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“I have to go. Love you. Talk soon.”
She disconnected the call immediately, then after staring at her laptop screen and ignoring the messages that popped up from her IT guy, Roland Burke, she blew out a breath.
So that happened.
Her arrangement with Roland was that he'd release the images unless she called him to tell him they changed their mind and Operation Sex Doll was a no-go.
They didn’t change their mind, and she didn’t call off Operation Sex Doll. So apparently her naming-and-shaming campaign to preserve Cupid’s Toys from being destroyed was still going ahead.
Oh boy.
She couldn’t ignore the heating of her skin and her skittish heartbeat as signs that she had maybe… gone too far?
No, she hadn’t.
They had gotten into her head. Josh had gotten into her head. And now she was second-guessing herself. Which was the worst thing she could do.
Nothing changed from the time Marjorie handed over her shop to her, to going up against the Shlykov brothers, to the protest, and the subsequent spanking, to them, actually being the Russian Mafia.
Her objective was still the same. She had to do everything in her power to make sure Marjorie got to spend Valentine’s Day in her sex shop reliving her memories of Mr. Brown. The sad truth was Ansley wasn’t sure if that was going to be her last anniversary. She couldn’t fail Marjorie. Now, more than ever.
That, of course, didn’t mean when the proverbial crap hit the virtual screens she had to stick around for another spanking. Or worse. No way.
She wasn’t going into hiding so much as she was just changing her coordinates a bit. There was a big difference. Hiding implied she was scared. Which she wasn’t. And to further prove she wasn’t scared of them, or what they might do to her, she decided to get on with her day and not return home ever.
She chose a brand-new dress from her closet and a pair of shoes to match, and of course, what she called her big girl panties. In unapologetic red and black, the see-through tiny thong was adorned with thin strips of leather and diamond bling, and the bra was cut from the same style. It was her empowerment from the inside underwear and she needed it today
After layering on her favorite perfumed lotion, she got dressed, slipped on her shoes, and applied a light layer of makeup. She checked her appointments and was glad apart from checking on the flowers for her cousin Maureen’s bachelorette party, she also had her lunch meeting with Miranda Kopecki, the writer whose movie script Ansley had loved so much. That would be a perfect deflection. Also, it would make finding her a bit harder.
They met at her favorite restaurant and Ansley knew she and the pretty screenwriter were going to be friends. When they talked about who would be directing the movie, Dan Gunther whom Ansley had met before, she wondered about the slight flush in Miranda’s cheeks. She also wondered if Miranda had met Dan Gunther’s equally gorgeous twin brother.
They were just about to wrap things up when Ansley’s gaze fell onto the deliciously tall, dark, and handsome man coming their way. Jack Hale, the hottest young actor around. They were good friends even though the media thought they had dated at one point and suddenly Ansley couldn’t resist putting her matchmaking skills to the test. She thought Jack would make the perfect lead in Miranda’s movie, and by the look Jack gave Miranda, it wouldn’t take a lot to convince either one. She quickly made introductions, then excused herself with a smile on her face.
But as she walked out of the restaurant, her temporary interlude was shattered, and her reality beckoned once more.
Surely by now, the Shlykov brothers would have seen the images floating around the internet, especially since it was shared by almost every influencer she knew.
She chewed her lip and couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder in case they popped out of nowhere. Would they really take her out?
Maybe it was a good life. It could have been better. It most certainly could have been longer. Yes, she would have liked it to have been longer.
And if she had to die by their hands, she hoped they would make it a quick one.
A live protest with a television crew and placards calling them prudes had resulted in a whipping, a sharp spanking from them. Certainly Photoshopped images of all three brothers in various stages of undress with various combinations of sex toys, and honestly laughable captions, not to mention the warning at the bottom to leave Cupid’s Toys alone, was worthy of more than a spanking.
Yes. Death.
Chapter Eleven
She increased her step as she walked on the sidewalk, continuously looking over her shoulder, expecting them to pounce on her at any minute.
She started to panic when trying to catch a cab was taking too long. She planned to let the driver drive her around the whole damn city so she could think of her next move.
She sighed in relief when finally she managed to flag one down, but just before the car could stop in front of her, she heard her name being called.
“Miss King. Miss King. Please, if you will. Please do not be alarmed. My name is... Anton Kozlov. I would just like to talk to you. That is all.”
She eyed the man with a suspicious knit in her brow. She had never met him before, but he was unmistakably Russian. For a moment she thought the brothers had sent him to find her, but then she countered that with the fact that they seemed like control freaks and wouldn’t send someone else to pick her up. They would do it themselves and probably a whole lot less politely than what the man before her seemed to be.
