1
The bell above the door chimed as Cami was putting the finishing touches on the Valentine's display in the front window. A cool trickle of air swept in with the man who entered the adult toy store.
He was better dressed than the typical Sex on the Beach customer. His charcoal gray business suit looked tailored from the way it clung to his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His black hair was closely cropped and his skin was a warm medium brown. Like his briefcase, his shoes were polished to a sheen, unscuffed. He was clean shaven, with only a dusting darkness at his jaw that hinted toward five o’clock shadow that hadn’t arrived yet. His mouth had a hint of curve at the corners that made her certain its natural state was a smile. One full of ardent promise.
When his eyes fell on her, that smile lit up his face, warming gray eyes that could have easily been icy. Interestingly, a thin line of black extended from his left pupil to the outer edge of his iris. It was an oddly specific and sudden shift in his eye color, and only in his left eye. She might not have even noticed if he hadn’t been looking right at her. It was beautiful.
He took her in leisurely, from the finger-brushed blonde hair to the graphic t-shirt and jeans that comprised the non-uniform of a Sex on the Beach employee. Then his eyes stuttered on her hands.
She was holding a butt plug that looked like a Fabergé egg.
She wanted to die.
Cami hastily stuffed the plug onto a shelf with a bunch of teddy bears that held hearts with dirty words embroidered on them, and then turned toward him. She grasped her hands in front of her, clinging to her own fingers as though literally getting a grip on herself.
“How can I help you?” Her voice was remarkably even, despite the heat in her cheeks.
This was ridiculous. She’d worked in an adult toy store for over six months now. She could talk to attractive men while holding sex toys.
Just to prove it, she reached out and snagged the first item her fingers found—a riding crop.
The sweet release of death could not come soon enough.
The man watched her little display with a bemused smile and raised an eyebrow at the crop. “If I give the wrong answer, are you going to hit me?”
“Oh. No!” Cami shoved the riding crop away onto some random shelf for her coworker, Tristan, to find later, and the man laughed. It was a delightful sound, and it almost made her feel better about the blush that was quickly turning her into a tomato. “I’m so sorry.” She covered her face with her hands, just to give herself a moment, and then shook her hands out like that would shake off whatever was making her act this way.
She tried again: “Hi. I’m Cami. It is not my first day working here and I am a complete professional. Is there something I can help you find?”
“Hi, Cami,” he said. “I’m Des.” His mouth twitched as though he were trying not to laugh at her, but he switched his briefcase to his left hand, and held his right out for her to shake. She did. His hand enveloped hers in warmth that chased away the coolness of the California winter. If she held on for just a beat too long, it was the warmth. That’s all.
He withdrew his hand smoothly, then tucked it into the pocket of his slacks. “I’m actually hoping to speak with the owner. Lenore Seaver?”
Her eyes narrowed on him. Anybody who called LennyLenorehad clearly never met her before.
And no one had ever come into the store asking for the owner without a resume in hand. Something told her Des wasn’t here looking for a job.
He looked about thirty, but had a sheen of polish about him that precluded retail work. On occasion, people dressed up to drop off resumes, hoping to make a good first impression, but Des was on a whole other level. He looked like he made more in an hour than she made in a week. He oozed the confidence of someone who’d never needed a part-time retail job.
So what did he want?
“I’ll let her know you’re here,” Cami said finally. Des winked at her as she turned and made her way to the back office.
The door was closed. She rapped on it twice with her knuckle.
“Yeah?” Lenny called, which was as close to an invitation as Cami would get.
She poked her head around the door and found Lenny seated at her desk.
She was a heavyset woman in her late sixties, but you couldn’t tell her age from her aura. She exuded youth. Her hair was salt-and-pepper and shoulder-length on one side, buzzed on the other. As usual, she wore a brightly-colored ponchothat smelled faintly of marijuana. She was tapping away at her phone.
“Are you playing Candy Crush again?”
“How dare you, Camille,” Lenny countered flatly. “I would never Crush Candies during work hours.” She turned her phone for Cami to see. “I’m on Tinder.”
“Oh! Good God.” Cami threw a hand up to block the screen from her view, but too late to save herself from a shirtless Baby Boomer. “There’s someone here to see you. I don’t think it’s that guy, though.”
“Pity,” Lenny sighed, and only then looked away from her phone as she plunked it onto her paper-covered desktop. “Is he hot, at least?”
