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It might've been class-less. And a little mean. But she did not have time for a lengthy heart-to-heart. Her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, Jacques—had a tendency to get wordy with his thick French accent.
Thoughboyfriendwas a strong word. One that Tanya could never spell correctly when she texted. It constantly auto-corrected toboyishorboleyn, like Anne Boleyn who'd nearly brought the British throne to its knees. Once it had auto-corrected toboy toy. Boy toy was definitely more apt for Jacques. She'd grown bored with this particular toy that had broken the moment she'd made a sexual request he wasn't ready for.
"No man will want a woman like you. One who's domineering and too independent to actually want a man."
Tanya was too busy being impressed that each word that flashed on her phone screen was correctly spelled and punctuated.Domineeringwas a hard one to spell. Autocorrect would've gotten her on that one. She was sure there was supposed to be an A in there somewhere.
"Men want submissive women. Not ones who never have time for them."
Autocorrect was no longer needed in this conversation that had gone on two minutes longer than she'd planned. And, once again, Jacques got it wrong.
Men might think they wanted a submissive woman. Most of them didn't know what they were actually asking for.
There was a difference between a submissive woman and a woman who submitted. Jacques was domineering. He was far from dominant. Hence her sexual request that he submit to her, which had rubbed him the wrong way.
Instead of replying, she hit the block button and turned the phone off. There was no sense in giving him more of her mental energy if he didn't have any big dick energy and he couldn't handle hers. And it wasn't that she wanted a man to submit to her sexually; she just wanted one who was strong enough to follow her instructions in bed. But apparently, that was too much to ask for.
Tanya turned her attention to her desk, where a number of dicks were on display. Big dicks. Small dicks. Pink dicks. Blue dicks. Even black dicks, which one might have thought were racist, but they were the pure color of midnight black, not the various shades of brown of men from the African diaspora. And the midnight dicks were a bestseller for the Kringle Knotty or Nice Intimates Adult Toy Company. Mainly because they blended into the innards of a bedside drawer or at the bottom of a suitcase. It was the pink ones that gave women away.
As she was saying, in another life, she would've kicked ass as a cock wrangler. Cause — boy howdy — could she rile them up and put them in their places. Then again, women who wrangled cocks were called madams. And they mostly managed cunts, not cocks. Her company did oversee a line of plastic pussies, but it was the fabricated phalluses that were the breadwinners.
The cocks on display were all prototypes for the Chicago branch of the family company. The New York and DC branches had launched years ago with a hit. Tanya was aiming to outdo her cousins in their launches. She was the only female of the Kringle brood who had chosen to play on the adult toy ground rather than in the kiddie department, as her parents had expected her to.
Both Tanya and her twin brother had used their inheritances to start the Chicago wing. The storefront was launching in just a few weeks. It had to be a success or she and Troy would lose everything.
And by everything, she didn't mean money. Their parents had that in spades. But they damn sure wouldn't be giving their misguided youth more after they considered them squandering it away on things not mentioned in proper society. No, if they didn't come out swinging, they'd have to drag their tails between their legs as Mommy and Daddy told themI told you soand expect them to go back into polite society.
It was a place neither of them wanted to go. So failure wasn't an option. Too bad success was such a steep climb.
Tanya perched on the edge of her sleek glass desk, her gaze fixed on the array of monitors before her. The job had come with a corner office that afforded a panoramic view of Chicago's skyline, but Tanya barely noticed the city sprawling beneath her. The office of Kringle Knotty or Nice Intimates was her domain now, her battlefield. Her long, wavy brown hair cascaded over her shoulders—a sharp contrast to the crisp lines of her tailored suit.
The glass door to her office swung open with a flourish, revealing her twin brother. He strode into the room, every inch the effervescent salesman, his short hair catching the light as he flashed a megawatt smile at his sister.
"Hey, baby bro."
His smile instantly dropped as Troy scowled at her. "We're the same age."
"I'm twenty minutes older."
"Only because I'm a gentleman and told Mom ladies first."
In truth, newborn Tanya had likely shoved her twin out of the way to get out of the womb first. She could boss him around, but better not anybody else try it or they'd have her to contend with. Not that Troy needed any protection. The man was over six feet tall and packed muscle. Unlike Tanya, who was slim and a few inches shorter—what the hell, genetics?
"Tan, you should have seen me in there." Troy motioned to the conference room down the hall. "Networking is an art, and I'm Picasso."
“I’m sure the Renaissance is quaking,” she deadpanned, her fingers never pausing above her laptop keyboard.
Troy leaned over the back of her chair and peered down. "How are the numbers looking?"
"Better before that interruption." She swatted at him until he backed away.
Troy took a seat across from her and leaned back, legs stretching out like he owned the place—which was half-true. They were in this together. So why did she feel a heavy weight on her shoulders while her partner looked so relaxed?
"What help do you need?"
"Help?" Tanya snorted while her mind raced—calculations, projections, inventory lists scrolling through her thoughts like ticker tape. "Your kind ofhelpusually leaves me with more work."
"Hey," Troy protested, his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm hurt. I thought we agreed—I charm them, you keep them. Perfect team, right?"
