“The upcoming merger will not only increase revenue for this company, it will expand growth for both parties involved.” She licks her lips and smiles, and it's a good thing I'm sitting because I feel my knees go weak.

“I know some of you have reservations and I understand—big changes can be scary. However, I've put my blood, sweat, and tears into Pretty Kitties, so trust me when I tell you this is the best solution to save the company.”

Marge, the billing supervisor—if you can even call her that—rolls her eyes. “Oh please. This is the wrong move and you know it. I think I speak for everyone when I say that Pretty Kitties—a female sex toy company is classy and harmless. But joining forces with Porn Rub? What am I supposed to tell my kids? Sorry, gonna be home late tonight, I have to calculate the billable hours for some bimbo taking a dick up the ass.”

A few of my co-workers snicker and nod their heads in agreement.

I pick at my cuticles. “Sounds like someone's a little jealous they're not getting paid for the stick they have up their ass.”

Marge shoots me a dirty look. “Says the lesbian.”

I lean forward. “Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“Don't worry, Marge, it's not contagious,” Juan, my flamboyant and impeccably dressed friend from sales says and I give him a smile for coming to my defense.

“All right, enough.” My boss sharpens her gaze as she looks around the table at us. “I know this merger with Porn Rub isn't ideal for everyone. However, if the new direction isn't something you're interested in, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. This is a business and there's a fuck-ton of money that can be made with this deal. And if you want Mama to feed you a piece of the pie—I suggest you pipe down and pay attention.”

It's all I can do not to stand up and give her a round of applause. Not only is she one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen—her take-charge attitude is such a turn on.

Stop it, Kit. I pinch my thigh under the table. She's your boss.

Your really hot boss.

A hot boss who kissed you while sharing a taxi after the company holiday party last month. And then pretended like it never happened the following Monday.

“Kit?” she questions, her voice rich like velvet.

I look up and suck in a breath. If Rihanna and Eva Mendez had a love child...it would look just like her.

I can feel everyone's stare on me as I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“Are you still with me?”

Hell yes. “Absolutely.”

She looks relieved. “Good. Because Porn Rub wants you to be the head of their social media department. They know you'll require some extra training, but if you do a good job, you'll make double what you do now. Sound good?”

I wasn't aware porn companies, even the most well-known, had social media departments, but I'm not about to turn this down. Not only because of the money but because Jess gave me a chance and hired me when no one else would.

Because I am a fuck up.

I shove that thought to the back burner before it can drag me down. I've worked hard to get my life back after my downward spiral, and I'm finally in a good place again. “I look forward to it.”

She bites her lip and my stomach dips. “Me too.” She holds my gaze for a fraction of a second before she reaches for a stack of envelopes and starts tossing them at us individually.

I'm about to ask what's in them but then Juan screams, “Vegas! This is better than a sale at Nordstrom.”

Everyone around me squeals and cheers, and sure enough; when I open my envelope; there's a plane ticket with my name on it.

My boss clears her throat, waiting for us to calm down before she speaks again. “Porn Rub, along with myself, have put together a little workshop. Given this is such a drastic change, we thought some training would be helpful.” Her eyes gleam. “And since we want this to be a fun experience for all involved, as well as a celebration, we figured Vegas would be just the place.” She waits for the excited chatter to die down again before she speaks. “Okay, that pretty much wraps up today's meeting. Finish out the rest of your day, enjoy your weekend, and I'll see you all in Vegas.”

With that, she dismisses us.

“Can't believe I'm going to work in porn,” Marge mutters as she gathers her things and walks out the door.

“Something tells me it won't be for long,” Juan murmurs before he leans over and whispers. “More pie for us, though, right?”

I grab my notepad and stand up. “Pie with a side of porn. America's favorite pastime.”

He gives me a strange look. “You know, for a girl who found out she was going to Vegas and getting a raise, you don't seem that excited.” He pokes my arm. “Is it all the peen you'll be seeing now? Because take it from me, honey. Dick is fantastic.”

