Well, crap.

Got home from a long ass shoot in Virginia Beach at the ass crack of dawn after a terrible flight full of turbulence and a screaming baby. Made sure Dozer was all settled in, filled up his food and water bowls, fluffed his oversized bed in the living room, and made sure he was happily gnawing on a gigantic rawhide. Finally took a deep breath as I slipped off my favorite dark brown and black ostrich boots.

I slunk into my closet-sized bathroom and started running the water. It looked like Pepto-Bismol had puked all over the damn thing. From the tiles to the bathtub and even the toilet, it was saturated in the awful pink color. The old pipes complained loudly until steaming hot water bellowed from the faucet.

I stripped off my typical black loose fitting V-neck and skintight black skinny jeans, then stood staring at my tired eyes in the mirror. The curls had fallen out of my hair a while ago and the makeup I’d applied at four in the morning was smudged and faded. I looked like a freaking train wreck standing like a Looney Tune in my underwear. I peeled off my black lace bra and matching thong and sank into a much needed scalding hot bath to relax.

After toweling off, throwing my long dark brown locks into a messy dripping bun, and slipping into my pajamas at eleven o’clock in the morning, the only thing left to do was unpack my carry-on bag.

By far my least favorite part of the whole traveling for work thing was living out of a suitcase. Oh, and the never ending laundry once I finally got home.

It continued to be a typical Monday morning until I started to go through the zipped pocket of my suitcase where I normally stowed all of my intimates, including my pink bullet vibrator. What the hell did I find?

Nothing.

All of my favorite thongs were gone. All of my beautiful lace bras that matched those thongs were gone. Devastation set in fast when I realized my favorite vibrator—the one that had been on the road with me for the past three years—was gone.

Well crap!

After three hours of no luck with complaining about the travesty of my stolen intimates to anyone that picked up the phone, I slumped onto the couch to stew in a pissed off channel surfing escapade and mourn the loss of my battery powered o-maker.

My phone buzzed on the light wooden coffee table, next to where my socked feet were resting. The screen displayed an unknown eight-hundred number.

I answered, “This is Jolene.”

An automated voice came on the line. “Hello. It has come to our attention that you were dissatisfied with our customer service regarding luggage handling. Please hold for a customer service operator.”

Fester.

Fester.

Fester.

At that point my blood was boiling and I was ready to bite the head off of this customer service operator.

“Hello. This is Maureen. It appears that you placed a complaint call earlier today. Please confirm your name for me.”

“Jolene Abbott.”

“Thank you, Ms. Abbott. How are you doing today?”

She seemed so sweet. Her vanilla-coated voice cooed into the phone, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I seethed, “You want to know how the hell I am doing? I get home from my business trip to find that some pervert that works for y’all in baggage handling gets off on stealing women’s intimates. Now I am left with none of my nice underwear or my favorite vibrator! Yes, I did just say vibrator! And y’all won’t do a damn thing because there isn’t a record of anyone searching my bag. Of course the perv didn’t leave a damn record of his sick little game and of course y’all won’t help me. So I’m sorry, Maureen. I know you’re just doing your job, but I am freaking pissed and y’all either need to reimburse me for the personal property that was stolen from me or just leave me the heck alone.”

There was a brief pause.

Maybe I’d been too harsh?

Finally her sweet voice came back on the line, a little softer this time. “I’m very sorry to hear that ma’am. I can transfer you to my supervisor. He might be able to help you.”

“Fuck this.” Click.

I threw on a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and a pair of faded gray skinny jeans, slid my socked feet back into my boots, and applied a light layer of eyeliner and mascara to avoid looking completely dead.

Tossing my phone into my purse, I gave Dozer a few kisses on his egg-shaped head. “Be back in a bit, bud.” His whip-like tail thumped against the plush bed as I walked to the door. Right as I pulled my bag’s strap over my shoulder and opened the front door, he closed his eyes.

Typical.

I shrugged and started to make my way down the ten flights of stairs.

Time to go shopping.

