"I have some marketing ideas I'd like to run by you," Cheryl says. We're sitting in the conference room going over the product launch for Illicit Escape, the technology that we're banking on to revolutionize the porn industry—actually, the whole fucking world seems to be banking on it too.

At least that's what we're supposed to be discussing, this product launch, but I can't fucking focus.

Instead of thinking about how to launch this product, I'm thinking back to the restaurant—Top of the Rock—with Brittney. I'm thinking about her dress. Her perfect curves. Her smell. The way her blonde hair framed her face and caught the light just right.

The way I commanded everyone to leave the dining room. The way the city stood tall in the background, a symbol of success and power. And how I felt like I had all of that power in the palm of my fucking hand.

I'm thinking about the look that formed on her face the moment she realized we were alone. The way she screamed when I pressed my hand against her bare pussy. The way her fingers rested on my waistline in anticipation, her eyes pleading me to allow her to go further. And I'll never forget the way she grabbed my shirt, crazed with lust, and I watched as the buttons popped off and rolled to the floor. That was a first.

I suddenly realize that if I'm not careful, my cock is going to start tenting my pants in the middle of this meeting. Not fucking ideal.

"I was thinking we could build off of your press release pitch," Cheryl continues, oblivious to the images playing out in my mind. I nod my head in vague agreement. I'm only partially paying attention, and honestly, every time she starts talking, my mind changes tracks. Like I said, I can't fucking focus.

"We could do a montage of cavemen scribbling porn on caves walls, and then show ancient civilizations scrawling it on stone tablets and papyrus," she says. "And we can continue down that evolutionary chain until we reach the early days of VHS and the Internet—and then we can have the screen pan into a modern-day man and woman. Maybe they're sitting in a park, or sitting at home, and no one knows, but they're actually, privately watching porn. It's not obscene. It's just normal. That's the revolution. The story always has to come back to the people."

Cheryl takes a drink of water from a nearby glass and continues. "We can show how discreet this technology actually is—how it's the next evolution of porn. What do you think about that? Ethan? Ethan—hello, is there anybody home? Are you following me?" She says this and laughs, but deep down you can tell she doesn't think me drifting off is funny at all.

"What? Oh—right—yes, I'm fine. I think that sounds like a great idea," I say, snapping back to the present. What was she just fucking offering again? I'm losing track. I'm literally fucking losing my mind.

"Do you even know what I was talking about?" she asks.

"Sure, porn, porn, and more porn," I laugh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

If I'm honest, I rarely see that look on her face—and I've known Cheryl forever. Seriously. I better get my shit together. I've got to get my head screwed on straight... and quick.

I don't know what the fuck has come over me. One minute I'm fine. I'm Ethan fucking Kane. The one man in this city that not a single woman can keep. And the next minute, I'm fawning over some woman. Sure, she's hot—but so are a fucking hundred other women throwing themselves at my feet. And what's more, I can't get this particular woman out of my fucking mind no matter how hard I try.

I look over at Cheryl. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. "I'm fine. A little tired maybe, but fine."

Do I sound convincing? I'm sure Cheryl can see right through it.

"Ethan, I've known you for a long time, and I've never seen that look on your face before."

"You're overreacting," I laugh, shrugging her off. "I'm sure you've seen many of my faces—all variations of the one you're seeing right here in this meeting. Continue with your marketing plans. I'm listening."

"Okay, well, beyond this angle, I'm thinking that the bottom line is this—our focus should be on the people, our potential customers," she says. "To build buzz, I think we can turn this product launch into a full-scale event. We should also have our pre-orders set to go live soon. Do you know the official pre-order launch date? Ethan—are you listening?"

"Yes, sorry," I reply. "What was your question again?"

"No—you're definitely different today," she says, halting the marketing talk. "Where were you yesterday?"

"I was here," I say.

"No, you weren't. You left early… and I've never seen you leave work early."

"Oh, I—uh—I had a meeting scheduled for the evening," I say.

"With who?"

"What is this, a game of 20 questions?" I ask. "You sound like a surrogate mother."

Cheryl looks at me for a moment without saying another word. I can see her brain working overtime. I break the awkward silence.

"Look, it doesn't matter who I was with… trust me. Let's move on." I say. "What matters is that we launch Illicit Escape successfully. We have millions of dollars riding on this."

And then it's as if a circuit connects in her brain and she makes the link between what she's been searching for—like finding the correct piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

"You were with her, weren't you?" she asks. Her eyes are burning holes into me and I know exactly whom she's referring to.

"No—well, not completely," I say. "I mean I was, but it's not what you think."

Cheryl gives me a critical glare.

"Right, and you expect me to believe that?" she asks.

"Believe whatever you want, but let's continue," I say, slightly annoyed. "If we don't get this product launched, we'll all be in trouble."

Cheryl realizes that she isn't going to get anything further out of me, so she continues.

"I've created an infographic that shows a breakdown of various demographics and who our target audience is. You'll see that while many of our clients are male, we do have a sizeable segment of female viewers," she says. "If you look right here, you can see what I'm referring to."

I glance at the image on her screen, but my mind hasn't been following a word she's said, so it takes me a minute to locate what I should be looking at.

"It's right here," Cheryl says, pointing down to the far left corner. There's a tinge of irritation in her voice.

She continues, "I was also considering the fact that we have a large sponsorship pool that we can reach into as well. If we throw an event for this product launch, I could see various adult novelty stores interested in sponsorships. Who was that one sex toy manufacturer that we used to partner with? Ethan?"

"Oh right, uh, let's see—who were they again?" I ask.

"Never mind. I've just remembered," she says. "We worked with two companies—Naughty by Nature and Good Vibrations. Shall we send them a sponsorship proposal?"

"Sure, whatever you think."

"It's your call, Ethan. If we offer them a package, I can ask our marketing team to draw up the proposal. Do we want to offer three tiers of sponsorship?"

"Look, I must be more tired than I thought because honestly, all of these ideas are jumbled together in my mind," I lie. I'm not tired, but it's true that I'm not focused. I only have one thing on my mind, and it's certainly not the product launch—or events—or sponsors.

"I trust you, Cheryl. You know this business—and me—inside and out. You make the call, and pull the levers. We'll get everyone onboard with the plan and we'll roll it out. I have total confidence that this will be a product launch for the books. It'll be the best one in Illicit Entertainment history."

"Okay, if that's how you feel, I'll make the call," she says. I can tell she's still giving me a sideways glance, but I shrug it off and gather my things. Just as I'm about to excuse myself from the room, she speaks up.

Brittney is supposed to be shooting today," she says.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, acting casual.

"From what I can tell, it's an extensive scene. She should be in the building shortly."

As soon as she says that, I know exactly where I'm heading.