Cash is the worst.
And that’s probably what you’d expect from a cocky, arrogant, model-looking CEO and founder of a company called Cash Money Industries.
Yeah. And he’s not even a rapper.
He struts around the office wearing whatever he wants. Not a suit. No, that would be too “traditional” and “cliché” for Mr. Cash Money. He wears 5’’ inseam rugby shorts with sneakers and tight T-shirts that show off his gym physique he’s obviously so proud of.
Or a nice pair of dress pants with loafers, but a tank top to show off his arms.
Or, and this is the look I hate the most, a simple loose-neck T-shirt with a pair of gray sweatpants.
All the girls around the office know about Cash’s banana. I don’t even need to ask how they all know, but when he wears those gray sweatpants, it’s so obvious. Even if he wasn’t rich, he’d have a reason to strut around like he does.
And maybe that’s one of the reasons I hate him so much.
I get he’s busy; his clothing and lifestyle brand is exploding right now and doing insane business, but he struts around with his nose in the air, never even noticing the rest of us. In fact, we haven’t had a single conversation since I started working here last month. But that’s fine with me; he’s going to be going down anyway.
Cash may think I’m just a secretary – one of four he has at all times – but in reality, I’m a private investigator working with his ex-business partners and the police to look into possible involvement with his company and the mafia.
Strong-arming businesses into carrying his brand, sabotaging others’ products…the list goes on.
Yeah. It’s going to be a pleasure bringing his cocky ass down with the rest of us. I wonder how a pretty boy like him will fare in prison.
“Are you all right, Soph? You look like you’re contemplating murder or something.”
I glance over at Chelsea and realize I’ve been scowling to myself at my desk. Wow. Cash really has an effect on me. All that does is make me even angrier.
“I was just thinking about the ending of Game of Thrones,” I lie. Chelsea’s eyes go wide, and she gasps.
“Right? What was that? I don’t even suggest the show to my friends anymore because the whole thing is like…tainted now.”
“Tainted.” I nod. “I agree with that.”
“Taint? Whose taint are we talking about?” Regina, looking as bouncy and bubbly as ever, comes over from her desk, an intrigued, gossip-seeking look on her face. Her lips look bigger than usual. Has she had them done? “I hope it’s Cash’s. Have you guys seen the pants he’s wearing today?”
God, somebody shoot me. Aim a big, huge Terminator gun at my head and blow my brains out. How does every girl in the office besides me have a huge lady-boner for Mr. The-World-Works-For-Me?
“Tainted, Regina,” Chelsea laughs, rolling her eyes. “Not taint. Who thinks about guy taints anyway? What’s wrong with you?”
Regina never seems to care what anybody thinks. And why would she? I wouldn’t if I looked like her. She’s had a bit of work done, but is still treading that thin line between absolute-hottie and plastic-bimbo. I, on the other hand, am a frumpy mess who can’t even get the male, testosterone-fueled head of the company to look at me. God, what I wouldn’t do for some of her confidence.
“My ex liked his taint licked. Made him come in no time.”
“Oh God,” I groan, covering my face. Chelsea puts a motherly hand on my back and laughs.
“Shhh, Regina. Not around the virgin!”
“Virgin smirgin. She’s not as innocent as she likes to think!”
“Of course she is!” Chelsea laughs. “Why do you think she uses words like coochie, banana and hoo-hoo?”
Regina scoffs and waves a dismissive hand.
“Listen, Regina,” I snap. “Just because you go through men like shit through a goose doesn’t mean we all…”
And then it happens. Like a fast-moving paralytic has been injected into my veins, my mouth stops working, and my voice trails off. The elevator doors open, and Cash steps out, his dark hair swept back and a pair of aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes. He’s twirling the keys to his Ferrari or Lamborghini or Porsche, or whatever he has, around his fingers as he heads for his office, which is directly behind us.
He’s wearing those darned gray sweatpants again today, and his banana is as clear as day. With each step he takes, the outline of his manhood becomes more and more obvious. Do they make bras for…bananas? Because he could use one.
There’s a classic Cash-smile on his lips as he chats with whoever the man beside him is. He just exudes some sort of force that makes my skin tingle and my heart race at the same time. Is that what they mean by “Big Dick Energy?”
I hate myself for hoping he’ll look at me. But he doesn’t. As he passes, he glances at every single other girl in the room except me, then heads into his office. It’s like I don’t even exist.
“Ugh, he’s the worst.”
“Who?” Regina asks. “Cash?”
Shit. Did I say that out loud? He must be really getting on my nerves lately.
“Uh, no,” I reply, fumbling for an explanation. “This vendor who called earlier. I just remembered I have to call him back.”
They seem to buy it. That was close though. I’m going to need to keep it together if I’m going to get to the bottom of this case. Normally, I’m unflappable. I worked for five years as an investigator under my mentor Dick Riley before getting my PI license at 21. During that time, I never cracked under pressure, whether it was investigating a simple marital dispute or a big embezzlement scheme.
But Cash has me tripping all over myself.
Must be that big dick energy.
Thankfully, the day is almost over. I answer some calls, do some filing in the computer system, and make coffee for the girls. It’s Friday, and I’m just waiting for Cash to get the hell out of the office and off to whatever ultra-exclusive party he’s got tonight so I can try to get some real work done. But I haven’t seen his office door move since he last went in. Finally, around 6:45, all the other girls start packing up.
“Chels? Has Cash gone home yet?” I ask, pretending to be getting ready to leave too.
“I think so. Regina?”
“He’s long gone,” she replies, sliding into her bright red jacket. “Soph, you coming out for drinks with us?”
“No, but thank you. I’ve got…other plans.”
Regina cocks her head to the side. “Oooh, is it a man? Tell me he’s big and buff and tall with a huge—”
“No,” I say quickly. “Just some side work to do. But thank you for the invite!”
I watch them leave. Part of me does wish I could go, but the other part of me wants to nail Mr. Cash to the wall.
Once I’m sure they’re gone, I get up from my desk and quickly scurry to his office doors. They’re locked, but luckily for me, I spent way too many hours learning how to pick locks, and after about thirty seconds with my handy-dandy lock pick tool kit, I’m in.
Inside, the lights are dim, and even though he’s not here, the office smells like him. It’s actually a nice smell, but whatever. So he uses good hair products. So what?
I move quickly to his computer and pull out the USB thumb drive that will hack through his password protection and download any text documents on his hard drive, but just as I’m about to slide it in, the bathroom door opens and Cash steps out…
…wearing nothing but a towel.
No. Let me rephrase that. He has a towel hanging from his banana, which must be completely hard to be supporting the weight.
“Sophia?” he asks with a sly frown. “What are you doing here?”
Oh my God. He does know my name.