Casey bared her teeth and crinkled her nose. “Bastard. I hate him already. Nobody fucks with Henry and Marquita, especially after all that Marquita has been through.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Jack said. Not only were Henry and Marquita key business customers for Joy Delivered, they were like family. Jack had worked closely with the couple for years, and even donated half the proceeds from one of his company’s products, a small pink pocket-sized vibrator, to breast cancer research, in honor of Marquita. Jack would go to battle with this guy and fight for him on a personal level alone. Add in the business ties they shared, and Jack was all in.
There was real cause for concern from the domino-like effect of a potential shut down. Henry and Marquita’s reputation for carrying the best selection of vibrators was unrivaled. They were tastemakers in the business of pleasure. Where Henry and Marquita went, so went others. Many online retailers often stocked products based on what the Eden couple showcased and recommended. But on top of that, Jack didn’t like that Conroy was going after one of his business partners with a scare tactic.
“Besides, Conroy’s totally wrong with the whole the-clubs-are-seedy line. Henry runs the most prestigious BDSM clubs in New York. Have you seen the patrons?” Casey lowered her voice to a whisper, even though it was only the two of them. “They’re all New York’s elite. One of the state senators is a member. I bet Conroy has no clue that the good Senator likes to be whipped and flogged by pretty ladies.”
Jack laughed. “Bondage and dominance is a God-given right. And so is battery-operated assistance. Anyway, I want to help them because it’s the right thing to do for them, and because helping them helps us. Henry’s backing his brother-in-law, of course, and he’s asking if we can get behind him too.”
Casey slammed a fist onto the arm of the purple couch. “I’ll stage a march on anyone who dares to keep floggers and whips out of the bedroom.”
“Or sex dungeons, as the case may be,” Jack said dryly.
“That too,” Casey said, her blue eyes wide and enraged. “You should be able to do whatever you want between consenting adults in a sex dungeon without politicians getting involved. Want me to make signs? Picket? Launch a PR campaign?”
Jack pushed his hands down, as if to say let’s take it slow. “One step at a time. For now I think it’s best if we stay off the radar, and Henry agrees. I think we should put up some money and see if that can help Denkler regain some traction with his schools-and-safe-streets campaigns. Get the focus off the clubs, since that’s not what it’s about, but in so doing, we protect them and Henry’s business, and our business. And the real issues become important ones again.”
She nodded. “Absolutely. I don’t want anyone messing with our business, Jack,” she said. While Joy Delivered was their company and he loved every second of running it, the partnership had started with his sister. She’d approached Jack about joining forces after she graduated from business school.
“You’re going to think this is crazy, but I know what I want to be when I grow up,” she’d said, her mortarboard in hand. Jack had just completed his service with the army, and after his time stationed in Europe, he was Stateside again. Eager for the “what’s next in his life,” he’d jumped on the chance to build a business from the ground up. His sister brought her natural passion; he brought his business mind. And, of course, an avid appreciation for the female body and all the ways that women could experience pleasure. He’d been a lucky man—lucky with the ladies, and lucky in business.
Until Aubrey, when luck ran out, and everything unraveled by his simple inability to tell her the truth.
The way things ended was a stone in his chest, heavy and unyielding.
“How did your appointment go today?”
Jack blinked, returning to the here and now, and the question Casey had asked.
“The one with Dr. Milo?” Casey said, rolling her hands, as if to jog his memory.
“It was fine, but I don’t want to get into the details.”
She parked her hands on her hips. “You’re so closed off sometimes, Jack.”
“Yes,” he said, pointedly. “I know. It’s called privacy. You should try it sometime.”
“That did not compute. You must be speaking a foreign language.”
He laughed and shook his head. His sister was relentless. She was also an open book. She always wanted to talk about things, to discuss them, to have them out in the open. The polar opposite of their parents. But he wasn’t going to open up to her about the reason why Michelle wasn’t his shrink.
“So, how was Dr. Milo? Was she as amazing as they say?”
“Yes,” he said, keeping the smirk to himself as he gave the barest of answers, and yet one that was completely truthful. She was amazing, but in a different way than Casey was asking. Not only was Michelle clever and sharp, she was stunning. The woman was primed for passion, bathed in sensuality. She knew her way around her own body, clearly. She knew what brought her pleasure, and she was willing to give herself to him and let him take her there too.
No inhibitions, only openness. The things he could do with her.
“Well, I hope you and she start to dig into what’s weighing you down up here,” she said, tapping her skull as she stood. “And here too,” she said, lowering her voice as she touched her heart. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” he said insistently.
“No. You’re not happy. You’re busy. Don’t confuse the two,” she said, then dropped a chaste kiss on his cheek, and sauntered out.
She was right, of course. She was always right. He was a man who filled his nights and days. If he didn’t, the past would try to chain him up.
With Michelle, he hadn’t felt chained. He hadn’t felt guilty. He’d simply felt like one mistake didn’t have to define him.
Like he could move on.
Whatever the hell that meant.
* * *
She wanted to shower. She wanted to shave her legs. She wanted to primp and prep and prime herself for Jack. But Shayla had another emergency, so Michelle was going to have less than thirty minutes to get ready for dinner once this appointment ended.
Shayla dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I don’t know if I can do it. He’s planning on it tonight. Expecting it. He told me he wants me to wear a red teddy.”
Michelle nodded sympathetically, as much over the red teddy request—she preferred a matching set of bra and panties to any sort of teddy contraption—as for the latest demand from Shayla’s straying husband.