* * *

A successful Victoria’s Secret trip was not all that I had planned for this shopping excursion. I hailed a cab, hopped in, and without giving it a second thought, instructed the cabby to take me to “Seventh Avenue South and Charles Street, please.”

“Alright.” He grinned at me in the rearview mirror, eying my pink striped bag and showing off his lack of teeth along with the ones he did have left, which were stained piss yellow and looked to be hanging on by a thread.

Gross.

I slid out of the cab at the end of the block and made my way to The Pleasure Chest. The faded red brick exterior and the light gray awning did not do the sexual wonderland justice.

A bell chimed overhead as I was greeted by a rather large middle-aged woman. She was covered in tattoos and leaning on the front counter, looking bored out of her skull.

“How can I help please you today?”

The greeting made me giggle. “I have come because of a travesty.”

She gasped and came around the counter to help comfort me in my devastated state. “What happened?” She softly put her pudgy hand—which was decorated with a brightly colored cupcake tattoo—onto my shoulder.

“My Iconic Bullet was stolen!”

The woman gasped again, louder this time, and threw her cupcake hand to her chest. “Well let’s find you a new pocket-sized boyfriend.”

I grinned and followed her to the back wall, past the sexy roleplaying costumes, anal plugs, and strap-ons.

“Now, you might like something like this.” She held up a white ball that looked like it was wearing a weird pink crown.

Nope!

“That is interesting,” I faked, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “What’s it called?”

“This one is the Vibratex Girls Princessa. My girlfriend loves to roll it around on my clit while I’m climaxing.”

Way too much information.

I grabbed a LoveLife Discover from the wall and read its specs: Discover the pleasure of this versatile mini vibe! Made of silicone and USB rechargeable, this sweet little vibrator has seven delicious settings and is perfect for travel or for a not-so-quiet night in.

Pink. Simple. My kind of thing.

“I think this is the one.”

She nodded and within a few minutes I was curbside, trying to hail another taxi to take me home. A cab finally pulled up and right as I was going for the door handle, another hand got there first.

“Excuse me, this is my cab,” I barked, turning to the owner of the rude hand.

I was greeted by stunning ice blue eyes, a strong stubble-covered jawline, and a huge toothy grin.

“Sorry.” His voice was deep and velvety, matching his five thousand dollar suit well. He started to back away from the cab and I panicked. I needed to see more of those eyes so I blurted out, “We could share? I’m heading to the Upper East Side.”

He nodded. “So am I.”

We hopped in and I gave the directions to my overpriced Fifth and Seventy-sixth apartment that overlooked Central Park.

My cabmate chuckled.

“Was something I said funny to you, sir?” I drawled at him in the most southern belle voice I could muster.

“It’s not every day that a bohemian looking southerner lives in that area of town.”

“Excuse me?”

“Forgive me, but you don’t look like you’d live there.” His finger twirled around my outfit. I saw red.

Who the hell does he think he is?

The cab stopped in front of my building and I got out, slamming the door shut without so much as a backward glance at the asshat I’d had the misfortune of sharing a cab with. Beautiful or not, an asshat is an asshat, and I was not going to take shit from someone like that.

“Miss?”

I heard his velvet-coated voice call from the parked cab and the door shut behind him.

“What?” An exasperated tone escaped me as I turned to meet his stunning eyes and a cruel smile raking across his lips.

“You left this in the cab.”

To my horror, he was holding my new toy in his hand.

All kinds of red prickled my face as I took my vibrator from him. “Thanks,” I choked, gulping the last bit of saliva out of my drying mouth.

“Want to have drinks later?”

I was rather taken aback by his question. “What?”

“I’m only in town a few nights a month and I leave in the morning. I’m free after my next meeting and would love to have some company at the hotel lounge instead of drinking by myself.”

He handed me a business card that read “Seth Roberts, CFO” with an address scribbled on the back. “That’s where I am staying. I’ll be in the lobby around eight. See you there if you’d like.”

He got back in the cab while I stood like an idiot, grasping his card in one hand, my vibrator and lingerie bag in the other.

What a freaking weird day!