Page 17 of The Way You Hurt Me

She smiles. “At least no one’s going to gape at me. They’ll be too busy drooling over you.”

I laugh, not denying it.

I know what I look like. I have huge tits, a fairly small frame, wide hips, a nice ass, and yes, every creep I’ve ever met has been staring at my body for years. I don’t even dislike the looks. But they rarely ever bother to go past the boobs. Lucy’s the kind of graceful, elegant woman they actually bother to look in the eyes.

I’m the kind of woman people want as the mistress. She’s the wife.

“Guys, your cab is here!” Anne calls from the lounge.

Great. It’s too late for Lucy to change now. We snatch our coats and clutches, and we’re out in the early evening traffic.

It’s a short enough drive at this time, and Lucy keeps wringing her hands through it all. I’m glad I decided to go with her; she likely would have had a panic attack on the way otherwise. Or more than likely, she would have removed the dress, kicked the high heels underneath the sofa and changed into her PJs by now.

We’re welcomed at the entrance by a tall, dark, and panty-meltingly hot man in a sharp white suit who shakes both of our hands.

“Glad to have you here,” he says with a smile that would likely let him get away with murder.

Then we’re moving on, and he’s greeting the middle-aged couple right behind us.

“Who was that?” I whisper to Lucy as she blushes.

A server offers us a tray of drinks and I grab two.

“The CEO. Caleb Cole.”

I whistle. “The CEO of my company definitely doesn’t look likethat.”

I’ve never met the guy but from the picture on the company website, he’s in his sixties, with a Santa-size pot belly and the kind of red nose one only acquires after drinking far too much wine on a daily basis.

“No wonder his sex toy company’s successful. He should sell a dildo modelled after his own cock. I bet all the ladies would jump on it.”

She snorts her bubbly. “I’d suggest that at the next team meeting, if it wouldn’t get me fired. And you know, sued for sexual harassment.”

“Spoilsport,” I snigger.

The guests are from various demographics, but all are dressed in elegant, expensive suits and dresses. I was right: Lucy’s gown is absolutely not too much in this setting.

I don’t miss how my roommate tenses the moment we enter the room.

“Although,” I continue, “if he got into sex toys, maybe that’s because he has a tiny cock and was trying to supplement it…”

“Willow!” she whisper-yells.

“You’re right. He kinda holds himself like he has a big one,” I say, glancing back at the beautiful man.

With another giggle, Lucy starts a lecture. “Actually, Mr. Cole owns night clubs—the kind with an exclusive, impossible-to-get-onto list. It has theme parties, and each guest receives a swag bag. Generally, fun, sexy gifts. He started Eros Corps to create his own unique swag. They were extremely popular, so he extended that into a full-scale business.”

I’m glad to say, she’s stopped glancing around nervously, like someone might jump out of the shadows to scream at her that her backless dress breaks the almighty law of STEM nerds.

“Impressive.”

“Isn’t it? I suppose once you’ve gone through the trouble of hiring a full team to research and produce inventive things, it just makes sense financially to extend the production. We still do exclusive swag for his clubs, of course—and release some of the products early there.”

I reach for the tray of hors d'oeuvres passing by. “Surprising the party’s not at one of his clubs then.”

“They’re likely booked solid this time of the year. Besides, it’s not the kind of club you invite youremployeesto. Parties there don’t even start until ten, not six.”

“I can imagine the guy must be busy, between the clubs and the business.”

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