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Chapter OneThe paper bag crammed with sex toys began to rip as Amanda Rykowsky trudged up the marble staircase to her boss's second-floor office. Clamping her gloved hand over the tear, she shoved the protruding red vibrator out of sight. The cold drizzle falling outside must have weakened the bag.
She should have asked for plastic instead, but paper concealed the contents better. She was always afraid she'd run into someone she knew on the way back to the office, and her reputation as the Girl Who Doesn't Date would be shot if anyone caught her with these goodies. How ironic that she was constantly surrounded by sex at a time when she'd sworn off the activity completely.
“Need some help with that?”
She glanced over her shoulder. Coming up the steps behind her was a tall guy wearing a tan trench coat and a hat with earflaps. Those earflaps would stand straight out from his head if he discovered what she had in the bag.
“Thanks. I've got it.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the bag self-destructed. Various colors and models of vibrators clattered down the marble steps, along with an array of X-rated videos. The feathers, velvet ropes, and soft handcuffs made less noise, but no less of an impression.
At least, Amanda assumed it was shock and awe widening the guy's green eyes to the approximate size of a traffic light. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. He stared at the items scattered around him. The fire-engine red, penis-sized vibrator lay across the laces of his brown oxfords. “Um . . . I . . .”
Amanda's cheeks grew hot. She shouldn't care what this guy thought, but shedid, anyway. Her explanation came out in a rush. “My boss is Gloria Tredway and she's a sex therapist and she asked me to buy these on my lunch break.”
“Uh, that . . . that makes sense. I guess.”
“I'll just gather up everything and be on my way.” She'd pretend the sex toys were groceries she'd dropped. And she wouldn't look at him while she did that. With a decent dose of luck, she'd never see him again. She reached for a space-age silver vibrator that gleamed in contrast to the worn marble steps.
“I'll help.” He pulled a pair of horn-rimmed glasses out of his coat pocket and put them on.
“That's okay. No problem.” Unzipping her parka partway, she tucked the vibrator inside. Then she grabbed feathers and velvet handcuffs, stuffing them into her small shoulder purse.
They didn't quite fit, but maybe they'd stay long enough for her to escape up the stairs and duck into Gloria's office. She moved down a step and snatched up two videos—Bareback and Bare: Lady Godiva Fantasies and Hotter than a Pistol-Packin' Momma.
About the time she put those inside her parka, the vibrator fell out of the bottom. The elasticized hem used to fit tighter around her hips, but lately she'd been working hard and skipping meals. Apparently she'd lost weight.
“You definitely need help taking all this upstairs.” He picked up the red vibrator lying on his shoe.
“I can make two trips.” She could not have this stranger gathering sex toys and carrying them to Gloria's office. No telling how Gloria, she of the supersized libido, would react. She might decide to educate him. Amanda reached out with her free hand. “I'll take that . . . that red doohinkus and get the rest on my second trip.”
“I wouldn't advise leaving this stuff lying around.” He put the vibrator in his coat pocket and leaned down to snag a couple of videos. “There's a fourth-grade field trip from one of Chicago's magnet schools headed for the offices of Cooper and Scott. I've been asked to give them the grand tour.”
“Oh, sh—sugar.” Visions of little girls in pigtails getting a glimpse of the X-rated videos lying on the steps turned her blood cold. “Then I accept your help, at least to the door of the office.” So he was a stockbroker who worked for Cooper and Scott, the company with offices down the hall.
This close to him, she could smell damp cotton, cold air, and his aftershave. No designer, musk-enhanced fragrance for this guy. Old Spice, if her nostrils weren't mistaken. She'd always liked Old Spice.
“And then we will permanently erase this moment from our memory banks,” she said.
“Are you planning to give me a Men in Black memory flash?” A smile played over his mouth as he picked up a video and a fingertip vibrator. “This is one of those times that will live in infamy.”
“I'm afraid you're right.”
He had a nice smile, and she truly appreciated his stab at making this incident funny. Maybe in a while, like ten or fifteen years, it would be funny. On this particular February day she couldn't think of anything more humiliating than spilling a bag full of sex toys in front of a complete stranger.
Scooping up the last of the feathers and handcuffs, she snatched the ripped bag and gave the stairway a quick once-over. “That does it. Let's get out of here before the munchkins show up.”
“William Sloan, by the way,” he said as they hurried up the steps with the goods.
“Amanda Rykowsky. Thanks for making the stairway safe for nine-year-olds.”
“Glad to help out. It must be an unusual kind of job, working for a sex therapist.”
Especially this one. “It's temporary. I needed to intern with a local therapist this semester as part of a new course requirement at DePaul, and Dr. Tredway had an opening for a gal Friday.”
