Look yourself in the eye in the mirror tomorrow morning and you’ll know why.

The girl stares back at me and for a second… I don’t recognize her.

She’s thirty with blonde hair. That adds up, I suppose. Brown eyes, a little button nose, and a chicken pock scar on her chin. It’s me. Definitely me, but…

I lean over the sink and wipe a bit more condensation off the bathroom mirror. My towel loosens around my chest, so I give it a quick adjustment to keep it from slipping off. My hair is damp but I haven’t managed to gather enough morning energy to dry it just yet. Maybe after a few sips of coffee.

I stick out my tongue and crinkle my nose and furrow my brow but I still can’t put my finger on it.

I look myself in the eye, just like Clive told me to do.

Something’s changed.

I slept like a damn baby. I usually wrestle with my pillow for several hours before drifting off but last night… I closed my eyes the second I hit the sheets and I don’t remember opening them again until I woke up mere seconds ahead of my alarm. I felt refreshed and so deeply satisfied.

He’s the first thing I thought of. His voice in my head was the first thing I heard. Memories of his lips and his tongue and — oh, boy — his dick. Definitely his dick.

I reach for my toothbrush and pause as I spot the light, red markings on my wrist. It felt so good and safe and he was so dominating — but not too much. I never once felt out of my element or in any danger.

I want to try it again.

“Goddamn,” I say with a sigh, still staring at myself.

Who the hell is this girl?

Well, whoever she is…

I like her.

* * *

When people ask me what I do for a living, I’m never quite sure what to say.

The job title is Chief Executive Officer but my day-to-day is different than other CEOs I’ve met. A lot of them act as overseers. They did the work, built their empire, then hired people to run it for them while they make the occasional office appearance between trips to the golf course. Nothing wrong with that, per se, but I’ve spent most of my adult life with my little, black book and I’m not nearly ready enough to pass the golden pen off to other hands just yet.

I’m more of a racket-ball kind of girl, anyway…

I’m not the traditional boss. I wouldn’t call myself a matchmaker, either, as most of that has been fine-tuned by algorithms at this point. You say “app developer” and ninety-percent zone out immediately, so…

I guess I’m just Nora Payne, the girl with the Little Black Book.

Today, I have to finalize the holiday logos with my marketing department, setup a call with the local food drive director, and get through this meeting with my creative team but—

“Nora, are you all right?”

Fuck it. I can’t do shit today.

I’m stuck in a Clive-filled trance. Part of me is still tied up in my backseat with my legs spread eagle and his face buried in my—

“Ms. Payne?”

“Yes, I’m here.” I clear my throat and force my head up to look at Percy and Rachel sitting in front of my desk.

Rachel tilts her head. “Rough night last night?”

“No,” I answer. “Well— maybe. But I’m fine. I’m here, I’m fine, and we’re talking… about…” I pause, my mind suddenly very blank.

“The customer survey,” Percy says.

I pick up my reading glasses and look at the tablet in front of me. “Right. Yes. Go on, please.”

“We saw a growing trend in the number of users who want additional options for narrowing down prospective partners,” he says.

“What kind of options?” I ask.

“They’re interested in more personal methods of compatibility,” he says slowly, his cheeks blushing slightly. “Sexual kinks, specifically.”

I pique with interest. “Sexual kinks?”

“A significant percentage of users requested the ability to list kinks and fetishes right there on their profiles as a means of quickly finding a suitable match for their… lifestyles.”

Dom or sub?

My lips twitch. “Yeah, I can see how that’d be a time-saver.”

“But…” Rachel raises her pen. “We sent out a follow-up survey and the same percentage of users like the sleek simplicity of the app as it is and think sexual additions would be wildly unnecessary.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a dramatic change,” Percy argues. “We can design profile badges to signify certain things they like to do.”

She chuckles. “Okay, you clearly don’t know much about sexual fetishism if you think one little profile badge is going to signify every possible kink someone could be into.”

“And,” I say, “some users might not be comfortable with the idea of listing them publicly. Black Book is more than just a hook-up app.”

Percy turns up his hands. “Okay. Scrap the badges. We could open a new tab on the profile. People can take or leave it.”

“Profiles are pretty stretched space-wise already,” Rachel says.

I bite my cheek. “How significant is this percentage?”

“Uh…” He swipes his tablet screen. “Forty-three percent,” he reads.

“That’s high,” I note.

“And of our user base, only thirty percent filled out the survey.”

I nod. “Which means there’s potentially half of our users that want this change.”

“And half who don’t,” Rachel says. “Can’t forget about them.”

“What if…” I squint in thought. “What if we create and launch a sister app? Leave Black Book as it is while giving that significant kinky percentage what they want from a proven resource they can trust.”

They look at each other, both in silent thought.

“That…” Percy nods, “might work.”

“Not a bad idea,” Rachel agrees.

