Step 2: Interview his Army of Bimbos.

I walk into the room and quickly survey the ten ex-lovers, ex-girlfriends, victims…whatever they call themselves…I call them bimbos.

They all are of different ethnicities: Asian, African-American, Caucasian, and Hispanic. He doesn't discriminate, I'll give him that. They all have relatively large breasts. Rat-bastard. And they all have had sex with him only once before he left. No surprise there.

Fortunately for me and my cause, the similarities end there. The goal of this Bimbo Inquisition is to find out just what Aaron likes in a fuckmate. I will use that information and all their experiences to become irresistible.

I take my seat at the head of the long conference table, conjoin my hands and place them on the table, clear my throat, and get this thing started.

"Good morning, everybody. First off, I would like to thank you all for coming here today. Do any of you know why you are here?" Everybody shakes their heads. Of course. Why would they? Since I didn't tell them, that means they would have had to deduce it for themselves. Something I'm not sure they are even capable of.

"Well, you all have one thing in common. You were all lovers of a Mister Aaron Hunter." It took a lot of self-restraint to say lovers instead of bimbos; I pride myself on that.

The women all look around at each other, judging their competitors. Each with a disdainful and hateful expression on their face. Some even appear to recognize each other.

"Now that I have your attention, I would like each one of you to answer a few questions. Starting with: how did you first meet Mr. Hunter?" I gesture to my left to let Bimbo number one know that it is her turn to speak.

"Hi. I'm Luthiana Lopita, LuLu for short. And I've been fucked by Aaron Hunter."

"Hold on," I wave my hand in the air to stop her from continuing. "This isn't an Aaron's ex-lovers support group. This isn't like an AA meeting. The purpose of this meeting is to just gather intel on a candidate who is running for the Senate this year. You can remain completely anonymous if you want to. You can continue, LuLu."

"Okay. So, I totally met Aaron at work. I work at Lanny's Tavern as a bartender. I served him alcohol and he returned the favor by serving me his cock." She licked her lips as the word cock flew out of her mouth. This whole meeting might be fucking useless.

"Thank you, LuLu. Feel free to get into a little bit more detail about when you met. Next."

"Hi. I'm Athena, like the goddess, and I too have been fucked by Aaron 'Hot Bod' Hunter."

Oh, for the love of God. I roll my eyes and rest my head on my arm, which is now resting on the conference room table. Athena flashes me an oh-how-rude face. Which causes me to try to play it off. I pick up my arm and run my fingers through my hair, all before resting them on the table again.

"Anyway. I was at one of Aaron's killer parties. It was Halloween, a couple of years ago. I was all cute in my slutty dolphin costume. My boyfriend and I were having sex in one of his spare bedrooms. When I was riding him up and down like a stripper pole, that's when Aaron walked in." She stopped her story there.

"And what happened next, Athena?"

"Oh, I thought I was done. Well, anyway, my boyfriend was kind of so wasted. Maybe from the thirteen beers he drank at the party. So, he passed out." Passed out or died? What the fuck? "So, then, I hopped off him, rolled him off the bed, and looked into Aaron's golden hazel eyes. I rolled onto my back and asked him, 'Do you wanna finish?' flashing him my cute little pout."

"Oh, God. He didn't?" She shook her head.

"No. We ended up fucking a year or so after that. I doubt he even remembered my dolphin costume." Athena seemed saddened by him not remembering her stupid costume.

"So, what happened next?" Bimbo number five asked.

"I hopped back on my boyfriend, who was on the floor now, and kept riding until I came." Bimbo number five nods, satisfied with Athena's response.

One useless story after another. In other words, one useless bimbo after another.

"How many of you have gone out to dinner with him?" This is a personal question. No hands are raised. Interesting. He doesn't even have to buy them dinner to get into their pants. He's got this down to an art.

Things did get a little interesting and heated when Bimbo number six started pointing fingers at Bimbo number seven. To which numbers seven, eight, and five started doing the same.

"You're the whore he left me for!"

"So what? He fucked me and then went on to you!"

"You bitch! He left me to go fuck her!"

I let the bitch calling last for about a good seven minutes before its entertainment factor wears off and I decide to intervene.

"Ladies! Look at yourselves. Is any man worth this?" They all bow their heads in shame. My curious spirit gets the better of me. I try with all my might to contain it, but ultimately fail to do so. "Was sex with Aaron really that good?"

They all nod their heads in agreement. Bimbo number ten screamed, “Fuck, yeah,” at the top of her lungs, which is probably going to make my coworkers wonder what exactly is going on in this conference room. Damn. He must know how to really fuck a woman right. No way all ten of these bimbos faked their orgasms when they are all willing to tear open each other's throats for stealing him away from them.