“You're studying to be a sex therapist?”
“Nope. Just happened to land this internship. I haven't chosen a specialty yet. I'll narrow down my options while I'm in grad school, but I'm leaning toward adolescent psychology.”
“You sound very focused, Amanda Rykowsky.”
“I am.”
“Too focused to have lunch with me tomorrow?”
Oh. She hadn't seen that coming. Usually she was prepared for such invitations, but having a guy help her carry X-rated gizmos up the stairs had thrown off her timing.
“I could give you some hot stock tips,” he said.
“I, uh, don't have any money to invest.” She hoped that wasn't some sort of double entendre about the hot tips.
“I was kidding. Stockbroker humor. I just thought, since you made your sex-toy run today, you might want to have a more normal lunch hour tomorrow. I know a sandwich place that's not too far from—”
“Thank you, William.” She finally had the presence of mind to dial in her standard response. “But I'm determined to become a therapist, and I'm putting myself through school. Between work and studying, I have absolutely no free time.”
“None?”
“Not even an hour for lunch.” She gave him a smile to soften the blow. “It's a nice offer, and you've been terrific to help me today, but I'll have to say no.”
“It was just a thought.” He sounded sad, though, as if he'd really hoped she'd take him up on his invitation.
“I wish I could go.” Now she was feeling like an ingrate. He'd come to her rescue and saved her from potentially traumatizing an entire class of Chicago fourth-graders, and yet she'd refused to spend an hour in his company eating lunch. She should probably offer to buy him a meal for being so gallant.
No, bad idea. She couldn't take the chance that he'd see the lunch date as the beginning of something. And it couldn't be, not with her schedule. Besides, she'd been doing without a guy for so long, she might be tricked into thinking this guy was sexy. A love affair gone wrong had nearly trashed her GPA a year ago, so no more guys, no more sex, until she'd reached her goal of graduate school at Harvard.
“I wish you could go, too.” William walked beside her down the hall toward Gloria's office. “But I don't want to muck up your routine.”
And didn't that make her sound prissy? Like one lunch date would destroy her entire program. It probably wouldn't, especially if he wore the hat with the earflaps. But there was that smile to consider . . . nope, lunch was out.
“Here we are.” She paused in front of the heavy oak door with its frosted-glass upper panel. gloria tredway, ph.d. was lettered in gold on the glass. The door looked so professional and imposing that no one would guess what sort of gonzo activities took place behind it.
Amanda clutched her armload of toys to her chest and wiggled her arm until her sleeve edged up and she could see her watch. Ten minutes past one, which meant the Ordwells would be in Gloria's office for their regular Tuesday appointment. She needed to get William in and out very fast.
As she juggled her purchases, trying to free up a hand to open the door, William stuck two videos under his chin and reached out with one long arm. “Let me.” Twisting the brass doorknob, he opened the door and stood back. “After you.”
“Just dump everything on my desk,” she said. “I'm sure your fourth-graders will be here any—”
“Lookee there!” Elmer Ordwell's voice blasted through Gloria's closed office door. “Just from watching you do that, Dr. Tredway, I'm stiff as the tailpipe on my Chevy truck!”
“That's a real breakthrough, Elmer.” Gloria was no slouch in the voice-projection department, either. “Now, Gertrude, I want you to try what I was just doing. Yes, use your hand, and let Elmer watch. I'll be right back. I'm expecting some supplies that we'll need for the last half of our session.”
Amanda avoided looking at William. “You can just drop everything and go.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “I appreciate your help in getting it this far. I'll be fine, now.”
But William didn't show any signs of leaving. Instead he stared in fascination at Gloria's office door. “I had no idea.”
“Dr. Tredway's not the norm.” Amanda deposited her loot on the desk and reached for the stuff William was holding. “Most sex therapists don't operate the way she does. Look, I'm sure you need to get back to your office.”
“They'll page me.”
“I should warn you that Dr. Tredway is a little . . .” Before she could decide whether to use the word oversexed, it was too late.
Gloria, her shoulder-length red hair tousled and her brown eyes shining from whatever she'd been doing to get Elmer stiff as a tailpipe, breezed through the door of her office. Immediately she spied William with a fingertip vibrator in one hand, porn in the other, and the long red vibrator sticking out of his trench coat pocket.
Her perfectly plucked bows arched. “My, my. I didn't know the G-Spot had a delivery service.”
Amanda closed her eyes. Gloria was perpetually in man-hunting mode, but Amanda had thought the earflaps might dissuade her. Not so.
“Love the hat,” Gloria said. “Do you demonstrate G-Spot merchandise, too?”
