CHAPTER 1
THERE WERE FEW THINGS MORE uncomfortable than the morning after—awkward text messages, ignored phone calls, or the not so random meeting in the street. As Gigi Duval deleted yet another dick pic off her phone, she decided last night’s fuckboy was testing every one.
She took another sip of her latte and then forced a sociable smile on her perfectly glossed lips. She’d met her best friend, Ann Kennedy, for coffee at their favorite café in the rehabbed NewBo neighborhood. She loved the brick building with its original tin ceiling, high gloss wood tables and metal bistro chairs. It smelled like freshly brewed coffee and soul.
“Which play date is harassing you now?” Ann asked with a knowing smirk, one expertly drawn blonde eyebrow raised.
They were meeting over Ann’s lunch break, so she dressed accordingly in a navy silk top and khaki cropped dress slacks. Her severe, flat-ironed hair and neutral makeup choices were selected with a strategic eye to reflect her poised businesswoman image.
Gigi turned the phone face down as it dinged yet again. She tapped her pink polished nails on the floral plastic case in annoyance. “One whose name will be erased from my little pink book when I get home.”
“Sounds like you didn’t enjoy your walk of shame.”
Some variation of this conversation started most of Gigi’s lunch dates with her best friend. You would think Gigi called a new date every night. Her lips curved up into a smile as her shoulders raised in a non-committal shrug. “Don’t be ridiculous—I prefer the term slut strut.”
“I can’t wait for someone to catch your eye for more than a quick fling,” Ann sighed as she pushed a piece of salad across her plate. “You can’t keep this up forever. It’s not safe.”
Gigi shrugged, brushing off her concern. Men caught her eye on a regular basis. The problem was choosing one. Years ago, she learned men could have as many women as they wanted and no one seemed to care. So why couldn’t she have the same? Who made the rule that she couldn’t have no-strings-sex and save her heart from one brutal let down after another?
Did she ever get tired of it? Absolutely. She was tempted to retire the little pink book all the time. Just last night for example. She sat waiting for Dick Pic—a colossal waste of time—when a tattooed god-among-men had approached her and offered to buy her a drink. You’re too classy for a dive like this, beautiful. He hadn’t been rude or handsy. He just sat there chatting with her, keeping her company and the lechers away until her date arrived—a full thirty minutes late—and then drifted back to his friends.
“What are you up to today besides mischief?” Ann asked.
Gigi released the breath she had been holding at Ann’s sudden change in topic. “Just chasing job leads and then dinner with the parents. Nothing too exciting.”
“Speaking of family connections, would you like a new lead?” Ann reached into her Kate Spade bag and pulled out her tablet, an iPad Pro that Gigi had been salivating over for months. “My step-brother just opened a tattoo shop and needs someone to be his office manager. Just basic stuff, run the front desk, setup and run his website. Nothing you haven’t done before.”
Grabbing a business card out of the tablet’s case, she slid it across the table. Gigi picked it up, running her fingertips over the embossed skull design.
A tattoo shop wasn’t exactly the kind of place she would have applied. She also hadn’t planned on leaving the bank, but her former employer cornered her in his office for a little quid pro quo. She gave her immediate notice to the HR department. The ink wasn’t even dry on her resignation before she was out the door. Now it had been a month and her savings would only hold out so much longer. At the very least, this could tide her over while she found something else.
“I’ll pop down there and give him my resume.” Gigi slipped the card into her purse and picked up her latte for another sip. “But I’m keeping my options open.”
Ann rolled her eyes as she put her tablet away. “Just do me a favor and keep his name out of your book?”
Sighing, Gigi placed her hand over her heart as if wounded. “For shame. That would be breaking rule number three and potentially number six. No screwing those with a connection to your life and no fucking around in the workplace. I left a job over that. I’m not exactly looking to repeat the experience.”
Ann was one of the few people who knew about the rules. They’d become fast friends when they met at a mixer for young professionals and discovered they’d been unknowingly sharing the same male companion. Gigi may not engage in relationships but she did abide by strict rules—the first being: all parties must be single. No cheaters were welcome in her bed. Ann was delighted to dodge a bullet and the two women had been friends ever since.
Friendship and trust were two commodities that Gigi didn’t deal in often. In life, all you had was your reputation and Gigi guarded hers closely. That’s why she had created the rules and cultivated the perfect disguise. She masqueraded as the kind of girl that one would take home to mother, in a package of petite pink innocence, right down to her toe nail polish. The boys liked this virtuous façade too, because despite her rules, she had no trouble filling the space on her proverbial dance card when she wanted it.
“I have your promise then?” Ann’s tone had dropped to a level of seriousness normally directed at her employees—not her friends—and with her brow furrowed and lips pressed together, her expression formed a stern mask.
That question—the doubt it implied—made Gigi’s eyes burn as the latte soured in her stomach. She looked away. This was the downside of her choices. Logically, Gigi knew that Ann wasn’t intentionally slut shaming her. Her friend was protecting someone she cared for. It still made Gigi’s skin crawl as though she were nothing more than a cheap whore. She’d promise almost anything to make that feeling go away.
“I promise.” Those two small whispered words should have been the easiest she uttered all day. Instead, they etched her throat like acid.