Friction(77)

“Una noche. Una noche y te garantizo que te puedo ense?ar una o quizás dos cosas.”

She wraps her fingers around his doorframe, closing her eyes as she digests his words. I take in her reaction—her flushed cheeks and the way she moves her lips for a few seconds—wondering just what he said to her. I know it’s dirty, it has to be, but I’ve never seen Jamie so flustered. When she looks over her shoulder, she exudes confidence as she shrugs. “If you say so.”

“You have my card, Ms. Armstrong. Use it,” he calls after her. She drops it in the wastebasket by Sonora’s desk as we leave the building.

When we reach our cars, I ask her what he said, but once again, she shrugs it off.

“Only that he’s a cocky shithead.”





Thirty





Lucy





The Monday after our visit with B in his office—two weeks after the giant sex scandal— the heiress in question releases a statement on her official website, her Facebook, and her Twitter. She says that sex is natural and that if anyone wants to argue her on that, they can go fuck themselves. Naturally, the media has a field day with her comment, but I quickly learn from Daisy that Victoria has forgiven Jace and it’s all because Mr. B used his charms to convince her to own her sexuality.

“After all,” Daisy tells me over the sound of something printing in the background. “It’s not illegal to have sex. It’s not like he was running a brothel. Theo says he’ll probably get more clients just because of it.”

“I’m glad,” I whisper, feeling a sliver of the pressure weighing me down lift from my shoulders. “Is—is he doing okay?”

“Jace?”

“Yes. Is he okay?”

“Ehh.” She makes a noise that doesn't seem too convincing. “It was really touch and go for a while, but I mean business is booming now. A reporter from some smut site asked Victoria where she gets all her fun toys, so she told them about EXtreme. The woman and her implants are like marketing cocaine.”

When I suck in a breath, Daisy starts to apologize, but I rush to assure her she hasn’t offended me. “No, it’s fine. I'm just glad to hear I haven’t bankrupted the company. God knows I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had,” I explain as I dash out the front door and climb into my car.

Daisy begins telling me about the date she and Theo have set for their wedding, but when I start the ignition and the sound of John Mayer blasts from the radio, she lets out a feral-sounding growl.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sunshine? You spend two weeks—two weeks—away from me and you're already listening to “Your Body is a Wonderland” again?”

“It’s a classic,” I inform her hotly, and she snorts.

“So is “Achy, Breaky Heart,” and I’d give you hell for listening to that too.”

I talk to Daisy for the next 15 minutes, until I reach my destination, and when I tell her I have an interview, I can hear the grin in her voice.

“What are you promoting now?”

“I'm trying to promote bras, but I’m not sure how that’ll go when they check my references. I have a shitty track record with my last two employers.” Although, my friend Andi had sent me an article about Java-Org’s latest announcement—they’re closing shop, effective the first of June.

I had hoped to feel pleased that the bitch called Karma was finally biting Tom in the ass, but I’d stared at my laptop screen for a long time, a bitter pain in the back of my throat.

“Bras?” Daisy squeals, cutting into my thoughts.

“Not the silky lingerie you're thinking about. Workout bras and clothes like that.”

“Pshh, what kind of girl do you think I am? I was thinking exactly what you’re thinking. Believe it or not, I like my fun sports bras just as much as I love my leggings—too bad my nephews use my bras to launch my cooking into my neighbor’s yard whenever they’re at my place.” After I tell her how sadistic her nephews are, and she agrees, she says, “If you get the job, you better send me something good. I’ve gotten smart, so now I hide my unmentionables whenever the little bastards come over. My neighbor’s appreciate that.”

I promise her I will, and when we hang up and I walk into the giant office building, I'm smiling.



To my delight—and total disbelief—I am hired on the spot for the marketing position at the new company whose goal is to launch a line of fitness wear targeted toward women of all shapes and sizes. The pay is a lot less than what I would have made at EXtreme, but I like the owner—Naomi. I also love the fact her clothes are quite literally for every woman, so I immediately accept. Though I was honest with her during the interview, and she’s fully aware that my face was front and center in the photo that broke the internet for a few days, I spend the next few days terrified. Wondering if, at any moment, Naomi will contact me and retract the offer.

That doesn’t happen.

When she finally calls, she tells me that my background check came back squeaky clean and that I start on Monday. She also lets me know how impressed she was that I used to work at WLC. One of the clothing lines that we helped promote in my earlier days at the company had been my new boss’s motivation for creating her brand. While she hated that none of their clothes worked for her body type, she’d admired the marketing campaign. Because I spearheaded it, she said she had no other choice but to hire me.