It’s going to take a strategic attack from more than a couple brilliant minds to win her affection, but luckily, I know exactly where to find the right guys for the job…
The Billionaire Book Club.
The Billionaire Book Club, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
The Billionaire Book Club Questionnaire
#1: Who is your least favorite character in the book?
Me—Caplin Hawkins. I am an absolute idiot.
#2: Who is your favorite character?
Gorgeous, addictive, insanely challenging Ruby.
She’s smart, driven, self-confident, and so beautiful, she makes my chest ache.
#3 What is your biggest takeaway from the story?
Ruby Rockford and I are meant to be.
I just have to prove it to her.
For the entirety of my adult life, I’ve been content.
Content in my single lifestyle, content in my stressful-but-extremely-successful job as the main corporate counsel for almost every Fortune 500 company in North America, and content in my playful, spontaneous ways.
I had no idea it was possible for someone to change my mind.
The endless women and work are no longer enough, and just as Ruby Rockford told me—it’s about time I grow up.
It’s going to take a strategic attack from more than a couple brilliant minds to win her affection, but luckily, I know exactly where to find the right guys for the job…
The Billionaire Book Club.
It’s safe to say that I, Caplin Hawkins, the man most women would call The Ultimate Player, have finally met my match, and man oh man, has my end game changed.
I’m coming for you, Ruby.
And soon, you’ll be coming for me, too.
Download your copy today and read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
My Review:
What happens when a billionaire playboy lawyer meets a girl
who is impervious to his charms? One who he learns is a law student
moonlighting as an audiobook narrator? When he has finally met his match? Well,
he tries to win her over of course!
Cap meets Ruby as he’s forced to run his own errands and
pull files from the law library when his regular assistant is on maternity
leave. There, he encounters Ruby, a smart, quick witted law student who is
filling in for her friend at the law library desk. Cap returns to try and find
her, only to discover that she’s not a regular employee. He uses his resources
to track her down, shows up as a guest-lecturer in her program, and tries to
hire her as his assistant. Thinking this is the perfect way to win her over, he
offers her a job – which she takes. Once he realizes that she’s not going to
fall at his feet, he devises a way to win her over by convincing his
billionaire friends at poker night to help. Thatch has a perfect solution – and
convinces him to reenact scenes from
romance novels…hence, the Billionaire Book Club.
As usual, his plan works right until the point where he freaks
out and almost loses her. The story of Cap and Ruby is one that is filled with
the typical Max Monroe hilarity and swoon-worthy scenes, including the creative
way Cap wins back his girl. This is a fantastic addition to this series, and all your old favorites are here!
Read an Exerpt now!
Cap
Errands officially run and work and
Hell-ary’s margs with the girls out of my fucking head, I settle into poker
night with the guys.
This, right here, is exactly what I
needed.
Just the guys, smoking cigars, and
playing poker.
Smoke swirls above the green
felt of the table as Thatcher Kelly knocks the ashy end off his cigar, puts it
back in his mouth, and deals a round of cards.
I catch them under my hand as he
throws them, placing them one by one into the palm of my other hand and
studying what luck has dealt me.
This hand gives me a queen, a king,
and a trio of shitty other random cards, but in my actual life, it’s a whole
lot of really good shit.
I’m a happy guy with a job he loves,
friends he can count on, and more money than I’ll ever know what to do with.
I don’t have to worry about making the
mortgage every month, I don’t have a sordid past with demons to conquer and
wounds to heal, and I get more pussy than the SPCA.
There are occasionally stressful
situations that come with being the top corporate lawyer for nearly every
muckety-muck in the country, but I thrive off the pressure. It feeds my need
for adrenaline and puts a nice layer of padding on an already swollen ego.
Which is, frankly, just how I like it.
Confidence keeps my life balanced. If
I weren’t confident in my abilities at work, I’d be spending this time poring
over files instead of enjoying a game of poker with my rarely available,
pussy-whipped friends. But I know myself, I know my tenacity, I know my
willingness to work an all-nighter, and most importantly, I know a little free
time for pleasure does the business part of my mind a whole lot of good.
Kline Brooks, Thatcher Kelly, Wes
Lancaster, Milo Ives, Trent Turner, and Harrison Hughes sit around the table in
front of me, arranging their cards and smoking their cigars in comfortable
silence. Quincy Black and Theo Cruz couldn’t make it tonight—something about a
baby and a new hip nightclub respectively—but as I understand it, they have a
standing invitation to poker night as well.
When the last card is dealt, Thatcher
Kelly, a numbers genius, friend, fellow billionaire, and client of mine, places
his cigar in an ashtray and shoves back in his chair to make his massive frame
look even bigger. Frankly, I’m the only one in this group of guys who even
comes close to his size, but I’m still not a giant like him. At six foot three
and just over two hundred pounds, I’m leaner, but I can still pretty much
guarantee I’m the stronger of the two of us.