To all of our dismay, Bimbo number nine stood up. She refused to speak earlier, letting number ten speak in her place. We all stare at her petite frame. She has black hair and bluish-green eyes, which start spewing out tears. I watch as the tears cascade down her cheeks. She stands there, still mute, but crying her eyes out in silence. It was as if she was immobilized from the waist down…she wanted to move but couldn't muster up enough strength to do so.

I quickly dismiss all of them, letting them leave the room. Number nine didn't move. I walk over to her, pull a tissue out of my jacket pocket, and start to dry her tears.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" She moves her head ever-so-slightly as if it was going to fall off if she moved too fast.

"Sarah Gracen," she whispers. It was very soft and almost inaudible. Sarah Gracen. Where have I heard that name before?

"Well, Sarah, are you alright?" She nods slowly.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She nods again and we both take a seat at the table. She uses her hands to dry the rest of the tears I missed with the tissue. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and finally breaks her silence.

"You may have heard of me. My name is kind of infamous around here. I was his first and only girlfriend. I guess just his first girlfriend since he's engaged now. I dated him for six years before we broke up. He was a true gentleman. He truly cared for everybody in his life, stranger or not. Until one day, he just changed. He broke up with me and started sleeping around with every woman with a pulse."

"Did he ever give you a reason for the breakup?" She shakes her head.

"He just said I wasn't right for him. I was devastated. Two weeks later, I climbed the Empire State Building and contemplated suicide." That's why I know her name. I reported that story for the Gazette eight years ago. What happened to him eight years ago to bring about such an abrupt change in his personality and way of life?

"Long story short, I decided to live and move on with my life. But not a day goes by where I don't miss him…the old him. The Aaron Hunter who was so genuine and kind." I caught a small glimpse of that Aaron last night.

"Thank you so much for sharing your personal story with me. Did you ever find out what happened eight years ago to make him change?"

"No. I wish I knew, though. It might just provide me the final bit of closure I so desperately need."

"Well, I will do my best to provide that closure for you."

Her face lights up at my last comment. I didn't even know she was capable of such happiness. I guess all she really needed was somebody to talk to. And hope. Everybody needs a little bit of hope in their lives.

I spent the rest of the afternoon searching through the Gazette's archives, desperately trying to find a lead on the Aaron Hunter mystery. A death in the family, a tragic accident, traumatic experience…nothing. And his whole family's record is squeaky clean. Not even a fucking traffic violation. This is hopeless.

I guess I'll just have to ask the source himself. After all, he did say no questions were off limits tonight.

* * *

Prince Charming arrives fifteen minutes early and knocks on my door. After putting the last few touches on my makeup, I walk to the door, open it, and let him in.

"So, you found me," I say flirtatiously, instantly regretting it when he laughs. As usual, my body responds. Why is this starting to become the norm?

"It wasn't easy, but I appreciate the challenge."

"What's with you and challenges anyway?" He runs his fingers through his hair before he shrugs.

"So, the inquisition begins early. Just like to be challenged, I guess."

"Then you're really gonna love the zinger I plan to throw at you tonight."

"Is that so?" he asks flirtatiously as he arches one of his eyebrows. Damn, he is like testosterone on a stick. Every mundane thing looks so goddamn sexy when he does it.

"Hello?" Shit! He caught me staring at him like a teenage girl does her crush. Do I have a crush on him? No fucking way. I can't. I won't let myself.

"So, where are we headed?"

"Not so fast. It's a surprise."

"Well, it better have seafood 'cuz I plan on getting a thirty-five-hundred-dollar lobster." I lick my lips to try to get a rise out of him, or the associate in his slacks. No such luck.

To make matters worse, he laughs again, getting a rise out of me. I can feel heat rushing to my cheeks. Great, now I'm fucking blushing.

"You crack me up, Parker." I'm beginning to notice that myself. I need to stop being so damn funny; my ovaries can't take it. Correction, they can't take him.

He exits my apartment and I quickly follow, close the door, and lock it. He grabs ahold of my hand and I practically swoon. The little girl inside of me is loving every minute of this, while the grown-ass woman in me snatches her hand out of his, reclaiming it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I snap. He flashes his infamous panty-dropping smirk accompanied by his drop-dead-gorgeous dimples.

"Your elevator is broken. I thought you’d like a hand going down four flights of steps in those." He nods his head toward my six-inch high heels.