I give him a look. “Let's agree to disagree on that. Unless of course, you don't mind me listing all the reasons why pussy is the next best thing to heaven.”

He turns his nose up. “Ugh, point taken. Lord knows I hear enough of that crap whenever I visit my parents.”

I reach for my coffee and toss my bag over my shoulder. “I feel your pain. My grandmother wasn't too accepting of my” —I make air quotes— “sickness, either. Being raised by her wasn't exactly a picnic.”

“Sounds like you're better off without her.”

I inwardly wince. “Yeah, I am. I mean, she's still alive and kicking, but we haven't spoken in years.” I wave a hand because I hate the sour note our conversation has taken. “Like you said, it's for the best.”

He tips his coffee cup at me. “Y—”

“Can you hang back a minute, Kit?” my boss calls out, cutting him off.

Juan must notice the blush creeping up my cheeks because he winks and whispers, “I want all the details. Minus the vagina monologues,” before he skedaddles out of the room.

I try to relax before I turn and face her. “What's up?”

“I didn't want to say it during the meeting, but PR wants you to spend a few weeks at their office in New York.”

“PR?” The moment the question leaves my mouth, I realize. “Right, Porn Rub. Duh.”

I seriously hate the way my brain turns to mush around her.

Given I turned twenty-four last month, you'd think I'd be mature enough to stop morphing into an imbecile around women I'm attracted to.

Then again, Asher, who recently turned twenty-five, has become notorious for twerking on the football field whenever his team scores a touchdown. So I guess age really is just a number and not an indicator of maturity.

My boss tilts her head and I realize she's waiting for me to respond. “A few weeks in New York won't be a problem.” I chew on my lip, debating my next words carefully. “Can I ask you a question?”

The fingers typing frantically across her phone come to a stop. “Of course.”

“I hope this doesn't come off rude. I'm not a judgmental sourpuss like Marge is, it's just—”

Her lips twitch. “You want to know how and why someone who owns a business encouraging women to embrace their sexual needs ends up merging with a porn company.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Not that I have anything against porn, but there's no denying it's very one-sided as far as what particular sex the porn industry caters to. From a business standpoint, I don't understand how Pretty Kitties would benefit. If anything, we'd be losing clients.”

She points her pen at me. “You're 100% correct about it being one-sided. Which is exactly what Pretty Kitties, or rather, PR, is going to change. The company alone is worth millions, but the CEO—along with the executive assistant who oversees the main headquarters in New York—realized they could make even more money and possibly double their profits by opening a division which exclusively caters to women.”

“But Porn Rub earns most of their revenue by ads and content uploaded by users. They don't make the content themselves, so I don't understand how they can—”

“Right now they don't,” she interjects. “But there will be some changes shortly. Users will still have the same options on the site they always have, only now there will be videos produced by Porn Rub geared toward women. The videos will include products made by Pretty Kitties in addition to the popular uploaders showcasing our toys in their videos.”

I nod because, in theory, it makes sense, but I can't help wondering. “Do you think it will be successful?”

Her jaw sets and for a moment I think she's going to let me have it, but to my surprise, she looks down at her feet. “It has to be. Otherwise, I'm royally screwed.” When she lifts her head, I notice her eyes are glassy. “If I tell you something, can I trust you'll keep it to yourself?”

I've never seen her look so timid. “Of course.”

“I was a heartbeat away from filing for Chapter 11.”

My hand flies over my mouth, not in condemnation, but in shock. “I never would have guessed. I thought business was good?”