“Welcome, motherfluffers…to the
official Thatcher Kelly Poker Night, trademark.”
I roll my eyes at his theatrics, and
trust me, I’m not the only one. Thatch has been trying to get a poker night
going for our group for months, and now that it’s finally happening, I’m not
even a little surprised he’s treating it like the first night of the Olympics.
“What happens here, stays here, locked away from the women, the men, the children
in your lives. This is a sacred table, a sacred ritual, a sacred game, and you
will respect it.”
“Jesus,” Kline Brooks, another client
of mine, CEO of the popular dating app TapNext, and Thatch’s best friend in the
whole world, mutters.
Thatch carries on, unaffected. “I know
you have other things in your lives, and I’ll allow it, but from here forward,
this biweekly game is to become your priority.”
“No,” Wes Lancaster, owner of the New
York Mavericks and another one of Thatch’s best friends, remarks. “I’ll be here
when and if I have time. Fuck your sanctity. And, for the sake of everyone’s
sanity, let’s keep your text reminders of poker night down to one in the
future.”
“You’re disrespectful and
disappointing, Whitney. You should be happy I allowed you, a woman, to
participate.” Thatch smirks. “This is supposed to be boys only.”
Wes holds up his middle finger and
takes a puff on his cigar, and I jump in as a colorful referee.
“Relax, guys. I think what Thatch is
trying to say is that he misses you guys. You’re all so busy with your pussy—”
“Hey!”
“Yo!”
“What the fuck?”
“I’d tread lightly…”
The chorus of responses is loud and
overwhelming, but I shush them with a hand and continue. “That we never really
get to hang out anymore. This is a chance to bond like men. To talk about
things you can’t talk about at home. To relax and play poker and not give a
fuck about anything else.”
“I’m pretty fucking relaxed at home,”
Milo interjects, and unfortunately, the rest of the band of misfits nods in
agreement.
“Well, fuck you guys very much,” I say
with a sour laugh. “Do it for me, then.”
“Technically, they’re doing it for me,” Thatch corrects. “And I’d keep your
voice down. If Cassie hears you say some of this shit, I’m not gonna hold her
back for you.”
“Your wife is here?” I question with a groan. “I thought this was about the
guys. A sacred ritual locked away from the women and children in your lives—”
“It is, it is,” Thatch interrupts with
a sigh. “But Cassie wouldn’t let me come into the city to have poker night at
our Manhattan apartment and leave her
with the kids at the New Jersey house, so she got a sitter, and the girls are
having a meeting in their space, all the way on the other side of the
apartment. Don’t worry. This is the guys’ space. They know that.”
Manhattan apartment. New Jersey house.
Talk about first world problems.
Thatcher Kelly has more houses and
apartments than he has members of his family.
Not that I can’t say the same for
myself, but that’s minor details.
I roll my eyes at his pathetic words.
Cassie Kelly wouldn’t follow a directive given by her husband if it literally
saved her life. She wears the pants in their relationship, and Thatch usually
doesn’t deny it. Instead, he just presents her tits as evidence.
They’re great tits, I’ll give him
that, but I play with my fair share of great fucking tits, and I do it without
having someone holding my balls hostage in exchange.
“So, we should expect her to pop in
within the next ten minutes, then,” I remark, and even Kline, the most adult of
the entire group, snickers behind a hand.
“She’s not gonna pop in, okay?” Thatch
booms. “Fluffing hell. It’s like you don’t trust—”
“Yoo-hoo!” his wife interrupts
appropriately, peeking her head around the door of the smoky room. “You guys
hungry, or are you too busy punching one another in the dick?”
Thatch sighs and closes his eyes as I
give him a hard glare. The rest of the group breaks out in smiles. Thatch
places his cards on the table and turns to look over his shoulder so he can
meet his wife’s startlingly blue eyes.
“Honey, I thought we talked about
this. Poker night needs separation from ladies’ night. Like church and fluffing
state.”
“Well, excuse me,” Cassie replies
pseudoangrily, opening the door fully to step inside, “for fluffing checking on
the status of your big, ogre stomach. From here on out, I’ll let you starve.”
I bite my lip and lower my cards to
the table before letting my head drop back as Thatch jumps up so they can
bicker in closer proximity.
“Christ, woman! Did you get your
annual exam today, or are you just raging for no reason?”
“Your exams are gonna be reduced down to annual if you don’t cool your
fluffing jets.”
“My jets are cool!” Thatch shouts, and
the rest of us groan as Cassie lunges forward and punches him…right in the
dick.
