Free One Night With Her by Lauren Blakely Page A

his chin, “I think I might prefer not to
display a nine-inch fake schlong on the table at The Pierson Hotel.
It’s a classy joint.”
    “And all their guests are probably slipping
plastic purple friends under those twelve-hundred thread count
sheets at that classy joint. That’s why you hear so many
high-pitched screams at The Pierson,” Casey said, rising from the
desk, and slapping a palm on it to accentuate her punch line. With
her other hand, she tossed him the newest toy, her blond hair
swishing around her face from the throw. “Take it, Jack. Maybe he
wants to bring a present home to his wife.”
    “Not one that’s been manhandled
already.”
    “That’s what the toy cleaner is for,” she
said, reaching for a bottle of anti-bacterial cleaner from the edge
of his desk and tossing it next. He caught it easily, snatching it
out of the air.
    “By the way, send Marquita my love. Tell her
and Henry I say hi.”
    Casey sauntered out of his office and Jack
grinned, tsk ing her playfully under his breath. No way in
hell was he bringing this device along, and it had nothing to do
with being embarrassed, and everything to do with keeping it
simple. He wasn’t a bag man; he didn’t want to tote his laptop to a
meeting, along with a toy in the side pocket. A wallet, phone and
keys were all he needed, so he left the rest behind as he stood up,
pushed a hand roughly through his dark hair, and then jammed his
phone into the pocket of his pants. He grabbed the
cranberry-colored tie slung over the back of his chair and looped
it around his neck, tying a neat knot. Best to look sharp for the
team at Eden. New York was still very much a suit-and-tie town, and
so Jack wore the requisite uniform.
    He was about to step out of his office when
Casey popped back in, the look in her eyes now intense and serious.
“Don’t forget your appointment tomorrow at two.”
    He held out his hands wide, and grumbled, “I
know.”
    She pointed at him and pursed her lips as
she leaned in the doorway. “It’s important.”
    “Yes, Mommy.”
    “Oh, ha, ha, ha. But you need it,” she said,
and she was right. Jack hadn’t been the same since he’d lost his
fiancée a year ago, and he needed to get his head screwed on right. Correction . His heart. He needed to get that annoying organ
fixed.
    If it were even possible.
    That was the question.
    But tonight, his mind was on business, plain
and simple, so he headed off to The Pierson to finalize the
deal.
    * * *
    Michelle Milo had sex on the brain.
    Dirty, sweaty, slick sex. Limo sex. Office
sex. Swanky-nightclub-bathroom sex.
    Unfortunately, none of these were positive
images, because they had nothing to do with her sex life, but
instead her client’s philandering husband.
    And she was dying to shout, leave
him .
    She wanted to scream it, to slash it on the
wall in orange paint, to get down on her knees and beg. But Shayla
needed time to come to the realization on her own, even though it
seemed patently fucking obvious that she should not only leave that
cad of a husband, but kick him several times in the balls too.
    “I just keep thinking about The Owl. It has
these low lights, almost kind of a blue light, and the bathroom is
all tiled in black, and I had such great memories about our time
there,” Shayla recounted, referring to a club in Los Angeles where
her husband had been caught having sex with his assistant last
month. “It was our place,” she said, wiping a tear that had already
streaked the mascara from her eyelashes, sending a black jagged
line down one porcelain cheek. “Well, back when I used to want to
have sex with him.”
    Michelle reached for a tissue from the box
next to her, handed it to her twice-weekly client, and waited as
she dabbed away the evidence of her sadness. Shayla sunk lower in
the couch, framed behind her by abstract prints on the wall of the
Lexington Avenue offices where Michelle ran her psychology
practice. “What is it that bothers you most? Is it