42. The Sexy Idea
WEST
Dressed in a tuxedo and ready to be the best best man I can be, I rap a knuckle against the door of Skye’s room, my heart lighter, which is a feat after the heavy morning we all had. The door swings open, and there she is, Skye in all her irreverent glory—her justice of the peace attire: a mustardy, gaudy robe and Pope hat. God, I blame Paige for her shit taste in wedding colors.
“Westie. In.” Skye ushers me in with a wave of her hand.
I rush in. “I know we’re short on time, but I have a presentation for you. Don’t worry, it’s quick.”
“Ooh, a man with a plan.” She goes to the mirror and starts putting on more makeup, which I think is overkill, but whatever. “Hit me,” she says.
I take a deep breath, summoning my inner Han Solo. “Here it goes: I’ve got a proposal for you.” I fish out a couple of crumpled papers from my back pocket—ideas, basic research, estimates, the works. “It’s about my parents’ shop. I need to figure out a way to save it, and to do that, we’re talking expansion—setting up roots in Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” Her eyebrow arches, intrigued.
“Yep.” I lean forward, hands moving to paint the picture. “Imagine this: a new market hungry for organic jellies and kinky toys. A city ripe for the lubricating.”
“You speak my language, West. But why are you coming to me?”
“Because you’ve got the touch. And, honestly, the cash. Everything you invest in turns to gold.”
“Mmm.” She taps a finger to her lips, the wheels clearly turning. “This has potential, but I need more information. Meaning you need to dig deep and do all your homework.”
My heart does a punch. “I’ll do it! Next time we meet, I’ll have so much info your head’ll spin. We’re talking about saving a family business, creating jobs, and sex positivity all rolled into one.”
“Hmm. Alright, you’ve got my attention.” She leans in, the glint in her eye telling me I may just have a shot at this. “Let’s talk details when we get back to Atlanta, but I’ll say this—I’m not getting into some vanilla venture. I expect creativity.”
“Vanilla is for ice cream, and last time I checked, we’re not selling sundaes.” I shove the papers back into my pocket.
“Good boy.” She nods in approval.
“Trust me, Skye,” I say, faking confidence. “By the time we’re done, Atlanta won’t know what hit it.”