She wrings her hands. “It is. But when I started this company three years ago, I put everything I had into it, along with things I didn't...like money. I was young and optimistic, though, so I took out a huge loan and figured I could pay it all back once it took off. But, I found out the hard way that was a terrible thing to do, because I ended up having so much debt. I was barely hanging on, which was so frustrating because sales were triple what they had been, but it still wasn't enough to save the business. The way I saw it, I only had two options. One, beg my bank for another loan—which of course they immediately denied. Or, propose a business merger with one of the largest porn companies around and make them see they were missing out on major money by not including women in their demographic, and pray they were intrigued enough to contact me. I was driving to meet with the bankruptcy attorney when I got the phone call, and they set up a meeting. After I proposed my plan and showed them my data, I had to be upfront with them about my debt. To my astonishment, they were still willing to do business together, but only if I handed them 90% of my company and gave them full control to do whatever they wanted with it—including liquidate if it doesn't produce enough of a profit for them. Luckily, I was able to negotiate a deal to keep my staff of seventeen employees as well.”

I feel so bad for her. Selling sex toys isn't an industry I ever thought I'd be involved in, but I know it's her baby. And now she has to hand it over to someone else.

“I'm sorry, Jess. I can't imagine how nervous you must be.”

She nods. “You have no idea, Kit. I'm either going to end up a millionaire by my twenty-seventh birthday. Or, I'll be living in a cardboard box.”

I instinctively reach for her hand. I can't help myself. “I won't let you fail.”

And had I turned twenty-five last month instead of twenty-four, she wouldn't have to fear being homeless, because I'd pay back those loans, and she'd get to keep full control of her company. But, as it stands currently, my financial situation isn't much better than hers. Only unlike her, I have a guaranteed light at the end of my tunnel.

And my God, what a dark tunnel it's been for the better part of three years.

After I left the hospital, vowing to never let anyone hurt me again...I was in a bad place. A place so depressing and bleak, I shut off and shut down.

I was tired of drowning. Tired of feeling. I just wanted to float and go numb.

So that's exactly what I did.

I left Woodside without graduating and sailed through life in a thick haze of various places, various substances, and various bodies.

I even ended up on the back page of a few tabloids. Something that would have devastated my introverted father who, despite his wealth, stayed far away from all things Hollywood.

I became what I swore I never would. The epitome of everything my parents despised.

But they weren't around to stop me...and I made sure I pushed away anyone who tried to. Including my best friend and my Nanna...even after she made good on her threat to cut me off.

I didn't care.

For eighteen months, I hung around people who had access to more money than they'd ever know what to do with but were miserable deep down—because they all knew what I did.

That even though money could buy me a lot of nice things, no amount of money could ever buy me what I truly wanted.

Money would never bring my parents back.

And it sure as hell would never buy me love—not the kind I'd always wished for. Not even when I gave all of mine away for free.

So, I partied whatever money I had saved from my prior allowances into oblivion.

Things were so much easier without any responsibilities or accountability.

My life was downright fucking beautiful when I stopped giving a shit about it.

Until it wasn't.

My reality check came in the form of a tall, leggy model from Brazil named Gabriela.

It was love at first sight, I was sure of it. Gabriela was an angel sent down to me from heaven. And the bartender who served me my third Long Island iced tea and sixth shot of vodka that night eagerly agreed as he watched us make out before we hit the dance floor.

Thirty minutes and another shot later, however; she was apologizing for having to leave because she was late for the big party her agent was throwing.

I, of course, decided to invite myself because I was both drunk and infatuated with her.

She had no objections as she grabbed my hand and led me out of the club. I remember saying we should call a cab because I was in no shape to drive—but she told me it would take too long and her agent would drop her if she didn't show up in the next half hour.

Looking back, I should have protested and told her it was a bad idea.

Instead, I swooned when she told me how good she was going to fuck me. And I didn't argue when she insisted she was sober enough to drive us there herself and took my keys out of my purse.

The last thing I remember is waking up wedged between the driver and passenger seats and the sound of sirens.

Well, that and the fact that my car went through a large glass window and was in the middle of someone's house.

