“Penis power,” Tatum says, perfectly deadpan, sending us into another fit of giggles.
Holly taps away at her phone for a second before flipping it around to show me the screen. “Yeah, I just pulled up a ‘Sir Chidubem’ appreciation thread. Did you know there are entire Pinterest boards dedicated to his thighs? There is no way you’re resisting all that yummy goodness.”
“Wanna bet?” I challenge.
“Actually, yes,” Holly says, her eyes gleaming. “Five hundred dollars says you won’t last a week without those professional boundaries crumbling.”
I raise a hand. “Uh, broke new business owner over here. With the way insurance companies seem to treat bills as optional, can we wager something that doesn't involve me selling a kidney?”
“Fine. If you don’t last at least two weeks without having sex with your soon-to-be-ex-husband, you have to work at HollyDates for free during the Fourth of July weekend.”
“Oh, hell no!” I recoil. “I’ve been here on the Fourth. It’s a war zone!”
Holly just folds her arms, wearing a look of pure, unshakeable confidence.
“Fine,” I groan, caving under the pressure. “But only for four hours.”
“Six hours,” Holly counters. “And I’ll let you keep the tips.”
“Deal.”
“And if I do last two weeks?” I ask, raising a brow.
“We’ll just keep adding money to the pot because I know this man is not going to go down without a fight,” Eslin says.
“Have you seen the ass on our girl? His dick isn’t going down at all while she’s there,” Holly jokes, making us all howl.
“You women are ridiculous!” I yell.
I check my watch, realizing the time. “I’ve got to get going. My actual favorite client awaits, and there are no Pinterest boards dedicated to her quads.”
“Well, it was good catching up!” Holly says, heading back to the counter.
“And I guess I should get back to the grind,” Tatum adds. “These boys are driving me crazy with their locker room drama.”
I hug them both goodbye and head to my van. I need the busy, bossy energy of Ms. Lilly Rose to reset my brain before I step into the lion's den on Monday.
***
I pull up to the quiet, rose-lined driveway of Ms. Lilly’s estate. The transition is exactly what I need—a shift from the frantic energy of espresso martinis and “penis power” to the calming scent of lavender and home.
Ms. Lilly may be up in age, but she wears her years of elegance and sharp wit like a veil. When I first approached her with my business plan, she didn't offer the skepticism I’ve come to expect from my family. Not even in this economy. Instead, she handed over some of the best advice I’ve ever received. Including the suggestion to build a non-profit arm so I could serve the community while maximizing my tax breaks. She’s so much more than her name and her wealth. She is my mentor during a time when genuine help and support are hard to come by in the business community.
When I walk up to her front door, I see her waiting for me in the sunroom with her sleeve already rolled up, ready for her assessment. I scan the room to make sure she has her walker nearby. Thankfully, she does.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were actually excited to see me, Ms. Lilly!”
She just smiles, her rich, dark skin practically glowing in the sunlight. “I am always excited to see you, Penny.”
I shake my head, setting my bag down. “Please don’t make me regret telling you my family nickname.”
“I won’t,” she insists, her eyes twinkling. “I just love the way it sounds. I haven’t called anyone Penny since Janet Jackson on Good Times.”
“That is exactly why my daddy started calling me that,” I laugh, adjusting the blood pressure cuff. “He’s had a lifelong crush on Janet Jackson, but it all started with Penny.”
I focus on the steady thump-thump of her pulse against my fingertips, doing my absolute best to push the image of Luca’s face out of my brain.
“Blood pressure is looking perfect, Lilly,” I say, noting the numbers. “Are you getting around okay these days?”
