CJ

There’s something wrong, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“You’re sure this is the exact same design as the mock-up you sent over yesterday?” I tilt my head to one side, squinting at the printout of the ad Chloe is going to run on social media as soon as I give it the thumbs-up.

Usually, I can spot the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit in sixty seconds or less, but my instincts are dull today. I would blame chatting late with Graham, but it wasn’t the chat that was the problem. It’s the hours I lay awake afterward replaying every kiss, every touch, every word he spoke to me at Patio West, and imagining all the things we might get up to together tonight.

Sexy things. Erotic things. Exciting, exhilarating, life-changingly amazing things that had me up until way past midnight giving Sparky the Wonder Vibrator a workout he hasn’t seen in months.

All I want to do is replay Graham and CJ’s Greatest Hits over and over until my brain turns to mush—but focus must be achieved.

I have three thousand up-cycled, vintage hardcover-books-turned-adorable-purses in my warehouse in Georgia, already wrapped in tissue paper and ready to ship. I need to get them out into the world to make room for the typewriter-key earrings my production team is hard at work on for next season.

The purses must be advertised and sold. I must get this ad exactly right. And I must stop thinking about sex for at least the next five to ten minutes.

“Is her dress a different color?” I ask, shaking my head as the backs of my eyes begin to ache.

“No, the dress is the same.” Chloe crosses her arms over her chest as she perches on my desk beside me. I sit on my desk more than I sit behind it. I’ve always been the kind of person who thinks better on her feet. “I did tweak the background filter the tiniest bit, but—”

“That’s it.” I snap my fingers, pointing at the sky behind the model’s head. Thank God, I haven’t lost it—yet. “The new shade of yellow is making her skin look sallow, and that’s throwing the rest of the color scheme off just a hair.”

“I thought it made the purse pop.” Chloe hums beneath her breath. “But you’re right. She looks like she has food poisoning. Sorry about that. Maybe my monitor needs to be recalibrated.”

I wave a hand. “No worries. Let’s just shift it back and take another look.”

Chloe accepts the printout but doesn’t move from her perch. “Totally. I’ll get right on that as soon as you serve up the gossip. And I want every detail, Murphy. I’ve given you almost forty-eight hours alone with your dirty little secrets. Now, it’s dish time.”

“Who says I have dirty secrets?” I circle back behind my desk to mark “meet with Chloe” off my list—the only thing more fun than making lists is marking things off them.

Oh, and being semi-naked with Graham with his hands all over me and his lips hot on mine. That’s definitely way more fun than anything list-related.

“Um, your face.” Chloe tosses her blond curls over her shoulder as she turns to pin me with one of her always-sees-through-me looks. “The goofy grin and the dreamy expression. The way you keep biting your lip to keep from smiling and then smiling anyway. And giggling. So much giggling, Murphy. It’s just silly.”

“I am not giggling,” I scoff, fighting the urge to giggle because that’s what happens when you’re determined not to do something.

“And the sudden appearance of eye makeup,” Chloe continues, ticking items off on her fingers, “and perfume, and strappy shoes, and the fact that you’ve worn sexy dresses to the office two days in a row.”

I glance down then back up at Chloe with an arched brow. “I didn’t realize a simple, black, short-sleeve dress was a sexy choice.”

Chloe sighs. “Just tell me who’s romancing the happy into you, CJ, so I can do my due diligence as your best friend, google his ass ten ways to next Wednesday, and make sure he’s worthy of you.”

Romancing me? No way. There will be no romance between Graham and me. It’s all business. Well, the business of pleasure. I snicker quietly at my own private joke.

Chloe wags a finger in the air between us. “No lies in this office. That’s rule number one, and you wrote the rules.”

I bite my lip, but this time fighting back a smile has nothing to do with it.

Chloe knows Graham. She’s even joined us for happy hour a few times in the Village on her way back to Brooklyn on her bike. More importantly, she knows Graham’s reputation as a ladies’ man. She’s usually not the kind to judge a guy for something like that, but Chloe also knows about my . . . unique situation.

I twist my lips to one side and then the other, possessed by the warring urges to keep my sex ed plan under wraps and to finally share with someone the monumental changes taking place in my life.

Especially a friend I know I can trust.

“Okay.” I glance over her shoulder and then circle to close the door to my office. I don’t mind dishing with Chloe, but the rest of the staff doesn’t need the scoop on the status of my still amazingly intact virginity.

I snick the door closed and turn with a deep breath to face her. “So, first up, I want to assure you that this was my idea, I know exactly what I’m getting into, and my expectations are totally in line with what my friend is prepared to deliver.”

Chloe’s usually sunshiny expression transforms to a frown. “Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of this. You always say you know what you’re getting into right before you do something insane, like bid three times over asking price for Hamilton tickets, or decide to bike to the Jersey shore, or foster a litter of abandoned baby pit bulls that pee on every pair of shoes you own.”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. Nothing that’s going to end badly, though I did discover an incredible junkyard on my way to Jersey before I pulled the hamstring, and the pit bulls were adopted by great families, and Stephen King managed not to get eaten by one. Plus, our Macy’s rep loved the musical, and it totally softened her up about holiday product placement. So I’m saying all’s well that ends well.”

