Chapter 7
Casey
New York City, afternoon…
I ran my thumb over the LolaRing, absently flicking it on as I chatted in my office with one of my top executives, Mahsa Rahimi.
The miniature vibrator buzzed against my thumb as Mahsa shared the updates on the various partnerships Joy Delivered had struck in the last year—a deal with a high-class boutique in Stockholm, a partnership with a leading department store in Paris—courtesy of Jack’s new European contacts—and even a pair-up with an upscale pharmacy called Sofia’s in London that I had a meeting with in two weeks.
Sofia’s was a first in England—not many high-end pharmacies carried pleasure toys, but Sofia’s took a chance, adding a few Joy Delivered products to its shelves, and the partnership had been a runaway success.
Those retail outlets had also been carrying The Wild One, a twelve-speed vibrator introduced two years ago that had won legions of fans.
Next up was the LolaRing.
“Did you and Abbot hammer out any of the positioning details last week?” the no-nonsense Mahsa asked, and I nearly dropped the toy in surprise from the unintended double meaning.
“Not in great detail, but we’ll be doing that once he returns from Portugal, Sri Lanka, and Hong Kong,” I said, and was tempted to add among other things.
Well, I was getting ahead of myself thinking of other things.
We’d need to start with dinner, with more getting-to-know-you before we got to other things.
I certainly hoped we had a good time at dinner.
And that he was a good guy too. And, of course, that he treated me well.
Would it be too much to also want him to be well-hung?
Like Nate.
Who knew he’d been packing that kind of heat all along?
I was a lucky lady to be able to turn to a man like him for my bedroom makeover project.
Because that man did not have a textbook dick.
His cock was so beautiful it needed a nickname.
Like Plow Me Now. Or Mouthwateringly Delicious. Or Molten Pleasure, perhaps.
Actually, those sounded more like marketing slogans that other sex toy makers might use, like my friends at Good Vibes.
I loved that company and was in regular contact with the top execs, but they approached the market differently.
Joy Delivered tried to operate at a cut above, but Nate had me stooping to all sorts of low levels.
Like on my knees. Or maybe on my hands and knees next.
Okay, time for my wandering mind to get out of its down and dirty gutter, and focus on catching up with my top employee on a Monday afternoon.
Mahsa peered at me over the top of fuchsia glasses that set off her deep brown eyes. We were camped out on the purple couch in my office, the one I’d chosen for my brother when he was co-CEO, then reclaimed when he left for Paris.
“I’ve got some ideas I’d like to share with you for how to promote the partnership.
Perhaps they’ll come in handy as we prep.
Contracts told me the paperwork has already been sent over, so we might as well get moving,” Mahsa said.
The woman was both efficient and creative.
Those twin qualities rarely resided in one body, but they did in Mahsa, who’d been overseeing the rollout plans for the LolaRing.
The new toy had received through-the-roof reviews from The Happiest Ladies in the World, our product-testing group.
The toy marked an evolution in one of Joy Delivered’s most popular vibrators, the Lola, that simulated oral sex.
It was an amazing device, and truly felt like the world’s most talented tongue.
The LolaRing was a two-person toy, because it paired the Lola with a cock ring.
Being man-free for the last year, I hadn’t been able to take the LolaRing for a test drive myself, but The Happiest Ladies had said in their product write-ups that it was “like being licked and fucked” at the same time.
“Translation: Heaven, Absolute Heaven,” one of them had written.
I was jealous as hell when I’d read those reviews.
I tried to picture a man like Grant wanting to use this toy with me, but the image didn’t compute, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.
I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe because I was putting the cart before the horse to think of him that way.
I didn’t know if we were physically compatible, or emotionally compatible, for that matter.
I didn’t even know how he kissed. And here I was, trying to change my ways for him.
Was I crazy? Foolish? Or just plain stupid?
But no, I reasoned, even if Grant Abbot was a bust, I needed to try a different approach with the opposite sex in general.
My romantic life had been sorely in need of a shake-up for a while.
And that’s what I was giving it. These lessons with Nate would be useful whether Grant and I were a match, or me and the next guy.
Right? Right.
Funny how giving up control with Nate wasn’t as hard as I’d expected, but maybe that was because he knew me inside and out.
