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And another reminder that, at twenty-one, I’m the oldest virgin she knows. Hell, I’m the oldest virgin I know. Last year, I’d planned to give it up to my boyfriend of a year—I’d even gone on the pill. Everything was going to be special—candlelight, hotel room with a jacuzzi, the whole nine yards. And then, two days before the big night, Justin let it slip he’d not only knocked up a sorority girl, he’d gotten a couple of nasty parting gifts in the process. He promised it was nothing a trip to the clinic and a good dose of antibiotics couldn’t fix, but I’d tossed his ass to the curb.
After I gave him a gift of my own: a knee to the dick he’d teased me with for months.
I focus on Wendy just in time to hear her point out, “You did say desperate times. If I still had mine I’d make a profile before you could say, ‘Deflower me, sir. Pop my cherry. Fuck me good and hard and rough.’”
And she calls me filthy. “Nobody actually pays for this sort of thing,” I argue. Wendy’s delicate features tug together and she jerks her head from side to side.
“Um, Tits Monroe sold hers for a hundred grand.” She spins the laptop back toward her. In a giggly Marilyn Monroe voice, she reads, “I’m so grateful for V-Bay because they helped me take a trip to Europe and put a down payment on my first house. It was an incredible experience. Thank you for making all my wildest dreams come true!”
“V-Bay? They named their site V-Bay?” Good god, I’ve heard it all. Rolling my eyes, I rise from the couch. “And you really believe her story?”
“That some rich guy paid a hundred grand to bone her? Definitely. But—” She reaches out to squeeze my ass, earning a shriek from me. I swat her away, and she waggles her brows. “I bet you’d get more. Tits Monroe is an eight, but you? You’re a solid ten, woman. Big green eyes, tiny little waist, an ass that’s made for—”
“Wendy,” I groan.
She beams and shoves her small breasts together, bowing her head to my much larger chest. “Your milkshake will bring all the rich old bastards to the yard.”
Is she serious with this crap? “Yeah? And I bet you five bucks it’s a scam and she only made a thousand.” Glaring at her, I snatch my empty glass from the coaster and fake a yawn. “I’m going to shower and head to bed. Hopefully, I’ll actually get something accomplished in the morning.”
Something that doesn’t involve screwing god-knows-who for a website that’s either a rip-off or a prostitution sting.
“Oh come on, Flick!” Wendy’s voice follows me as I stalk down the hall to the tiny bathroom we share. “You know, even if it’s only a thousand dollars at least you’re a little closer.” She yells something else a minute later, but the sound of the shower muffles her words.
Since I know it’s only a matter of time before she forces her way into the bathroom to ask if I heard her, I shout back, “Whatever you say!”
2
Jackson
It’s ten minutes after nine, and I already need a drink.
Callista, the best and craziest fuck I’ve ever experienced since my divorce, has called the office three times. I meet her four prerequisites—good looks, big ego, huge bank account, and an even larger cock—so she won’t quit. I’ll deal with her later, and I’m already regretting that my method of dealing will leave my dick unsatisfied, but there’s another matter pissing me off this morning: Felicity York. Yesterday, she spent hours blowing up the office phone and now she’s late.
Gritting my teeth, I glare out at the view of the Michigan Avenue Bridge from my office window. A year has passed since my father left the company in my hands so he could ride off into the sunset with his shiny new trophy wife, and business is better than ever. We’re in real estate development, not banking, so I’ve made it a point to follow up on all the loans Father stupidly doled out over the years. He hasn’t collected like he should have, but I have no problem doing it for him. If it means the success of my company and the people working for me, I’ll be the bad guy. Father might enjoy the recognition that comes with throwing around money like a virgin at his first titty bar, but I prefer to take care of my own.
Especially when the building involved is in such a valuable area of town.
Checking my watch for the tenth time, I clench my jaw. 9:15. I’ve got shit for patience and even less time. While I can’t resist admiring Felicity York for having the balls to demand a meeting, she’s wasting what little time I have.
