“I can,” he insisted. “Let me buy some for you.”
It sounded so illicit. Allow a man to buy her sex toys? A sales rep, at that? Not in a million years. She didn’t have a problem with toys—if she did, she would have chosen another line of work—but toys were an intimate purchase. They were bought when alone or with a partner. They weren’t party favors handed out to anyone who happened through the front door.
“That would be inappropriate,” she protested, but her eyes flickered down to the vibe she was still holding in one hand. Her fingertip traced the sharp edge of the plastic packaging.
Sex toys were the one thing she hadn’t tried in her quest for orgasms. They were intimidating, and expensive, and getting off had always seemed like a terrible reason to break her budget.Besides, if she tried a toy and it didn’t work… well, it would just be one more piece of evidence proving there was something wrong with her.
“You want to.” Des leaned in, bracing his forearms against the edge of the counter as he bridged some of the distance between them. His voice pitched lower, intriguing and intimate. “Inappropriate or not, you want to say yes. I can see it in your eyes.”
Stupid, disloyal eyeballs.
“Des…” She sighed. She’d run out of excuses; at least ones she was willing to give him.
“Come on, Cami.” His smile was playfully reassuring. “You don’t even have to tell me how it went. We’re friends, right?”
That wasn’t the word she would have used, but he didn’t give her a chance to say so.
“Just let me treat you.”
“It’s a vibrator, Desmond,” she snarked, “not an ice cream cone.”
“Exactly.” His smile widened into a grin that made the corners of her lips twitch with the desire to answer it. Then he snagged the package from her hand and tossed it with impeccable aim toward her purse, where it landed with a soft thump. “What are friends for?”
“Hey—”
Des had already started to back toward the door, sliding one hand into his pocket. He used the other to give her a mock salute just as he shouldered the door open. The bell above it chimed his exit. “Have fun, Cami. Think of me.”
4
He was still grinning as the door swung closed behind him, the elation of flirting with Cami thrumming through his veins. It had been a good day before he’d seen her, and now it was a great one. Maybe buying sex toys for beautiful women should become a customary act of celebration for him.
Des jogged across the plaza to where his motorcycle was parked and salty ocean air filled his lungs. As muscle memory guided his briefcase into the straps at the back of his bike, his eyes wandered toward Plaza Optometry, two doors down from Sex on the Beach. With the optometrist’s contract tucked safely into his briefcase and the signature drying with the second, he had only two stores left on his list.
On the western side of the plaza was the family-owned convenience store. It was run by an aging man named Rodger, who had intended to leave it to his eldest son when he retired. From what Des had gathered, that son was happily employed as a carpenter on the outskirts of the city and had no interest in retail. It was only a matter of time before Rodger came to terms with that and signed on with him.
On the eastern corner was Sex on the Beach. It had been running for nearly five years, steadily building a reputation as a knowledgeable and fun business to shop at for all your bedroom-adjacent needs. Lenny was Des’s biggest obstacle. She had become adept at avoiding him, and he still didn’t understand why. Out of all the people invested in this plaza, she was the one with the least to lose by selling, and, at this point, the most to gain, since he’d been authorized to increase her offer every time she declined.
He couldn’t say he was entirely disappointed Lenny was dragging her feet with him. Every time she ducked his visits, it gave him an excuse to go back in. When he did, there was always a solid chance Cami was working, and seeing Cami was more motivating than was smart. Or professional.
The first time he’d met her, he’d been struck by how out of place she’d seemed. She handled herself professionally enough, never blinked or blushed at customer requests or the products she dealt with, but there was something about her that seemed... unworldly, he supposed. Not that he considered himself a frequent peruser of adult toy stores, but the usual sales assistant he encountered in that type of environment was edgier than Cami could ever be. She had no piercings, no visible tattoos. With that straw blonde hair, wholesome brown eyes, and the faint trace of a midwestern accent, she seemed like a farmer’s daughter. The kind he desperately wanted to roll around in the hay with.
Not that anything physical would ever happen. There was nothing explicitly condemning it in the Calogistics business book, but it would be especially scummy considering she didn’t know what he actually did for a living.
He could still buy her the occasional vibrator, though. It would be crossing the line to take her to bed, but at least he could get her off in a roundabout sort of way.
An insistent vibration in his pocket alerted him to an incoming phone call. He glanced at the screen, ready to send the caller to voicemail until he saw Gabriel’s name. “Hey.”
“Did you get the signature?”
He’d long ago given up on convincing his business partner to start phone calls in a polite and socially acceptable manner.
“Yep. Plaza Optometry is locked in.”
“Perfect!” He could almost hear the celebratory slam dunk of the tiny basketball Gabriel liked to lob at the net on the back of his office door. “I just got off the phone with Adrien.”
His esophagus started to itch; contact with Adrien always gave him heartburn. The man had a monopoly on impatience and his ‘my-way-or-the-highway’ attitude had cost him more than one lucrative business deal, which was why he’d hired Calogistics to handle the Paragon Plaza project. But ever since he’d brought them on, he’d had trouble keeping his fingers out of the pie.
“Great,” Des droned.