"My elevator is broken? It worked fine just a couple of hours ago." Aaron shrugs his broad shoulders and then points to the elevator doors. I look to see a white sign with the words Out of Order written boldly in a red font. "I'll be damned. Yes, I would like some help then."

I give Aaron my hand and accept his offer to help me down the steps. There was no way I was going down four flights of steps in six-inch heels without some assistance. Granted, I could take them off and then put them back on when I'm in the lobby, but I decide to just let him win this one. I don't have to fight him on everything. Score: Nicole-one, Aaron-one.

As we exit my apartment building, I am shocked to not a see a limo waiting for us outside.

"What, no limo?" As the words fly out of my mouth, I notice a shocked expression form on his beautifully sculpted face.

"I never pegged you as the princess type." Crap. I meant for that to sound all condescending. That backfired real fast.

"I'm not the princess type," I reply, barely able to spit out the word princess. I loathe that word. Fairy tales were never my thing. I'm never going to be some damsel-in-distress. And I'm sure as hell never going to wait for a man to rescue me. I rely on my own wit and charm. I'm more like Mulan. I'm nice and charming, but cross me and I will cut your fucking balls off. "So, where's the car?"

"No car. I thought we'd just walk."

"Really? And let the paparazzi follow me around like I'm one of your whores? I don't think so. I'm not going to let the whole world think I'm the woman you’re cheating on your fiancée with. No way, Jose." He snickers.

"Relax, will ya? The 'razzi are waiting for me at a fake press conference I had my assistant whip up late last night. They'll be there until nine, at least." Okay, that was brilliant. There is more to Aaron than just his good looks. And I plan on unraveling every layer of him.

We walk side-by-side, but we don't hold hands…I made sure of that. We walk together in complete silence. Well, except for the sounds of fellow pedestrians, car horns, and the obnoxious tapping sound of my heels hitting the pavement with every step I take. If I knew we would be walking so much, I would've worn flats or at least wedges.

I take a wrong step, my left heel snapping completely off as it collides with the crack where the two sidewalk pieces meet. I lose my balance and gravity starts to work its magic. Just as I am about to smack my nose onto the cold, hard pavement, I feel an arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back upright again. He scoops me into his arms and I immediately begin to protest.

"Put me down, Hercules. I am perfectly capable of walking."

"On that thing?" He uses his eyes to gesture to my now heelless high-heel shoe. Fuck. Score: Nicole-one, Aaron-two. "I thought so."

I take this opportunity to smell him. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he smells. I swiftly inhale the scent of him, hoping he doesn't notice. He smells like a man, aka androstenol, one of the most powerful male pheromones known to women. The scent makes the tingling sensation between my legs reappear, much stronger and more aggressive this time. Then the thought dawns on me: I am in danger of falling in too deep.

Keep your eye on the prize, Nicole: the promotion. Being editor is worth a little heartache. Isn't it? Yes.

We finally arrive at MiMi's Shack of Fish. How does he know me so well when we just met? I love seafood.

"Reservation for Colon."

The hostess, Darnel, checks her list and nods in confirmation. She then escorts us to our table. It's on a second-story balcony, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, lit only by candlelight.

Aaron, still carrying me, pulls out my chair with his leg, carefully placing me into it before he scoots me inward back toward the table. What a gentleman.

He takes his seat across from me and orders a bottle of wine from Jeffrey, our waiter. He must've sneaked in when I was being manhandled by Aaron. Maybe manhandled was too aggressive of a word for it, but I don't care.

Aaron brings me back to reality when he clears his throat.

"Colon, huh?"

"Yeah, I use that name whenever I don't want to be found." Good to know. I'll search the database for Aaron Colon first thing tomorrow morning. He interrupts my train of thought.

"I have to ask you. Have we met before yesterday? You look very familiar."

"Met, no. Seen each other, yes. It was at…" He cuts me off, interrupting me.

"…Rochell's New Year’s Eve Party four years ago?" I nod in agreement. Wait for it.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God." There it is. "I'm so sorry for that."

I giggle at the memory.

"There's nothing to apologize for. You had some woman pinned up against the wall. She was sucking on your neck, while you were looking behind you, staring at me like a creeper the entire time."

"I wasn't staring," he retorts.

"Oh, please. She could've been sucking your dick and you wouldn't have broken eye contact with me." Aaron howls with laughter as he shakes his head no. I try to tune out the sound of his laughter and focus on the sound of the breeze, or the ocean. Nope, didn't work.

I fold my arms over my chest, hoping to hide the fact that my hard-ass nipples are visibly protruding from my dress. My heartbeat quickens, causing my breath to grow shallow and urgent. I can't deny it any longer. I want him. Right here, right now.