Page 39 of Tease Me

“Are you still asleep?”

“Oh, shit. What time is it?”

“It’s seven. You should’ve been here half an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry I’ve had?—”

“I don’t want to hear it,John.”His name snapped off my tongue like a whip crack, and I couldn’t believe I’d spoken to my boss like that.

“I’ll get in there as quick as I can.”

“You better.” I hung up the phone. Anger coursing through my veins made it impossible for me to sit still, and I paced behind the reception desk like a caged lion.My boss was paid more money than meand had better hours than me, but hehad no commitmentto his job whatsoever. My blood continued to boil as I paced out the minutes until he arrived.

It was quarter to eight when he finally crawled through the door.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” he said halfway toward reception.

I flung my bag over my shoulder, put one hand up, and shook my head. “Please don’t talk. I’m so angry, I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.” I strode away, and with my back to him, I waited for the stupid elevator to arrive and jumped in the second it did.

As it rolled slowly upward, I furled and unfurled my fists. When I looked in the mirror, my flushed cheeks dominated. I looked as angry as the Empire Angels had looked. My mind flicked to the third guy. Hopefully, he was ready for some action because I had a bit of furyI neededto work off. Lolita had once told me that sex was the best medicine for anger. I was about to test that theory.

After a long hot shower, I toweled off and stood before the mirror.Just likethe band members must have done, I glided my black eyelinerbothabove and beneath my eyes and smudged it into the corners with my finger.It was a completely different lookfor me, although maybe a little too dark.

Fishing through my makeup, I found an eye shadow set, and for the first time, I applied the sparkly gold eye shadow to the top of my eyelid and a touch beneath my eyes, too. I darkened and lengthened my lashes, and if ever there was a time to try out my violet contact lenses, then this was it. I reached for the box and popped the purple disks onto my eyeballs.

The finished result was stunning. I was truly amazed at the whole new style I’d created for myself.

My black wig was the obvious choice for my sexy rocker look. I pulled the sorry sight off the shelf.I hadn’tactuallyhad a good lookat the wig since my sizzling electrician had stomped all over it.The hairs scrambled in all directions, and a good chunk at the back stood up like I had slept with it on for a week. But as I turned the wig around on my hand, I realizedthat thiswas probably the ideal hairstyle for a groupie.

I plaited my hair, pinned it up, pulledthe black wig on, and burst out laughing.I looked as if I’d already had a wild romp, which, I realized, wasexactlythe kind of look I was going for. Rather than smoothing it down, I tipped my head over, tousled it more, and attacked it with hairspray.

I stood up and laughed long and loud.Tina Turner, eat your heart out.

Now for my outfit. I scanned my closet, looking for something suitable. As I tugged the clothing aside, disregarding each one, I paused at one of the last items in the closet. It was a stretchy black dress with a square neckline and capped sleeves, hemmed just above my knee.

It was what most women called a little black dress.

I called it a disaster.

Last time I’d worn this dress was three and a half years ago. I remembered the night distinctly because I’d worn spanks underneath, whichhadn’t been thatunusual for me. But the second I’d sat down to dinner, the damn elastic had rolled from beneath my bra strap to my waist.

Throughout the evening, as I pretended to enjoy the conversation with my new Hot Horizon Hotel work colleagues, I’d fought with the damn elastic that had crawled down my body to form a hideous roll the size of a tire at my waist.

I’d stayed in that seat all night, dreading the moment I had to stand, and I remembered my agony as my bladder grew to mammoth proportions. It was a wonder I hadn’t passed out as my growing stomach strangled me in a death-like grip by the industrial-strength elastic.

When I’d eventuallywaddledmy way to my room, I’d just about peed my pants in my frantic struggle to get out of the straitjacket. It had been a life-changing experience as I hadn’t worn the torture devices labeled as shapewear since.

People could take me as I was or not take me at all.Yeah.

Thanks to Lolita and her obsession with exercise, I have lost weight, which hopefully meant I wouldn’t need spanks to make this dress look good. I eased the stretchy material over my head and pulled it down. It molded to my figure like a glove but wasn’t too tight that I would be trapped like I had been in the silly sequined dress I’d worn for Billy, my sexy cowboy.

I looked in the mirror and turned sideways. It didn’t look too bad.Actually,that was an understatement. The dress looked pretty darn good. After today, this dress was going to have a much better memory and would return to the center of my closet.

I stepped into a pair of chunky black heels that sported a one-inch platform at the front but scowled at my big toe poking through the peephole. My nail polish, as usual, was a disaster. With my shoes still on, I strode to the bathroom, fished out the same nail polish I already had on, and painted my toenail right through the peephole. Once finished, I smiled at my ingenuity.

With my bag over my shoulder containing my master access card, emergency cash, condoms, and phone, I headed out the door. I stepped into the elevator and giggled at my reflection. My wild hair made me look crazy. Given my life this year, maybe I was.

I strode to Mason’s room, did my usual final check, involving plumping up my boobs and rubbing my lippy, and then knocked. A minute or so later, I knocked again.

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