Amanda decided William was too shell-shocked to speak up for himself. “This is William Sloan. He's a stockbroker with Cooper and Scott. The bag ripped on my way up the stairs and he was kind enough to help me carry everything here.”
“A knight in shining armor. How dashing.” Gloria held out both hands, flashing her rings and her scarlet nails as she wiggled her fingers. “Let me relieve you of your burdens, William, so you can give me one of your business cards. I could use some advice on stocks and bondage . . . I mean bonds.” She laughed. “Pardon my Freudian slip.”
A moan filtered through Gloria's office door.
William handed over the vibrator and the videos and edged backward toward the hall door. “I should probably make it another time. When you're not busy with clients.”
Amanda could understand his desire to leave, but she had to figure out a way to let him know he was still packing heat. She couldn't let him give a tour to the fourth-graders with a red vibrator sticking out of his coat pocket.
“My clients are fine.” Gloria dropped the items on Amanda's desk as the moans coming from her office escalated in volume. “I wouldn't dream of walking in there when they're making such obvious progress.” She winked at him. Gloria loved eye makeup, so a wink from her was always dramatic.
“Uh, well, right, but I still—”
“I love it when my clients take the initiative. At this rate they may not need the video I'd planned to show them.”
“That's great. But I have to give a tour to a bunch of kids. I need to get back.” William eased closer to the door.
Amanda moved in his direction. “Uh, William . . . I think you might have forgotten—”
“Never mind the business card,” Gloria said. “I'll just pop down to your office later for a consultation. My current broker is at least a hundred and six and terminally boring. I can safely say he'd never show up with a red vibrator in his pocket.”
Glancing down in horror, William yanked the vibrator out of his pocket and shoved it into Gloria's hand.
“You're welcome to keep it if you like.” Gloria batted her mascara-coated lashes. “Especially if you'll give me visiting privileges.”
He cleared his throat. “Thanks, but it's not my color.” And with that he hurried out the door.
Gloria laughed. “Amanda, is he the cutest nerd you've ever seen, or what? I think I'm in love.”
William had been worried that the fourth-graders would be bored with a tour of a brokers' office, but they surprised him with savvy questions about insider trading and the current value of the Japanese yen. From the content of the questions, William figured they all expected to be Donald Trump by the time they were thirty.
They kept him so busy that he should have had no chance to think about Amanda Rykowsky, but he thought about her anyway. Images of her were constantly wiggling in through cracks in his concentration.
She was the kind of woman who was more beautiful than she realized, and he was a sucker for that type. Her body had been swallowed by the dark blue parka, but he'd noticed silky blond hair that fell in a soft curve to her shoulders, clear blue eyes, a full mouth rubbed bare of lipstick, and cheeks pink from a brisk February breeze. Her cheeks had become even pinker after the bag had ripped.
He liked to think he would have noticed her even if she hadn't dropped a bag full of sex toys at his feet, but that little scene hadn't hurt. Her fresh-faced wholesomeness and the scattered X-rated items made for an arresting combo. She was such an unlikely person to be toting them around, and that made the prospect all the more interesting.
She'd bought them for someone else, though. Still, she had bought them, had marched into the store and made the selections herself. He wondered why she'd chosen that red model, for example, the one he'd almost taken with him. He tried to picture her going through the merchandise at the adult toy store and choosing one over the other.
“Mr. Sloan? Mr. Sloan!” Someone tugged on his sleeve.
He glanced down into the chocolate-colored eyes of a little girl with her hair in cornrows. Her nametag read natalie.
She peered up at him. “Are you okay, Mr. Sloan? I asked you a question two times.”
William looked around and realized the entire class was staring at him, including their teacher, Mrs. Jones, who was a plump African-American woman in her fifties.
Mrs. Jones cleared her throat. “I'm sure Mr. Sloan was just collecting his thoughts.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Economics is a serious subject, and I didn't want to give you the wrong answer.” Whoa. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed fantasies about a woman to absorb him so completely that he lost track of his surroundings. He had no idea what Natalie had asked him. Twice.
“I'll bet he's having one of those miniseizures,” said a tall girl who looked as if basketball might be in her future. “I have a brother who gets those, and he just zones out, like Mr. Sloan did.”
“Well, my brother gets like that when he's thinking about his girlfriend,” said an impish boy named Elijah whose curly hair was cut very close to his head. He looked at William and grinned.
“Well, I don't have a girlfriend,” William said. “So, did everyone hear Natalie's question?”
They all nodded.
Rats. “Even so, let's have her ask it again, so it's fresh in our minds.”
Natalie gave him a look, but she repeated the question, which had to do with commodities. William wondered where in the world these kids got so smart. Maybe from watching The Apprentice.
Copyright © 2006 by Vicki Lewis Thompson. All rights reserved.
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