“I’m telling you man, she’ll be gone before I can make the coffee,” I tell Andrew. The connection is good despite the storm brewing on the east coast.

He laughs. “You did tell her about the job right? She knew she was testing sex toys, right?”

My mind goes back to our interview. I replay as much as I can remember. “I’m pretty sure I did. We talked about pleasure and the buzz. I was working off three hours sleep. Who knows what she thought.”

Andrew growled. “It’s like the other girl who thought we were a ground spice company. That woman turned and burned carpet all the way to the door.”

“Janey didn’t run. I’ll give her credit for that. I’m pretty sure she was too shocked to move.” Out of the corner of my eye I watched her when she entered the room. A thousand emotions crossed her features but determination seemed to take over and to my relief, she stayed.

“Should I place another ad?” A crack of thunder echoes through the line.

“No, let’s wait until she quits.” I hope she doesn’t quit. I like her spunk, and if the truth were told, I’m attracted to her. Not a great thing when a woman works under you, but I can’t think of a woman who will look better under me than Janey Pickle.

“I gotta go, the storm’s moving in. See you in a few days.” Andrew hangs up, and I call Brad.

“What’s up, bro?” He is the frat boy of the group. In college, we made castings of our cocks and sold them to the sororities. I get great satisfaction knowing thousands of women have fucked me even though I’ve only fucked a handful in person.

I give him the low-down on our new employee.

“Told you. Big bold letters. Sex toy company seeking product tester.”

“We did that last time and they were lined up around the building. That woman we hired was selling your dick out the back door for five dollars.” It pissed Brad off that she discounted his cock while Andrew’s and mine got full price. “She cleaned us out in a week. I don’t see Janey as the alleyway cock bootlegger that Cindy was, but I’ll keep an eye out.” No need really since we don’t have a back exit to this office space. There is nowhere for her to set up shop.

“Too bad we can’t put a video camera in her office.” He stalls for a minute as if considering it. “No, that’s a bad idea. I don’t want to go to jail.” The clunk of machinery on the production floor whirs in the background. “Is she cute?”

What could I say? That my dick grows when I look at her? Not going there. “She’s all right. Kind of a librarian type.” A fucking sexy librarian that I want to bend over the table and plunge into while she reads me a book.

“Oh shit, I got to go. Your dick is stuck in the conveyor belt.”

“Ouch.” Just the thought makes my balls ache.

I leave my office to search for the coffee pot. It’s buried under several boxes. Once I find the coffee, I set it to brew.

Even though I need to set up my office, I’m distracted knowing that Janey is down the hallway in a room full of fun. Being the nice boss that I am, I pour her a cup and find a few packets of sugar and powdered creamer and then walk down the hallway to the end. Just as I lift my hand to the door to knock, an unmistakable buzz of the Titan fills the air. “Holy shit,” I whisper to myself. She’s starting big. This girl is no beginner. Then again, she did tell me the bigger the better in her interview.

I backtrack down the hallway to my office and drink the coffee myself. A half an hour later I try again with a fresh cup, but I’m greeted with the hum of a different toy. Three tries later, I’m shaking from too much caffeine.

“Mr. Stark?”

I jump at the sound of her voice. “Ms. Pickle, you startled me.” I set the marketing books I was unpacking on my desk and walk toward her. “I was wondering if you were going to come out of your office. I made you coffee.”

A blush of pink colors her cheeks. “Oh, thank you. I got right to work.”

“I figured as much when I tried to deliver you a cup and—”

“You asked me to start right away. I did.” Her pink cheeks turn crimson red.

“Are you hungry? You must have worked up an appetite.” I love watching her blush, and I wonder how red I can make her cheeks. “Let me take you to lunch. We can get to know each other better.”

Something tells me getting to know Janey Pickle is going to be the most fun I’ve had in years.

“You don’t have to do that. I can get myself lunch.” She twists her hair and chews her lip. It’s a sure giveaway to her discomfort.

“It will be my pleasure to satisfy your hunger.” I walk forward and wrap my arm around her shoulder in a buddy fashion. I don’t pull her into my side, nor do I let my hand hover over to grip her breast, although it is a mere inch or so out of reach. Close enough that my fingers itch to get one feel, but I need a product tester more than I need a lawsuit.

She looks around like she’s seeking an escape, but there is none. “Let me get my bag.”

“You don’t need it. My treat.” Without giving her time to consider anything, I walk her out of the building and across the street to Tupelo’s.

