Read Online The Billionaire's Hotline (Men of the Capital Series Book 1) by Cara Nelson - Free Book Online

emailing in meetings and the board of directors is offended and thinks I need a doctor,” he blurted out.
    Her laughter rippled through the phone, sending a chill down his arms. Her voice was honeyed and he gripped the phone unnecessarily tight, holding it closer.
                  “If you think I’m distracting you by email, imagine what I could do if I were there with you,” she teased.
                  “Believe me, I have, mockingbird.”
                  “That’s more like it. Calling me ‘Hannah’ and signing shit ‘regards’ makes me crazy. Don’t do that to me. I can’t reach you from here.”
                  “You can reach me from there. I wish—“
                  “What?”
                  “I wish I could hold you.”
                  “So do I, Jasper. When do you get home?”
                  “Three days. What are you doing that day?”
                  “Seeing you.”
                  “Good answer. My flight gets in around ten at night.”
                  “Can I meet you at the airport?”
                  “I wish you would.”
                  “I’m a little nervous about seeing you.”
                  “Why?”
                  “I feel like I know you now. Like, your mom was a secretary, which explains why your admin staff is paid so well. Things like that. When you left you were just this guy I kept thinking about…now you’re Jasper. You’re my friend.”
                  “I have no desire to be your friend.”
                  “I hope we’re about to be lovers,” she said, and he was surprised again by her frankness and that smoky voice.
                  “If I were there, we would be by now.”
                  “You kicked me out of your apartment.”
                  “You were too close. I’m not accustomed to that level of scrutiny.”
                  “You’re used to dating women who like the idea of you—billionaire CEO—but never bother getting to know you and how picky you are and how demanding and how hard on yourself.”
                  “If you decide to hang out a shingle as an analyst, let me know and I’ll make an appointment.”
                  “Fair enough. I’ll stop. I’m saying you deserve better than women who only think of what you are, and not whom.”
                  “You said whom . No one has said whom since about 1890. How’s your Southern accent coming?”
                  “’What is straight? A lahn can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh naw , it’s curved lahk a road through mountains,’” she breathed in a perfect Georgia drawl.
                  “Tennessee Williams, I presume,” he said a little breathlessly.
                  “The man himself. I’ve been practicing. Maybe when you get back I’ll let you hear some of my lines. If you’ll play the cello for me.”
                  “Sing to me.”
                  “You said once I sounded like Nina Simone, so ’If you knew how I need you/you would not stay away, today. Don’t you know I need you/Stay here, my dear, with me,’” she sang softly.
    He could hear the earnestness, the slight tremor of self-consciousness in that supple voice, could hear that she meant every word.
    Jasper’s hand covered his mouth to stop a sound he felt in his throat, something like a sob, a cry. Something unmanly his father would have beaten out of him and set him three more hours of the cello for penance. The phone went silent as she waited for his praise, his sarcasm, for any response to show that he heard her. He hung up the phone without a syllable, unable to tell her anything she would understand.
    His meetings were