I trusted him completely. Grant was just one step up from a stranger.
And that was all the more reason to keep up the lessons.
I needed to be thoroughly schooled in how to let go.
A hand waved broadly in my face. “Earth to Casey.”
I snapped my attention back to Mahsa, with her piercing dark eyes and straight black hair. “Sorry,” I said.
“You went in space cadet mode there,” Mahsa said with a smirk. “Worn out from New Orleans?”
Worn out from great…almost sex. “Yes. Sorry. It was just such a quick trip. One night-turnaround and all,” I said, even though that was no excuse.
I’d been back in New York for two full days now.
I wasn’t known for zoning out during a one-on-one meeting with my right-hand woman. I pushed all men from my mind.
When we finished the meeting, Mahsa headed out, stopping briefly in the doorway. She rapped her knuckles on the wood. “Knock, knock.”
I rolled my eyes, but happily replied with, “Who’s there?” This was the side of Mahsa that wasn’t no-nonsense. Her knock-knock side.
“Ben Hur,” Mahsa replied, deadpan style.
“Ben Hur who?” I asked as I sank down into my desk chair.
“Ben Hur over the table,” Mahsa said, then doffed an imaginary top hat and bowed deeply before leaving on a trail of my amusement. Truly, it was one of her worst yet.
Later that afternoon, I plowed through my emails, pleased to find a note from Grant.
Glad to see everything is moving along smoothly with our deal. I’m taking off for Portugal this evening, so let me simply say I hope the next month flies by.
I grinned and the teeniest spark tried to light up in my chest at the thought of Grant.
I concentrated on that small flame, tried to will it to flare, but it quickly died out.
There’d be time for flames though, for roaring fires and burning heat.
These were the first tentative steps. Clicking through my inbox, I stopped at a message from my brother that had arrived a few minutes ago, which was after midnight, his time.
He’d always been a night owl, but he and Michelle had truly taken to the Paris lifestyle, dining out at ten p.m. on most nights.
They’d probably just returned from dinner.
Michelle is calling you about your dress. Whatever she says, YOU LIKE IT.
I tapped out a quick reply. But I DO like it!
Moments later, my phone rang with the French country code.
“Bonjour, Michelle,” I said, as I swiveled around in the chair, giving myself a better view of my office scenery—a replica of a Roy Lichtenstein painting, a comic book style rendering of a couple kissing. I had another one from the series at home.
“How did you know it was me, and not Jack?” Michelle asked curiously.
“He just emailed and told me you were calling. He also told me to tell you no matter what that I like the dress. But I love the bridesmaid dress, so I don’t have to fake it. And you should tell him he doesn’t have to say those things.”
“Jack,” Michelle shouted. “You’re in so much trouble.”
I heard him respond with, “The good kind of trouble?”
Michelle laughed, then returned to the call. “Anyway, does it fit? I’m sorry it took so long to get it to you, but I wanted to find a perfect dress for an island wedding.”
I scoffed. Loudly. Pointedly. “Island wedding? That’s what you call a wedding in Hawaii. Or the Caribbean. Your wedding is a paradise wedding. That’s what you call a wedding in the Maldives.”
I swore I could hear Michelle smiling through the phone. “Well, can’t wait to see you in paradise then, in three weeks.”
“Me too. Can you put Jack on?”
There was a rustling sound from Michelle handing the phone to Jack, then his voice. “Thanks for getting me in trouble.”
“You do it to yourself, Jack Sullivan. Whenever are you going to learn that the women in your life can see straight through you?”
“Never. Probably never.”
We chatted more, and I caught him up to speed on the latest news with Joy Delivered, pleased to share the Entice deal.
Then he told me about some projects he was working on.
He’d become a strategy consultant for many European companies, advising them on the U.S.
market, and funding select ventures. He’d started in related businesses to Joy Delivered, but had now expanded, and even had begun working with some investors who specialized in high-end goods, from diamonds to vintage cars to art.
“You’re so fancy now,” I teased.
“That’s me.”
I told him I’d see him soon in the Maldives, and said goodbye.
Soon in the Maldives.
The words slammed me in the chest, like a linebacker knocking out the opponent’s air, as I connected all the dots that were in front of me.