She shrugs me off as we enter the restaurant. It’s not the type of place a boss and his employee would normally go unless of course they’re having an affair. The room is dark with only a warm glow of overhead lighting and a single candle on each table. The booths are made for privacy with their high backs. This is a place for secrets.

Of course, they happen to have the best southern cuisine around.

“Is that chicory I smell?” She lifts her nose into the air. The position elongates her neck and I fantasize about running my tongue from her ear to her collarbone. Would she taste salty? Sweet? If I pulled her fingers into my mouth would they taste like her pussy after hours of product testing? Again my dick twitches, and I’m grateful for the cloak of darkness shrouding us.

“That’s right. You didn’t get your coffee. I’m not much of a coffee expert. My expertise lies in something else.” Even in the darkness I see a blush travel up to her hairline. Blonde hair. Pale skin. Full, pink lips. Red cheeks. Perfection.

We are seated in a booth in the middle of the restaurant and even though our location is central, there are no direct lines of sight to any other booth in the place. The designer created a space where each booth is its own oasis. Endless thoughts about Janey being dessert rush through my head but are doused the minute the waitress shows up.

We order a sampler platter that’s guaranteed to give us a taste of the south, but the only place south I want to taste is between Janey’s legs. She really did pull off that sexy librarian image from the ponytail at the nape of her neck down to her white, starched blouse, black slacks, and sensible shoes. However, I heard the buzz in her office for hours, and I know under the stuffy exterior is a wild cat full of passion.

“How was your morning?” I sip my sweet tea and watch her squirm. Is it from nervousness or soreness? That much stimulation can set her skin on fire. I reach below the table and pinch the head of my dick with hopes that it will retreat and soften. It doesn’t.

She sits up straighter and pulls at her collar. “Productive.” Her fingers twirl around a strand of hair until it falls in a ringlet to her shoulder.

“Tell me about yourself.”

She sips her tea and smiles, and there goes my dick again.

“Not much to tell. I graduated from San Francisco State with a degree in marketing. As you might have noticed on my résumé, I struggled to find a job.”

“It’s a tough market out there. What made you want to enter the sex trade?”

She coughs and grabs for her drink. Several gulps in, she empties the glass and sets it on the table in front of her. “Would you call this the sex trade?”

This was way too much fun. I slide closer to her in the booth. “Sweetheart, you’re getting paid to have sex. I’d say the minute we exchange money for sex it’s a done deal.”

By the shocked look on her face, I’m sure she hasn’t considered that.

“Oh lord, I—”

“Hadn’t thought about it? Well, don’t worry.” I pat her hand and feel the same heat as I did when we shook hands earlier. It races through my body and settles in my cock. I mimic her earlier squirming trying to adjust the swell. “We list your position as a product analyst. Nobody has to know that you sit in your office and mas—”

“Here you go.” The waitress puts the platter on the table and leaves.

Relief washes over Janey’s face. She’s been saved by gumbo and red beans with rice.

We dish up our servings and eat in silence. My brain is anything but silent, it’s full of questions and visions and unmet desire.

After we finish lunch, I order beignets and chicory coffee, which seems to please Janey, and that, for some odd reason, pleases me. I haven’t wanted to please a woman since Gloria walked out on me a year ago. She met some guy down in the Haight-Ashbury District and they took off together to make daisy chains and tie-dye shirts. She left with nothing but the clothes on her back. Said the guy had sold all his belongings, and they were going to live off the grid.

“How did you enter the sex trade?” Janey asks. She takes a bite of her beignet and powdered sugar sticks to her lips. She pats it with a napkin but it doesn’t go anywhere. I’m forced to look at those beautiful lips and wonder how good they would feel against mine. How sweet they would taste. How beautiful they would look wrapped around my co—.

“Anything else?” The waitress asks.

“No.” The word sounds short—terse even. I pull two twenties out of my pocket and slap them on the check still irritated at her poor timing. Just as my vision manifests into Janey’s lips wrapped around me, she interrupts it, cheating me out of a virtual blowjob. Is it shit or perfect timing? I’m not sure.

“Where were we?” I reach over and thumb the sugar sitting below her lip, then suck her sweetness into my mouth. Her eyes go wide, but she says and does nothing. “We were talking about the sex trade.”

Over another cup of coffee, I tell her about a college prank that turned good. How we made cock clones and sold them as a joke, but later found it to be profitable. “Sex sells.”

This opens talk about sex toys and the industry and loosens her up to the point where she asks more questions than I have time to answer, which means tomorrow we’ll meet again for lunch. I regret having to take her back to the office. While she’s in the back doing her job, I know I’ll be in my office miserable.