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Con: the three stone-faced bodyguards my brother insists I keep with me at all times.
I bet you already know how many times I’ve had a man in my adult life.
Z.E.R.O.
I’m changing that today. But first I have to ditch my clingy security detail. Seriously, all five of the black suits stick like Gorilla Glue on my ass.
I'm sorta impressed they’ve kept up with me through Chicago’s lunchtime traffic.
I tuck today’s newspaper under my arm and slide into a cute boutique selling everything from high-end shoes to lipstick and vibrators if you know where to look for the discreet options. And I do. Between you and me, I might know where the vibrator selections are because Imighthave bought one in every color since my brother slipped a black credit card into my stocking two Christmases back.
I look toward the back and spot exactly what I need to pull off a little magic trick.
I tap the shoulder of a girl about my age. She’s slender, wears leather pants like they are painted on, and gives me a serious case of envy with how good her ass looks in black. “Excuse me, miss?” The chick turns bright eyes my way.
Wow. Seriousin need of sugar daddy vibespour off her in bucket loads. I’m not sure if it’s the baby doll t-shirt or the cherry candy-colored lip gloss, or the pigtails that make me think her nights are spent loving on a silver fox's dick. Could be the combo effect.
I give her a sincere smile and lean in a little as if to whisper a secret. She does the same and it’s like we’ve been besties since kindergarten.
“I was wondering if you could help me. I wanna surprise my boyfriend. Give him a taste of something…I don’t know. Maybe brunette? I like the long black-haired piece too. I’m thinking we could use a little spice.” I finger the ends of my honey-colored hair and her pretty-in-pink smile turns sensual.
I let a slow smile glide over my lips. The one I use on just about anyone to get what I want. The black credit card I pull out does the rest of the talking to get her moving faster. I take a quick look over my shoulder when the bell goes off over the front door.
Eyes covered in dark aviators seem to locate me quickly.
“All is cool here.” I give a cute, innocent wave he seems to buy. Dumb ass. Money might buy brawns but never brains.
My detail gives me a curt nod like his life depends on my safety—which it does—and slips out to stand at the door Secret Service style. The four other goons aren’t far behind him.
“Sorry about that.”
My attendant waves off the exchange. “I think I can help you. I’m Nyx, by the way.” Her voice is cool, rough around the edges and I don’t mean to judge but there’s no way a man’s dick isn’t affected by the way she sways those hips with each step as I follow her toward the back.
“Thank you, Nyx. That black-haired wig. Do you think you could help me slide into it? Oh, and that dress.” I point to a pretty black number with an impossibly low-cut front and no sleeves. She peers at me with one of those over-the-shoulder gazes that says she doesn’t buy my lame story for a second but she wisely doesn’t ask questions. Bless her. I don’t know how to explain I’m a mafia princess trying to outrun my security detail without sounding pompous or like I belong behind bars.
A few minutes in the changing room and I turn in front of the mirror. My breasts look like they’ll pour out of the top any second and if the edge of the dress rides up any farther everyone will see the color of my new thong.
I connect my eyes with Nyx over my shoulder who puts on the final touches to my natural dirty-blonde hair before fixing the wig into place with a few pins. Midnight strands of hair cascade over my shoulders to brush along my waist.
“You like?”
“It’s perfect.”
“It’s not fastened with glue, so be careful. You whip it around like a crazy lady and it will fall off.”
Our gazes connect in the mirror. “Understood. No crazy head movements. Check.”
One last twirl and I pass my credit card over to my attendant who is back faster than I can slip into my black, glittery stilettos.
I palm the newspaper I came in with and slide the handles of my Birkin over my arm. “You didn’t happen to see a gaggle of men in black suits still out there anywhere, did you?”
I don't know why I ask. Maybe I’m hopeful they all needed bathroom breaks at the same time, but it seems unlikely.
“You mean the dudes in the mandatory black shades? How do they see through those things?”
I groan and nod. “Right?”
“Yep. That’s them. They are all still lined up out front. I can’t imagine you get to have any fun around them.” My new friend leans a slight shoulder against the changing room’s door and crosses her arms under her ample breasts with a peculiar look on her face.