Ah
hell.
As annoyed as I am at him, my crotch
throbs sympathetically.
Cassie storms off, and Thatch, hunched
over in a ball of agony, turns back to the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Still almost fetal, he waddles through
the opening at a surprisingly brisk pace.
As the door closes behind him, the
other guys start to chatter.
“The rest of our lives, guys. It will
be this way for the rest of our lives,” Kline mutters, and Wes laughs.
“Not if we cut him out of the
friendship circle.”
Kline smirks but simultaneously rolls
his eyes. “Like that’s possible. Try to cut that fucker out, and he’ll end up
shadowing you during your colonoscopy.”
“I’m not scheduled for a colonoscopy,”
Wes refutes with a laugh.
Kline clucks. “Ah, but you will be.
That’s how ridiculous his power is. You won’t even know how it happened until
he’s snapping on latex gloves and suiting up.”
Harrison Hughes, a longtime employee
of my father’s media company HawCom and friend of ours, laughs. He’s a little
older than I am, but I’ve known him long enough that it doesn’t feel like there
was a time when we weren’t friends. He also played rugby with Wes, Kline, and
Thatch for a while, and he still throws his old, dilapidated ass into a game in
the park every now and then. But, as the only single guy left other than Theo
and me, I’m fairly certain he does it all just so he has a way to impress the
ladies. “Wait. He’s the doctor now? What the fuck?”
Kline shrugs and chuckles. “Trust me.
After this many years of friendship, I don’t put anything past that guy.”
Wes nods begrudgingly. “He’s
surprisingly adept at making just about anything possible. That’s how Lexi
ended up interning for fucking Hugo Clouse. She’s a teenager, and he’s
basically the Wolf of fucking Wall Street, without the cocaine and hookers.”
I laugh. “Geez. Where’s the fun in
that?”
They all ignore me.
“How’s she liking it?” Kline asks.
“All those numbers?” Wes questions
with a laugh. “She loves it. Pretty sure she’s going to be managing my hedge
fund by the time she’s twenty.” Kline smiles. “Win’s feeling the blues, though.
Says her baby is growing up too fast.”
Milo smiles, even though I’m not sure
he’s ever met Wes’s stepdaughter, and I don’t miss the pathetic fucking longing
that goes with it. The bastard’s been a fucking goner since he got involved
with his best friend Evan’s little sister. Now, he’s engaged to be married and
apparently ready to add some mini-Milos into the mix.
Wait
a minute…
“Oh God,” I groan at him, throwing my
head back dramatically. “Don’t tell me Maybe is pregnant already.”
“Is she?” Trent asks, his inflection
going noticeably upward at the end. Because, unlike me, he’s excited.
Love-sick
fools. The whole lot of ’em.
“No,” Milo says with a little smile.
“I’m just thinking about the day she will be.”
“Ugh,” I groan, miming sticking a
finger down my throat. “First of all, you just got en-fucking-gaged, you
bastard. And secondly, are we really talking about women and babies during
poker night? And not, like, the good part of women, like how well their pretty
mouths can wrap around our cocks. But how lovely
they are?”
Trent laughs. “Yeah, Cap. If you
stopped sleeping your way through the entire city, you might find out why.”
I scoff. “Fuck that. I’m not like you
guys. I like a plethora of pussy, and I like it often. I’m not gonna tie myself
to one chick for the sake of…what? Insanity?”
Trent shakes his head, while Milo
smiles behind his drink, the fucker. They’re absolutely convinced I’ll be just
like them one day, twiddling my dick while some high-class chick shops with my
money.
But they don’t know me like they think
they do. I like my life the way it is. Full of freedom and fucking and anything
else I want to do.
My time is my own, and my body, a free
agent.
I get to sample the best of the best,
over and over if I want or just take a taste. I have my cake, and I eat it too,
and fuck anyone who thinks just because it’s the way of the world, I need to change my ways.
In fact, after today, there’s a new
pussy on the horizon, new fun to be had.
The pretty blonde with the hot body at
the library who apparently likes to listen to audiobooks that are reminiscent
of some of sixteen-year-old Cap’s favorite pornos.
Goddamn, she was something. A petite
little bombshell whose choice in listening pleasure has me more than intrigued.
She didn’t give me her name, but it doesn’t
matter. I am a man who thrives off a good challenge, and I already know my
future romp with her will be a better time than any of these fuckers has ever
had.
And hell, who doesn’t love a good naughty librarian fantasy?
Certainly not me.
That pretty little librarian doesn’t
know it yet, but she’s the new chase.
My new mission.
And I won’t stop until I’ve tasted her
and fucked these guys and their
monogamy right out of my damn head.
About Max Monroe
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
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