Her frown becomes a scowl.

“Fine.” I lift my arms in surrender. Clearly I need to spit it out before her imagination runs wild. “I wasn’t out on a first date Monday night. I was having my first lesson with Graham. He’s agreed to be my sex ed teacher.”

Chloe’s green eyes bulge.

“And it went really well,” I say, hurrying on. “And pretty soon I’m going to know everything I want to know about being a man-magnet and finally have my V card punched in the process. It’s a win-win. All win. Total win.”

And I just said “win” four times.

My repetition does not go unnoticed. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re winning?” Chloe counters slowly, taking her time with each word. “At least until you crack your head open on the bottom of the pool because you went right from the wading area to jumping off the high dive at the Olympics.” Her expression grows distinctly concerned. “CJ, you know I like Graham, but he’s a . . . and you’re a . . .” She waves her hand up and down, gesturing to me from head to toe.

“I’m a pigeon, and he’s a bald eagle?” I suggest.

Chloe snorts. “Um, I was thinking more a shark and a baby seal, but okay. Eagles eat pigeons, right?”

“Actually, they eat fish. But Graham is not going to eat me,” I say, then a scandalized snort escapes my lips as I realize how that sounds. “Sorry.” I wave a hand in front of my face as I swallow the burst of laughter because, of course, he’s going to do just that. And soon, I hope. “I shouldn’t be going there. I’m not open to talking specifics. That stays between Graham and me.”

“Does it?” She arches a honey-colored brow. “Because last time I checked, Graham wasn’t the kind who minded everyone knowing who he was fucking, how often, and in what kinky positions.”

“That’s not Graham,” I say, jumping to his defense. “He doesn’t kiss-and-tell. His exes are the ones who talk.”

“And how many of them are there? Fifty? One hundred? Two hundred?” Chloe bites her lip. “You did have Mr. Man Whore tested before you jumped on his pony, right? I’m worried about your health, you know, not just your heart.”

“Graham would never expose me to anything that would hurt me,” I say firmly, not a sliver of doubt in my mind. “He’s clean. He cares about me. And we are both approaching this as adults who are friends and are deeply respectful of each other.” I wiggle my shoulders back and forth. “And we haven’t gotten to the pony-riding yet, but soon, maybe. Maybe very soon.”

Chloe nods for a long moment, her lips pursing, then squishing into a wiggly line, then spreading into a melancholy smile.

“What?” I ask, flopping a hand her way. “What does that smile medley mean, exactly?”

“It means I believe you,” Chloe says slowly. “And I hope everything goes exactly as planned.” She pauses before adding in a careful tone, “And I’m here for you any time you need to vent or cry, and I promise not to say I told you so.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Just tell me I can handle this, okay?”

She smiles again, more sympathetically this time. “Like I said, I’ll be here to catch you when you fall. Or if you fall.” She shrugs. “Who knows, it could work out great. Crazier things have happened.”

“That’s true,” I agree. “Crazier things happen all the time.”

“Especially in this city. Which reminds me, Roberto asked me to make sure you wanted to shoot the apron samples on that urban farm in Brooklyn,” she says with an eloquent roll of her eyes. “He seems to think aprons only belong in a kitchen.”

I cluck my tongue in exaggerated disapproval. “Silly Roberto. Of course I want to shoot at the farm. And I want the models wearing nothing but swimsuits and aprons. It’s going to be so sexy and fun.” I nod, thinking back to my conversation with Graham last night as I add, “And I want the girls to have such a good time that everyone who sees these photos thinks about what a blast they’ll have in an adorable, retro-style apron.”

Chloe’s expression takes on an appraising air. “Agreed. I like your embracing of the sexy. Maybe Graham will be good for you, after all.”

I cast my eyes to the ceiling with a breezy laugh, playing it cool. “Could be. Definitely a possibility.”

But inside, I’m not anything close to cool. I’m hot, bothered, eager, and so excited to see Graham again that for the rest of the day, time seems to crawl at a snail’s pace. A sea slug crossing the ocean floor against an incoming tide would move faster than the clock.

I’m beginning to think the day is never going to end when a text pops up from Graham at four thirty.

I run my finger over those last few words, as tingles spread through my chest. How to take it off . . .

My heart beats faster, and my spirits lift. Only ninety more minutes and I’ll be seeing Graham again. Ninety more minutes.

It’s nothing.

It’s forever.

It’s going to be over in four more nights.

I close my eyes, trying to push that last errant thought out of my head. Of course it’s going to end. It’s designed to end. It’s a seven-day project, like a week-long sex-cation.

And on that note, I let my mind wander to the kind of sex-cation we might be having tonight.

As dirty, sexy images flash before my eyes, I’m pretty sure I just did that goofy lip-bite, smile-fighting, smile-anyway thing Chloe was teasing me about before.

But who cares? Ninety minutes . . .

I can’t wait.