Unfortunately for me, Gabriela was nowhere to be found. And given the homeowners of the house she drove my car through weren't home, and the car was registered to me, it was near impossible to prove I wasn't the driver.

But at least my girl was kind enough to leave me a token of our whirlwind romance.

A purse containing cocaine. Which, looking back, explains why her agent demanded she get to the party. The girl was holding all the entertainment.

I couldn't be that mad, though. After all, she did say she was going to fuck me good.

And boy, did she ever.

She fucked me so good...it resulted in a hospital visit, a trip to jail, expensive lawyer fees...and a record.

However, it gave me my best friend back, so there's that.

I thought Breslin was going to pass out when she saw me in jail. And then I thought I was going to pass out when Asher of all people ended up posting my bail. A bail I couldn't even pay him back for because I blew most of my savings during my reckless shenanigans, and I knew I had a better chance of finding a genie in a bottle than my Nanna giving me a penny of my parents' money. Especially once she heard the reason I was in this predicament was because I'd fallen hard for a Brazilian model I'd known for all of two hours.

I was facing a felony, and I knew I was most likely going to be sent away until I needed dentures.

There was rock bottom...and then there was me. And I couldn't blame anyone but myself for it.

Preston might have lit the match that sparked my self-destruction three years ago, but I was the one who chose to keep the fire burning until it turned into an inferno.

Thankfully, I had luck on my side, because Landon and Breslin helped me find a great lawyer who was persistent enough to insist they run prints on the purse and the bag of cocaine to prove it wasn't mine, and track down surveillance from the club showing Gabriela—who left her passport in that purse—taking my car keys and jumping in the driver's seat before we took off.

That, along with it being my first offense, my lawyer mentioning to the court that I was one of the hostages in the infamous Woodside campus shooting, reminding the court I was never found behind the wheel, and me breaking down because I was both grateful no one was hurt, and truly sorry I messed up, granted me leniency.

I got off with one year of probation.

I stayed with Breslin, Asher, and Landon at their home in New Orleans for the duration of it, and if I hadn't been grateful for all of them before...I certainly was then.

They had every right to turn their backs and leave me with my mess—it's what I deserved. But instead, they helped me clean it up and get back on my feet.

I owe them everything.

“You're sweet,” my boss says, interrupting my thoughts. “Even though we both know I don't deserve your kindness.”

Her statement confuses me. “Why—”

She levels me with a look. “I kissed you after the holiday party last month.”

I'm pretty sure my face matches the pink tips of my long locks. “I thought you were too drunk to remember. But I promise I never told anyone, including Juan.” My palm flies to my forehead. “Dammit, that's a lie. I told my best friend Breslin, but she would never say anything, not even to her boyfriends Asher and Landon. Although—”

“You're kind of adorable when you're nervous.” She laughs. “Now do me a favor and breathe before you pass out.”

I take her suggestion and fill my lungs. I'm torn between wanting to do a happy dance because she thinks I'm adorable and wishing the ground would open up and engulf me because of my tendency to ramble when I'm seriously into someone.

“I remember the kiss, Kit,” she says and I swallow hard. “But it was a huge mistake that never should have happened. I'm your boss.”

The disappointment that slams into me is potent. Figures, just when I find a girl who is not only gorgeous, but also smart, hardworking, and not a user or manipulator—I can't have her.

Jess is everything I want and the kind of girl I should be pursuing.

Man, this situation blows.

I plaster a smile on my face. “It's totally fine. I get it.” I hike my thumb in the direction of the door. “I should probably go back to my desk and schedule Pretty Kitties' posts for this weekend.”

“Kit,” she says when I reach the door.

“Yeah?”

“I won't be your direct boss anymore after Vegas.”

Before I can say a word, she reaches for her cell phone that's vibrating and brings it to her ear. “I have to take this, it’s the new boss, but have a good weekend.”

I wave like the grinning, stunned dork I am. Thankfully she's too into her phone call to notice.

