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So she added, “Despite it throwing a curveball my way, I can’t deny or pretend I don’t like how this week is shaping up.”
He chuckled. “Ah, come on now. You chickened out there at the end, baby.”
On a softer puff of air this time, she said, “Okay. I can’t pretend I don’t like how I’m feeling. Sort of akin to coming out of a coma and finally living, existing, without relying on someone else to serve as your life support. This is totally separate from Meg, and she and I both need that. It’s time we stopped being the other’s crutch.”
“I’d love to say I was at the right place at the right time, but Chip’s the one who realized you needed a nudge—and that I did, too.”
“Clever guy.”
“Another great friend. I suppose having scotch and cigars delivered to him is in order.”
“I’ll happily contribute to the cause. Send me a bill.” Her tone lightened.
“I’ve got it covered,” he said. “Now, I have a little time before my next meeting. Why don’t you tell me how you got into the sex toy business, because I am dying to know.”
She laughed. The heavy conversation was tabled as she told him, “I fell into it, really. While studying graphic design. I grew up in Hollywood. My mother was a caterer and on-location for production companies most of the time. I helped her out a lot, making money for college. So I had some celebrity friends, some connections. My junior year at UCLA, I was at a party and somehow the topic turned to sex toys and one particularly famous actress, recently divorced, began to pontificate the merits of vibrators and anal toys—as well as their shortcomings.”
“That shortcoming being that they’re a poor substitute for the real thing?” he queried.
“Don’t mock.”
“I’m not mocking,” he assured her. “I can understand the enticement. I’m just saying…what’s better? A dildo inside you or a real cock?”
She let out a low groan. “You’re missing the point of sex toys.”
“Am I?”
She said, “Sometimes the real thing doesn’t exist. Sometimes the real thing is in a bad mood or has a headache or is a million miles away. Sometimes the toy is a prelude or an enhancement to be shared with the real thing.”
“Alright, I’ll concede on this one.” He was quiet a moment, seemingly mulling this all over. Then he asked, “So if I were to commission a toy of your own design preference, I’d get to use it on you or with you?”
Her voice dropped an octave. “Yes.”
“Well, then. Isn’t that another interesting twist?”
“Tague.”
“No backing out, baby. You gave a verbal consent. And I intend to hold you to it. Charge me whatever the hell you want. I’m already getting hard thinking about it.”
“Are you serious?” she asked.
“You know I am.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute or so. He didn’t rush her.
Finally, she told him, “I suppose I’ll have to think on it, then. It would definitely involve pearls. They’re exquisite gliding along the clit.”
“Christ. I sh
ould have known better than to start this conversation when I can’t finish it. Son of a bitch,” he grumbled. “I’ve got another meeting on my calendar.”
“So important,” she teased.
“It’s really just a lot of catch-up at the moment, and getting into the swing of things here.”
“Do you miss working in Tokyo?”
More silence. Then: “We’ll have to discuss that some other time. I really do have to go. I was late for a meeting this morning. I don’t want anyone to think I’m making it a habit.”
