Friction(21)

Sauntering to my office door, Sonora peeks over her shoulder and shifts an eyebrow. “Well in that case, offer her more money to work for you. The woman’s obviously a keeper.”

“Get the hell out of my office.” But I grin, and she winks just before disappearing around the corner, loudly advising me to wrap up the work and my cock for wherever I’m headed next.

If she only knew.

For the next half hour, I sketch in silence, until I’m finally satisfied with the design for B’s table. As I leave my office, I can’t resist sending Lucy a message.

Are you still upset, Williams?

By the time I get into my car, she’s already read it.





Seven





Lucy





"What exactly do you mean when you say he makes sex toys?" Jamie asks. "Like things that go buzz in the night? I thought you said he was a welder."

I hadn't planned to go out today—preparing for my workweek on Sundays has always been a ritual for me—but I laid awake for far too long last night because all I could think about was my new boss. My very sexy and verifiably kinky new boss. When Jamie texted this morning asking if I would meet her halfway in Framingham for breakfast at a place called Planet of the Cakes, a restaurant she'd randomly picked because the Yelp reviews called them pancake connoisseurs, I jumped at the chance. I needed to get out of the house before my mother had the opportunity to grill me about my evening.

I still haven't figured out what the hell I'll say to her. Mom can see right through bullshit better than anyone I've ever met, and I don’t think I can bear the disapproving smile that will greet me if I tell her I accepted a position marketing kink. Or what she’ll say.

“Three degrees, Lucinda, and a job history at one of the best marketing firms in San Francisco, and you're pitching … intercourse toys?” Mom would demand and then I would question all my life decisions up until this point. Again.

"What I mean by sex toys," I start softly, leaning in to Jamie so the couple with their teenage kids at the next table won't hear me, "is metal cages and chrome butt plugs and spinning stainless steel tables."

"Oh my," she says with an enormous grin.

"I can't believe you're smiling and making The Wizard of Oz jokes when I'm sitting right in front of you telling you my new job is marketing sex toys!"

"Calm down," she says in the same voice she uses on newborns at work. She takes a bite of her eggs, chews them slowly as she gathers her thoughts. "What's so bad about promoting ... toys?” She dabs at the corners of her mouth with her paper napkin. “You've done it before—granted those were building blocks and Jack-In-A-Boxes—but now you have a chance to broaden your horizon. You can sell ... other jacks."

I fist my hands around my own napkin, twisting until it tears.

"What's wrong is that he took me to a party where they were being used right in front of me. He didn't say a damn word—" The mother at the next table over shoots me a lethal glare, and I mouth sorry before lowering my voice and continuing. "He didn't say a word about where we were going or what we would be doing because he wanted to see my reaction. I felt like a complete dumbass because I'd been too eager about finally being offered a job to see the signs."

My best friend sighs and lowers her fork to her plate. "You're not a dumbass, Luce." She examines the front of her Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt to make sure she hasn't spilled any food. "You're the smartest person I know, and that's saying something because I'm effing brilliant."

I don't feel smart. Not even close to it. Despite a lifetime of stellar grades and several degrees, I feel like I’ve hit another all-time low.

"I mean, yeah,” Jamie says. “I thought about asking if he at least took you to dinner first, but then I figured you'd just punch me in the throat. And since we’re on throat punches … I’ve got to ask. What was it like?”

Like nothing I ever imagined. Like the most erotic moment I’ve ever experienced—only it wasn’t happening to me. Like I should probably start looking for a new job. I release a noise that borders a hysterical sob. “Does it matter?”

“Umm, yes. You went to an adult slumber party and didn’t even think to send your best friend a text or a snap or anything.” I tilt my head to one side and give her an incredulous look. She lifts her hands defensively and laughs. “Fine. I’ll stop. Look, Luce, I think you should calm down and—ohhh shit."

Her brown eyes are intently focused over my shoulder, trailing someone or something across the restaurant. "Let me guess, cute, squishy baby?"

I flinch at the apologetic expression she sends my way. I've seen that look before, and it's always followed with a dose of horrible news. Sure enough, I twist around in my seat and nearly fall out of my chair. It’s Mr. Extreme himself, being led to a seat by the windows. He's not alone—there's a petite woman and a big muscular guy towering over them who reminds me of The Rock with a mohawk. When the woman pulls her slouchy gray beanie off and shakes out her short platinum hair, I realize it’s Daisy.

"Why is he here?" I hiss aloud. I feel the color leech from my face when slate-blue eyes lock on mine. A grin slinks across his devilishly handsome face. That smug, evil bastard. Daisy and The Rock 2.0 also turn to stare. The receptionist lifts her hand in a cheerful wave, so I raise my chin in acknowledgment before I face Jamie.