Billionaires Prefer Blondes Quotes

“Peanut butter, or turkey?”
“Turkey. Soft on the mayo, extra mustard.”
Rick lifted an eyebrow at her. “Do I look like a cook?”
“You do until Vilseau comes back. Because anything beyond microwave pizza is your territory, sweetheart.”
With a grin he began slathering mustard on one of the slices of bread. “Wonderful. So now I have to negotiate a multimillion-dollar deal and cook? Do you want tomatoes?”
“Hell, yes, my darlin’.”
“Ahem. Innocent bystander trying not to barf over here.” Stoney waved a hand at them from the doorway. “What’s the gig?”
“Food first. Do you want Rick to make you a sandwich?”
“Hey,” Rick protested.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“Are you doing reporting for the Enquirer now, Patricia?”
“Oh, please. It’s a perfectly logical question.”
“Hey, Patty,” Sam called in a carrying voice, “can you call back? We’re right in the middle of having sex.”
Patricia gasped. “That woman is the most—”
Richard hung up the phone. “You really shouldn’t antagonize her like that,” he said mildly, leaning down to finish their kiss.
“She started it. And I still don’t know why she hates me so much. You divorced her nearly two years before we met.”
“She hates you because I love you.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“Yeah,” Stoney muttered, “easy. Except for all the guns and the running around and the chance that somebody might try to follow you. Or that somebody might recognize you. You’ve been on TV, if you’ll recall.”
“Ah, but I thought of that,” she returned, reaching into a sack beside her and pulling out a blonde wig.
“I hope that thing’s bulletproof,” her former fence said dourly.
She smiled at Rick. “Is it true, Mr. Addison?” she chirped, pulling on the headpiece. “Do billionaires prefer blondes?”
He snorted, reaching across the table to twist a strand of the golden blonde hair in his fingers. “You look good in any color, Yank. If being blonde will get you out of the Met safely, then yes, today I prefer blondes.”
She stood, leaning over to kiss him on his sensuous mouth. “Good answer.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“Hola.”
“How hungry are you?”
“I’m actually already eyeing a pizza place,” Samantha’s smooth voice came. “How long do you think you’ll be?”
“Too long. I think I’m going to order in.”
“Don’t forget to feed your minions.”
He smiled. “Yes, love. I’ve already told them to find some crumbs. I’ll see you in a few hours.” That was his Sam, professional criminal and champion to overworked office staff everywhere.
“Okay.” She paused. “How’s it going today?”
“Fairly well. I’m currently threatening to drop the Manhattan and buy another hotel instead.”
She chuckled. “I’m never playing Monopoly with you. See you tonight.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“Richard ground his jaw. “I am not having this conversation right now,” he growled, standing. “Watch your bloody movie and stay in the house until we get all the paperwork filed and put out a press release.”
Halfway to the door, a pillow hit him squarely between the shoulder blades. Richard froze.
“You didn’t just do that,” he said, still unmoving.
“The next thing I throw is going to hurt.”
He turned around. “What are you, five?”
“Maybe. You’re the one who just sent me to my room.” Samantha stood up. “You think you’re mad? I used to be able to go wherever I wanted, do anything, be anybody. And cops were never fucking waiting for me at my front door, because nobody knew where I lived! Now they all know who I am and where I am.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“You okay?” Rick asked, as he helped her into the back seat of Ripton’s Mercedes and then went around the other side to join her.

“I’m okay. I got shot again.”
“It was a graze. Again.”

“You’re just jealous because you’ve only been roughed up a couple of times.” She patted his thigh.

“Someone will shoot you eventually. I’m sure of it.”
“Mm-hm. Probably you.”
“Probably.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“Business man or not, he had the soul of a thief.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“I could tell the world that you are a Great White in the world of business sharks, that you don't like American-style baked potatoes, and that you're hell on wheels in bed. Your reputation would be forever destroyed.”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes

“Not that I mind this in the least,” he said quietly, reluctant to give up the intimacy but worried enough that he had to ask, “but is something troubling you, Sam?”
Her breath caught, then began again. Slowly she nodded against his chest. Christ.
Okay, it was bad. Calculating how hard he should push and how she would react, he decided to cajole her into talking. “You’re not sick, are you?”
“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.
So far, so good. “I’m not sick, am I?”
“No.”
“No one’s died?”
“No. No one at all.”
Nearly complete sentences now. That seemed like an improvement. Keeping his voice calm and quiet and the questions over the top and nonthreatening, he kept talking. “You haven’t stolen anything that will force you to flee the country?”
― Suzanne Enoch, Billionaires Prefer Blondes