my name to take that position,” she muttered, hitting the button to take them down to the garage. “I didn’t even finish high school, for God’s sake.”
Ben covered her hand with his. “You’re the smartest person I know. Bar none.”
A scoff, her fingers slipping from his. “So says the boy genius.”
He rolled his eyes. “So says your boss, who’s not going to hire another VP because I expect your ass to be in that office come Monday morning.”
“You won’t be able to get through your day without me.”
That was the worst part of offering Claire the position. He’d be out the best assistant in his crew. But also, he wouldn’t be the person who was going to hold her back, and God knew he should have made this move for her years ago.
She knew every role in the company, had worked every job, had been his right hand from the moment he’d started the business. His first employee. His friend.
“You’re right,” he said. “But I’ll have Spence and Baine and even though I won’t have another Claire, I’ll be happy because I know that you’ll be where you should be.”
“You’ll be miserable.”
“That, too.” He shrugged, not bothering to hide his smile. “Except, I also know that you’ll have a replacement ready for me on Monday, and you’ll train him or her up so he or she will be a mini-Claire before long.”
She made a face.
He shrugged again. “You’re only mad because you know it’s true.”
The elevator doors opened with a ding, and they stepped off, this time with Claire glaring up at him. “Only because I don’t want to hear you bitch about how incompetent your new assistant is, over and over again.”
“I don’t bitch about Spence and Baine.”
“Not anymore.” A beat. “And only because Baine is training Spence.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
She just looked at him.
“Okay, fine,” Ben muttered. “But it’s not a bad thing to like things the way I like them.”
Claire smirked. “You’re a boring stick in the mud.”
Since that much was true, he didn’t bother arguing.
“Stick. In. The. Mud.”
He rolled his eyes. “Claire.”
“You deleted the app, didn’t you?” she asked, as he walked her to her car. “Without even bothering to match with anyone.”
No. He hadn’t deleted the app.
He’d left it on his phone, buried in a folder, and occasionally opened the message chain and called himself a moron. And then he’d scroll to that profile, to that picture, to those red lips.
And he’d want to get Moron tattooed on his forehead.
“I don’t have time to date.”
“So, you’re just going to work nonstop for another eight years, let the world pass you by, and not have anything on the other side of it?”
“Not nothing,” he said, tugging open the door for her. “I have you.”
Claire’s lips pressed flat. “I’m dating someone.”
This made his brows raise. “Is it serious?”
She grinned. “No.”
He snorted. “Then I’ve still got my fabulous new VP.”
Quiet, amusement drifting across her face. “That you do.”
“Yeah?” he asked, fighting a smile at the first sign of her agreeing to take the positon.
Another grin. “Yeah.”
Ben leaned down and kissed her cheek. “That’s better than a match any day of the week.”
Her expression went soft. “Ben—”
He straightened. “See you Monday.”
Then he closed her door, moved to his own car, and drove home.
Because, between then and Monday, he’d do what he did best.
Work.
Chapter Nine
Stef
She was bordering on buzzed.
Margaritas for the win, but this time of the prickly pear variety.
They were eating at their favorite Mexican place, and while they usually met on Thursdays, this week Stef, Tammy, Cora, and the Couples, as they’d termed the other non-single women and their partners in their friend group, had gotten together on Friday.
They had chips and fajitas and prickly pear margaritas.
And fun.
Lots and lots of fun.
But even though it was tempting to dive into the newest pitcher of margaritas, she was tired. It had been a long week, and Fred had woken her up early that morning. She knew that if she had another glass, she was going to be straight buzzed, and then she wouldn’t be driving home.
She’d need a ride to the restaurant in the morning, and her chores and errands would