I follow the trip of sparks in my head. “We’ll grandfather in the current user base at a heavy discount to get it up and running, partner with local fetish and kink clubs to promote and reach new users, then go from there. If we start this now, I can see us entering a beta by New Year’s.”

Rachel smiles. “I do, too.”

“Then, let’s do it,” I say. “Ping the design team, have them put one or two people on the new app. Make it just as sleek but with more color. I’m thinking pink. You two start surveying the forty-three percent; find out what kind of specific options they’re looking for.”

Rachel rises from her chair but Percy raises his hand.

“Okay, but…”

“What?” I ask him.

“Do you…” He hesitates. “Excuse me, but you created Little Black Book based on a relationship compatibility algorithm from personal experience. Do you have enough experience in…” His hands twitch. “You know, this stuff to create an algo based on sexual fetishism compatibility?”

Rachel’s face turns a deep red but she looks just as interested in knowing the answer as he does.

I throw on a smile. “Maybe purple. Have the design team try a purple option, too. Royal; not lavender.”

Percy looks down. “Okay, then. We’ll get started.”

He spins around and bolts from the office. Rachel offers me a nod before following behind him with her lips clamped together between flushed, pink cheeks.

Do I have personal experience in sexual fetishism compatibility?

Nope. I do not.

But there’s sure to be an expert out there somewhere I can hire to fill in the gaps.

“Ms. Payne?”

I look up over the rims of my reading glasses to find Clive standing in my doorway. He holds up a few sheets of stapled papers but my eyes barely even give a shit. They travel downward instantly, admiring his tight, tucked dress shirt and black pants — a rather different look than the t-shirt and jeans he wears to work at the club.

Maybe we should do casual Fridays…

“Ms. Payne?” he asks again.

“Uh, Y-yep! Mr. Sss… Clive.” I lean back in my chair, trying to act normal. “What’s up, my temp?”

I close my eyes, rolling them up in shame.

“Ali needs a signature,” he says, flicking the papers.

“Right.” I reach for my cup of pens but I knock it over instead. My coordination has apparently taken the morning off. “Ah, hell...”

Clive strides in, his face twisting with hidden amusement. He bends down to pick up a pen off the floor and holds it out to me. “Nora…” he says, his voice low.

“Uh-huh?”

“Relax,” he says. “We’re just working here.”

He lays the papers down in front of me, along with the pen on top.

“Just workin’,” I repeat, letting my muscle memory take care of the signature. “Ali, right?”

He nods.

“Can you tell her to update me on her vacation dates? I know she was still waiting to hear back from her mother-in-law…”

“I’d be happy to, Ms. Payne,” he says, taking the papers back.

I clear my throat. “Thanks, Clive.”

“I had fun last night.”

My lips twitch. “Just working, huh?” I ask, keeping my voice down.

“Couldn’t help it.” He smiles, matching my volume. “Had to say it.”

“Yeah.” My cheeks light up. “It was fun for me, too.”

“Was I right?”

I tilt my head. “About what?”

His eyes fall to my chest and right back up again. “The mirror.”

I feel a deep urge awaken beneath me. I shift slightly in my chair, attempting to smother it. “Uh…” I exhale a quiet chuckle. “You weren’t wrong.”

I try not to make eye contact just in case the sheer force of it lights my panties on fire but the temptation is far too great.

Fuck it.

I let my gaze slowly climb upward, trekking past his groin and abs.

“Have you considered my offer?” he asks me.

I tap my pen against a stack of post-its to distract from the deep throbbing between my thighs. I could do it right now. I could tell him to drop to his knees, crawl under my desk, and make me come right here.

“I have…” I say slowly.

He waits for an answer, tilting his head.

“And…” I bite my lip. “I’m leaning toward a… yes.”

“Leaning?” he asks.

“Leaning,” I repeat.

“Anything I can say to tip you over?”

I chuckle through the flashes of fantasy in my head. Me yanking on his hair with his head between my thighs. The swift flick of his tongue inside of me. Coming so hard on his face, I scream his name.

“Oh, I’m sure a quick gust of wind at the right time could do that just fine,” I say.

He smirks. “Is eight tonight the right time?”

“It could be.”

“Eight o’clock,” he says, taking a step back. “Wear something comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” I ask. “You mean sexy comfortable, like a little skirt? Or home comfortable, like my yoga pants with that weird stain I can’t explain?”

He laughs. “Just say you’ll be there by eight.”

“Eight.” I nod. “I can do eight.”

“All right, then.” He reaches the door and pauses, turning back. “The first option, by the way.”

I wink. “Yeah, I figured. Oh, Clive—”

He stops again and I brace myself before he says my name that way again.

“Yes, Ms. Payne?” he asks, tingling my bones.

“Could you… close the door behind you, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a slight growl only I can hear.

The door latches and I let myself crumble to pieces.

“Oh, I’m a bad boss.” I fall forward, pounding my head on the desk repeatedly. “A very, very bad boss.”