Desert Isle Keeper
Tapping the Billionaire
Until Max Monroe’s Tapping the Billionaire, I had never been asked to read elsewhere because my reading was disturbing someone. Huh? I cry silently, laugh internally and rarely even alter my stoic facial expression when I read. I am NOT a demonstrative reader – until now. I honestly could not control my outbursts of giggling and cackling, and I literally LOLed until my husband gave me the stink eye and requested I leave the bedroom so he could go to sleep. I was too lazy to move and he didn’t appreciate my suggestion of earplugs; therefore, I clenched my stomach muscles to silence my mirth. This just caused the bed to faintly shake and the stink eye turned into the Stare of Death. I conceded and shacked up with the cat downstairs to uninhibitedly enjoy Tapping the Billionaire, and it is hilarious, a great abdominal workout and a kick-ass, heartfelt love story.
I am late to the Max Monroe and Billionaire Bad Boy series party. I had read the internet hoopla in romancelandia about Tapping – the first book in the series – but the cover and title lean towards the cheesy. (Is that his hand down his pants?) I thought the overwhelmingly positive reviews might be manufactured and the product of the brilliant marketing tactic of the mysterious Max Monroe. No one knows who he or she is – we only know Max is a team of two successful romance authors. Thank goodness I ignored my skepticism, because I am now a card carrying member of the cult of Max Monroe. I will never doubt you again, Goodreads friends.
From the first page, it is evident that Tapping the Billionaire is not a highbrow, mature comedy.
I’m Kline Brooks.
President and CEO of Brooks Media.
Net worth: $3.5 billion.
Devilishly handsome. How do I know this? I was prom king two years in a row.
Highly Intelligent. Proof? I can solve any Rubik’s Cube, in front of your face, with magic fingers.
Certified master of female orgasms.
If you are looking for sophisticated and subtle humor, this isn’t for you. (I won’t be buying this one for my mother-in-law this Christmas.) It is an overblown, full frontal comedy with no shortage of dirty words and dirty talk. It is crass but also incredibly smart and infused with razor sharp wit.
I will be brief in the plot synopsis of this Bad Boy – pun intended – because I won’t be able to adequately convey the book’s comedic genius, and you need to just go read it yourself.
Kline Brooks is a thirty-four year old billionaire who is suddenly and inexplicably bowled over by his sassy Director of Marketing, Georgia Cummings. Although she’s worked for him for two years, he’s never noticed her sexually, and he’s gobsmacked when he suddenly does.
Her scent stabbed me right in the fucking chest like some kind of olfactory voodoo doll.
Kline is the ultimate book boyfriend for any female or male, young or old, married or single reader. He is richer than President-elect Trump but one tenth as flashy and ten times as smart. He’s handsome, sexy and has an aptitude for filthy bedroom conversation, but he is not a man whore or a pussy grabber. He is brilliant, sweet to his mother, plays rugby, and has a big cock. Yeah, he’s perfect, and he’s got his sights on Georgia.
…those blue eyes. Surely, they were trying to hypnotize my vagina. It was working, by the way.
The only glitch for Kline is that he has a hard rule about not dating his employees, and he debates the appropriateness of pursuing his unexpected attraction. He deliberates for a few paragraphs – this is a romance novel – and then asks Georgia out.
Georgia is her own brand of awesomeness. She’s smart, exceptionally good at her job and adorably awkward. She has never been completely comfortable with her sexuality although her last name is Cummings and her mother is an outspoken sex therapist. In her teens she was sent to a masturbation camp – Camp Love Yourself – so she’s knowledgeable and content with self-love.
Before your mind wanders to weird and disturbing places, I should explain that we weren’t sitting around naked, diddling ourselves to Justin Timberlake music videos.
Georgia is surprised, staggered and wary of Kline’s attention. She also believes that business and pleasure shouldn’t mix, so she, too, hesitates for a moment before agreeing to a date. Their first date is ridiculous in the best way possible, and there is no stopping their love train after their night of comedic errors. All aboard the engaging and satisfying romance of Georgia and Kline.
There is a gaggle of friends along for the ride who add to the continuous laughs – from Georgia’s roommate who insists on calling Kline by the nickname “Big Dick Brooks” to Kline’s best friend and dick pic bandit, Thatcher, who uses Kline’s phone to send Georgia a pic of “the gremlin of male members.” The sidekicks get their own time to shine in the next two books of the three book series, and I am moving forward with that earplug idea and adding a sleeping mask to prepare my husband for the experience.
If you can’t tell that I highly recommend this book for anyone who enjoys bawdy humor, you must have skipped the majority of this review and jumped to this last paragraph. (No judgment. I do it too.) Tapping the Billionaire is a wildly romantic love story with page after page of the deliciously absurd with nonstop outrageousness and steamy love scenes. While it might not win a literary award, it earns a spot as one of my coveted Desert Isle Keepers. Max Monroe – whoever you two are – thank you for all the LOLs. You are worth my husband’s ire.