Page 59 of Naughty Nelle

“Erotic romance. Romantic, emotional, sexy shows with characters they can connect to. Programming that offers a sexual escape—an aspirational fantasy—with a happily ever after ending.”

I continued to listen intently without interruptions.

“There’s a huge opportunity to do something breakthrough. To develop programming that will appeal to women who read books like Fifty Shades of Grey and so many others like that.”

I’d, of course, heard about that book, but had never read it. I also knew that Universal was turning it into a major motion picture. “So what exactly are you proposing, Ms. McCoy?”

“I think we should option some of these popular books and develop a block of sexy telenovelas—thirteen-part limited series. Most of them are independently published, so I have a hunch we won’t have to go through big agents or pay significant money for the rights. Maybe we can even form a partnership with Amazon—I’ve read they really want to get into television production. We can offer the authors an attractive backend position because I think there’s a huge international market for these extended mini-series as well as tremen­dous lic­ens­ing and mercha­ndis­ing oppor­tunit­ies.”

The word “merchandising” was like music to my ears. To be honest, SIN-TV hadn’t fared that well in that lucrative arena. SIN-TV baseball caps were our bestseller, but they didn’t generate substantial revenue. “What kind of merchandise?” I asked eagerly.

A knowing smile spread across her face. “It’s endless. Signed posters, graphic novels, sexy lingerie, sex toys.”

I remained speechless as she rattled off more possibilities. Even DVD’s, original soundtracks, and home furnishings. She was right. The possibilities were endless.

“And I think there are a lot of advertisers that will jump on board and support this block of programming. It’s the perfect demographic—Women 18-49.”

Gloria’s Secret’s demo. Is this something that would appeal to Gloria?

“How do you know you’re right? That your idea will work?” I finally asked.

“I’ll prove it to you. Let me set up some focus groups.”

I made a face. Man, I hated focus groups. I hated research dictating to me what I should and shouldn’t do. No one knew better than me how to program SIN-TV.

She held my wry gaze steady. “Well?”

“Fine.” I stabbed the word at her. “Set them up as soon as possible.”

A small but triumphant smile curled on her lips. “I’ll get right on it.” She unfolded her arms from her chest and began to collect her files.

“By the way, how’s your finger?”

I gazed down at it, but it wasn’t the SpongeBob Band-Aid that caught my attention. Instead, it was the ring on the fourth finger of her other hand—a piece of shit diamond, but nonetheless a diamond. Fuck. She was officially engaged to the dentist.

“It’s fine,” she replied but I hardly heard her. I chewed down on my lip.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” Liar, liar, pants on fire, my sister used to shout at me. My balls were on ice; my cock was in meltdown. It felt like a punch in the gut. Why the hell did I feel this way? I hardly knew her. She was just an employee. A recent college grad.

“Call me if you need anything,” I heard her say as she pranced out of my office.

Arching my head, I slumped against the couch and blew out a huff of air. I needed her lips back on mine. And wanted them in more places than one.

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