Graham

I am on fire today.

It’s only ten, and I’ve already logged five miles on the Hudson River Greenway, solved a thorny supply issue with the production department halfway around the world, and answered all pressing emails from business partners.

That’s what a good old-fashioned five a.m. alarm and the prospect of taking care of my other favorite kind of business after-hours has done for me.

Add in a breakfast meeting with my finance team at the Parker Meridien that went swimmingly, and I’d like to bottle this energy and take a hit whenever I’m losing focus.

I return to the office on Fifty-Sixth, stabbing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and whistling a happy tune.

Eleven more hours till school starts.

I’ve never been more excited to go to class.

Then again, I’ve never been this kind of teacher, and I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy every single second of tutoring CJ one-on-one.

As the elevator chugs upward, my phone buzzes with a text. I grab it quickly, in case it’s CJ. But my jaw clenches when I see the name.

I mutter a curse, but then take a deep, fueling breath as I open Lucy’s message. The last time I saw her, the day I broke things off, she’d asked if she could move in with me instead. Can you say whiplash? First, we’d been dating one month. No way did I want her to move in. Second, I wanted to end the relationship—that’s what “this isn’t working for me” means.

I brace myself for her note, hoping it’s not another plane ticket to fly out of town with her, or some comment about what I was wearing on the running path the other morning, since I’ve noticed her a few times on the greenway when she was never a runner before.

I give my phone the side-eye. What is she talking about? We never discussed a scarf, and I don’t have time for mind games. But I can’t just keep hoping she’ll leave me the hell alone.

I need to send a very clear message.

I erase her text. I delete her contact info. Then I hit delete on Lucy’s space in my brain.

Done.

Gone.

Washed clean.

While my messages are open, I tap out a quick note to my parents, asking if Mom wasted Dad on the tennis court again today. Her quick reply—Of course. Three-love. Booyah!—makes me smile. Their condo, their tennis lessons, the fun they’re having after decades of killing themselves in dead-end jobs—that’s why I’ve worked my ass off since I was a kid with my first paper route. Even on the day the bank kicked my family out of our house years ago, I knew the future was going to be brighter. Because I would make it brighter. I was determined to get out and make good for all of us.

And I did. My parents love their condo in West Palm Beach, and every day I’m glad I bought it for them before putting the down payment on my own NYC apartment.

The elevator dings, and the doors whoosh open on my floor, on the kingdom I built from the ground up. I say hello to the receptionist, then stride through the work space, flashing smiles and quick hellos to my team on the way to my corner office.

When I reach the door, a voice calls out. “Did you see that penalty last night?”

I swivel around, my eyes widening, my disgust over the ridiculous penalty against my Portland Badgers returning in full force. “It was highway robbery,” I say to Brian, a rising marketing star at the company and a rabid hockey fan, too.

He shakes his head, his blue eyes narrowing as he walks toward me. “I’m telling you, the refs hate our guys because we’re too damn good.”

“Oh, to be hated for being amazing. Something we should all aspire to.” I glance at my watch. “Hey, you want to review the PowerPoint for next week?”

Marketing the new lines is critical to my plans for the company. In this fast-moving industry, we need to be spot-on with communicating to consumers. But in a sexy, delicious way.

“Absolutely. Let’s make it amazing.”

“Let’s make it so damn good the board will be blown away,” I agree.

“That’s the only way to treat a board.”

I push open the door for my office and let Brian head in first. He joined the company a few years ago, a newly minted MBA, and he’s eager as a Boy Scout. He has a fresh-faced go-getter attitude as well as a tenacious work ethic that I dig.

We roll up our sleeves and tackle the presentation I need to make to the board next week, refining a few slides to make it even better. When we’re done, I hold up a hand to high-five. “This is like a hat trick in the Stanley Cup Final.”

“You know it,” he says, laughing as he drags a hand through his brown hair.

But then I have to ask myself if it is.

It’s almost there, but . . .

I lean back on my leather couch, thinking.

My mind snags on something from my emails earlier today. One of our partners wanted to see if they could move up the launch of a new line of candy-colored corsets in time for the fall, a pre-holiday push, but the marketing still feels a little off. Have your cake and wear it, too is a cute slogan for the collection, but every model we’re using in the print campaign looks like she hasn’t eaten cake in at least seven years. Maybe eight. I would prefer the marketing package hit an inclusive note, to embrace all body sizes and all women, be they stick thin or curvy and full-figured. We’ve built our high-end brand on that message and can’t stray too far. Adored’s brand mystique has to remain top-notch.

I share my thought process with Brian, and he nods his agreement. “With a reshoot and a few positioning adjustments, we might be able to pull this off,” I say, a burst of excitement zipping through me, as it so often does when I feel the possibilities of what I can do in this business.

I started Adored for three reasons. One, I wanted to build a company I loved from the ground up, applying all my business acumen to the sole goal of making my venture so wildly successful that no one in my family would have to worry about money ever again.

I’ve checked that off.

Two, I fucking adore women, especially in lingerie, and particularly when lingerie is doing its job making them feel sexy and beautiful.

And three, I wanted to work with my best friend. We accomplished that, and part of me wants to fight to keep Adored independent because of Sean. I know he would have wanted that, too.

This presentation on the new line will be key to getting the board excited about my vision for Adored, so they can see that selling out is not an option.

After we’ve finished laying out a plan for campaign adjustments and Brian leaves, I check the clock, pleased that it’s now T-minus seven hours till launch. I’m ready to give myself an A-plus for kicking ass at the office today. Maybe women and work haven’t been meshing for me lately, but hell, it sure seems that night school is better than an iced coffee for focus.

Note to self: if you ever change careers, consider being a sex tutor. It streamlines the focus and keeps your dick in the game.

As the clock ticks past three, I review the design for some new panties. Tilting my head, I study the way the lace skims high on the thighs of the model. How it slides between her legs. How there’s just enough of a pattern to leave most of what’s underneath to the imagination.

And my imagination goes to CJ.

What does she wear under those cute T-shirts? What does she sleep in? I’m imagining her in bed in her snug apartment in the Meatpacking District, sliding under the covers in a burgundy baby doll, dark against her pale skin. It’d ride up to her belly, revealing kissable flesh.

A barely audible groan escapes my throat. Thank fuck my door is closed because I’m staring at the screen as if it’s the best porn reel around.

But it’s not the panties on the screen that do it for me.

It’s the movie in my mind.

I’m undressing CJ, discovering she wears a pale-blue push-up bra with flowers embroidered into it, the demi cups ensuring her tits spill over the tops. I’m seeing a pair of matching panties with delicate patterns and sheer lace.

In the lingerie business, you learn that every woman is an individual when it comes to her sensuality. Some want to lead with bold animal prints, others crave delicate flowers. Some love unapologetic, make-no-mistake-what’s-on-my-mind black, while others covet bright, fiery red or soft, pale pink.

I know what I would like to see CJ in, but I also want to learn how she sees herself.

What does she slide on beneath her clothes to make her feel confident and beautiful? What brings out her seductive side? Has she even figured out the power of a well-chosen panty and bra set?

Maybe that’s something I can help her with, too, and give myself something to look forward to in the process.

I pick up the phone and arrange for a special delivery.