“Hey, you. I meant to return your call after the meeting, but I was talking to Kit, the girl I was telling you about.” She giggles. “She's incredible, Jared. You're really going to like her.” She gives me a wink. “I know I do.”

When she gestures for me to give her some privacy, I realize I'm still standing there grinning at her like a lovesick creep.

I quickly close the door behind me and fall against it.

Smooth, Kit. Real smooth.

“I like it black and sweet, just like my men,” Juan declares as he walks past me to the copy machine.

“Huh?”

He presses a button. “It's how I'll take the cup of coffee that's going to save your ass from looking like a clingy, hot mess.” He snaps his fingers. “Now peel yourself off her door before she opens it and you fall on top of her.”

I walk over to him. “I'm not clingy.”

He raises one perfectly waxed eyebrow. “Right, and I own a minivan and live in a mansion with my wife Cathy who cooks me and my three children dinner while wearing the pearl necklace I bought her for her birthday.”

I rest against the copy machine. “I don't know, Juan. That's an awful lot of detail to not be true.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Probably because it's based on my actual fantasy. Only Cathy is Charlie Hunnam and I'm the one wearing a very special kind of pearl necklace.” He swats my arm with the stack of papers he's holding. “Now quit playing and get me some coffee, Ms. Clingy.”

“I'm not clingy,” I repeat as I make my way to the small coffee room.

“You kind of are,” Marge calls out from her cubicle. “I asked if she wanted half my sandwich once and she acted like it was a marriage proposal. The girl brought me flowers and lunch the next day.”

“I was hungry,” I defend above the laughter of my co-workers. “I was trying to be nice and thank you.”

That only makes them laugh harder.

With a groan, I pull out my cell phone and call Breslin. I need an objective opinion and I know she'll give me one.

She picks up on the second ring and I don't waste any time. “Am I clingy?”

“What—” Woof.

“Are you kidding? We went for a walk two minutes ago, Picasso,” she tells her golden lab puppy who I realize isn't a puppy anymore based on his deep bark.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Am I clingy?”

Woof. Woof.

“Crap, he's peeing all over Asher's lucky jersey. Stop it, Picasso. Mommy spoke to you about this, we don't pee on Dad—”

“What the hell, babe? Again?” Asher yells in the background. “I thought you said he graduated from doggie academy with honors.”

“He did,” Breslin says at the same time Landon says, “It's not his fault you left your jersey lying around. You know it's his favorite target. You're practically taunting him with it.”

“I'm gonna go, B. Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“I'm sorry. I'll call you back when it's not so hec—”

“Now he's taking a dump on it and smiling at me,” Asher roars. “Why do you have to be such an asshole, Picasso?”

Woof.

“He's not an asshole,” Breslin says defensively.

“He's smiling because he's relieved now,” Landon adds before the line disconnects.

I try to suppress my laughter as I finish making Juan's coffee and head back to my cubicle to get some work done.

Three hours later, I've scheduled a variety of posts to go off on various social media sites for the weekend and personally responded to over five hundred emails, messages, tweets, inquiries, and Facebook comments on Pretty Kitties' social media pages.

And since Juan's—along with the other sales representatives—phone lines are still blowing up around me, I give myself a pat on the back for doing a good job.

Then I whip out my notepad and brainstorm some new catchy ad ideas to post for the upcoming week.

I'm typing up one for our special Pretty Kitty G-spot vibrator when my cell rings.

I press the button connecting my Bluetooth to my headphones. “Quick, B—I need a sexy word that rhymes with inspector G-spot.”

There's a throat clear that's distinctly masculine. “Kit Bishop.”

I recognize the disdain in his tone immediately. “How did you get this number, Reggie?”

“Reginald,” he corrects. “And I'm calling on behalf of your grandmother.”

“Well, I certainly didn't think you were calling me to hang out and catch a movie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. I'd appreciate it if you'd lose my number.”

I go to hang up, but his next statement stops me in my tracks. “She's dying.”

“What?”

His words are like a kick to the stomach and it sends a flurry of emotions through me. Other than my piece of shit uncle, this woman is the only family I have. Yes, she was ruthless and mean. And God knows I hated her punishments, rules, and how cruel she could be.

But I also can't help but remember the times she wasn't so cold. Like when I found out my parents died, and she held me as I cried my heart out and promised she would always take care of me.

“It's cancer,” he says softly. “Last year she was diagnosed with throat cancer and the prognosis was good. However, two weeks ago she was diagnosed with lung cancer. Given it's in the advanced stage, she's chosen not to undergo treatment. She doesn't have long, Kit. Maybe a month or two at most.”

My chest grows heavy and I squeeze my eyes shut.

The promise she made to that inconsolable little girl turned out to be a lie. She didn't support me when I realized I was gay—she condemned me instead. And she couldn't be bothered to come to the hospital after the shooting, or when I ended up in jail. Basically, all the times I needed her. Or rather, the times I needed to be loved and taken care of more than I needed her judgments and disapproval.

I swallow the tears threatening to break free. I can't bring myself to mourn a woman who made me wish I was dead so many times I lost count. A woman I deemed important, all because my parents appointed her to be their placeholder. A woman who spoke to me via punishments and threats, instead of words and understanding.

A woman whose idea of love was taking a hammer to all the parts of me she didn't approve of—until I was broken...just like her promise.

“Sorry, Reg. I tried digging deep to find a fuck or two to give, but I came up empty. Have a—”

“She can't speak,” he interjects. “Perhaps that will sway your decision to see her.”

“It doesn't.”

“She's been asking for you.” The desperate twinge in his voice is indisputable.

“I thought you said she couldn't speak?”

“She doesn't. She refuses to use her electrolarynx, so she communicates with her notepad.”

“Goodbye, Reg—”

“Wait,” he says before I disconnect the call. “Your grandmother wants me to inform you that the family lawyer stumbled upon some interesting information during his most recent review, and it would behoove you to hear about it. He'll be at her residence this Sunday finalizing her will, should you come to your senses and change your mind about visiting. Good day.”

With that, he hangs up the phone.

It rings again almost immediately, and I don't hesitate to answer. “Do you really think threatening me will work?”

“Who the heck is threatening you?” Breslin questions.

I massage my temples. “I thought you were my Nanna's assistant—apparently something is going on with my parents' will, but I won't find out what unless I go over there on Sunday to speak to her and the family lawyer.”

“Not to be insensitive, but why are they only figuring this out now? Your parents have been gone for years, you'd think—”

“She has cancer...it's terminal. The lawyer probably came across it when he was preparing her will.”

“Oh,” she whispers. “I'm so sorry, Kit.”

I start to speak, but she curses and says, “Asher's team is in the playoffs on Sunday. But maybe if I fly in tomorrow, and we show up at—”

“No.” I need to nip this in the bud before Breslin ends up missing the biggest game of Asher's career. “If something goes wrong and your return flight is delayed, or you accidentally miss it altogether, Asher will be heartbroken. I'll be fine, B. Asher needs you.”

“I know, but I don't want you to go off the deep end again.”

Her concern makes me want to reach through the phone and hug her. “I won't, I promise. I can handle this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? I've already lost my parents, so it's not like I can lose them again. This is nothing more than her trying to get one last dig at me before she croaks.”

“Yeah, you have a point. But promise you'll call me if you need me. I can catch the next flight after the game and—”

Woof.

“I swear to God!” Asher yells in the background. “It's like he wants me to lose the playoff game. That's it, I'm tossing your treats in the pool, you mutt.”

Woof.

“Maybe Picasso peeing on it makes it extra lucky,” Landon offers. “Ever think of that?”

Breslin sighs. “Here we go again.”

I laugh. “Go take care of your dog...and your men.”