I sat down, hoping the scotch would help smooth the edges of my reaction to the woman sitting across from me. "So, Georgie, I guess we should get down to the interview. Fire away."
She pushed her glasses back on her nose and took a deep breath. The juice had done the trick.
"Right." She crossed her legs at the knee and her straight, no nonsense business skirt slipped back to expose a few inches of her thigh. Stop thinking about her fucking legs, Trey, and get this done.
"How many employees do you have?" She had her pencil poised, reminding me of a secretary from the sixties where the big gruff boss sat behind his desk and barked out memos to his young, pretty secretary, who quickly scribbled everything in shorthand. All of a sudden, I had a great idea for a role play themed box. I jotted that down on a sticky note.
"We have fifteen people running the business end and forty in the warehouse and shipping side."
"Mostly women?"
Her question confused me. "We do have women working here. But mostly women? I guess a few more women than men."
"So you prefer to have women walking around the office?" She hadn't lifted her eyes to me since the first question. It seemed she was determined to find something to make us look unsavory. Damn that Chase.
"No, I prefer to have women working around the office."
Her hand scratched wildly over the paper. She knew shorthand.
I continued, feeling both a bit pissed and a whole lot turned on. I wanted to teach this reporter a lesson in more ways than one. "I've found women are more focused and have better attention to detail. And frankly, since our goal is to make our women clients think about fucking day and night, just like men, it makes sense to have female employees."
Her face shot up. She'd gone a little pale. Her blue eyes were like jewels behind the lenses of her glasses. "Are you trying to shock me, Mr. Armstrong?"
"Uh oh, back to Mr. Armstrong. I might be trying to shock you. Is it working?"
"No." She nervously clicked her pen and pushed back her glasses, a gesture I was already falling hard for. "Maybe a little."
I leaned back in my chair and looked at her. "Do you know anything about the company?"
She lifted her chin. "I did some research." She'd recovered from my comment about women thinking about fucking. She was a true professional, and it seemed my attempt to throw her off balance had failed. "I know it's a subscription service where each month a new box of pleasure goodies is delivered to the client."
"Yes, that's right." I sat forward and rolled my chair closer to my desk. That tiny mother of pearl button was still working impossibly hard to keep her blouse shut. "But each box has a theme. We test every product ourselves, and since most of the products are for the woman's pleasure, the women who work for Plaything are the product testers. And, I can assure you, they love that part of the job."
It seemed she'd forgotten she was supposed to take notes. She jarred herself out of her thoughts and quickly wrote down what I said. "Is there some room where they test the products?" Her tone was a little less confident. I was sure I noticed a blush rising from her hidden cleavage and up along her slender neck.
I rested my arms on my desk and stared at her. "Do you mean like a room with a one way mirror where my partners and I can watch as our female employees strip naked and test the products?"
Her face darkened as the blush continued to spread. Maybe I'd thrown her off balance after all. Her lips parted. I studied them for a moment. They were smooth and plump, the kind you had to bite lightly at the end of a kiss.
Georgie was speechless and shocked, and I was starting to feel bad for messing with her.
"There's no such room. They take the products home and try them out in the privacy of their bedrooms. Then they come back and give us the thumbs up or thumbs down. Occasionally, the experiment carries over to the work day. I'll show you." I picked up the phone and dialed. "Hey, Diane, could you come to my office for a second? Thanks."
I'd flustered the hot little reporter. She scratched out something she'd written. "Do the women"—she cleared her throat—"the employees—are they required to wear"—she glanced down at her notepad—"are they required to dress a certain way here at Plaything?"
Just then Diane knocked on the door. I invited her in. Diane was a statuesque, smart, all business woman who helped run the marketing department with my partner, Zane. She was stellar at her job. She had been trying out a corset to see if it was comfortable and fun enough to include in next month's box.
"Hey, Diane, this is a reporter from Contemporary Life magazine. Georgie Dempsey this is Diane Connor, our marketing guru." She dropped her pen as Diane stepped into view.
Georgie stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Di, do I require you to wear a corset and mini skirt around the office?"
She laughed. "Funny man. By the way, I think it'll be a thumbs down on this thing. It keeps pinching my sides."
Georgie crossed something else off her notepad.
"You know what, Georgie, I'm going to make this easier on you so you don't have to keep crossing stuff off your list." I looked up at Diane, who seemed a little confused about her office invite and rightfully so. "Di, Georgie is writing an article about Plaything, and I think if you could answer some quick questions, it might give her a better insight into how we run things."
Diane adjusted the corset. "I'll try. Fire away."
"Do you like working here?"
"Like winning the job lotto." Diane looked down at Georgie as she quickly wrote on the notepad. "I work twenty-five hour weeks, which allow me time to do homework for my master's degree. Plaything pays college tuition and I earn six figures. I've got great benefits and I own a percentage of the company. Respect and trust are two core values at Plaything. And about the only rule that is strictly enforced is never heat up fish in the lunch room microwave."
Georgie grinned as she wrote down Diane's response. "Good rule. Well, thank you, Diane. I don't want to take up any more of your time. I'm sure you're busy."
"Nice meeting you." Diane walked out.
As she left, Olivia, my assistant walked in. "Hey, Di. So how is that thing? Torture?"
"Not torture but not exactly pleasure," Diane commented as she walked out.
Olivia was wearing gray sweatpants and a football jersey. She insisted she was more productive if she was dressed for a day on the couch binge watching a Walking Dead marathon, so this was her usual attire.
"Liv, this is Georgie, the reporter."
"Hello." Olivia smiled. "Just came in to let you know your lunch meeting was cancelled."
"Great, thanks for letting me know."
Olivia headed out.
"Oh, Liv, could you get me a cup of coffee, black, please."
Olivia burst out laughing, the reaction I'd expected but not the one Georgie had. Again, her blue eyes blinked with surprise.
"You should see her on casual Friday," I said. "So, Ms. Dempsey, now that I've shown you how we run this place, let's go to lunch and discuss an angle on your story that I think will satisfy your craven boss, help you sell millions of magazines and give Plaything some great publicity."
Chapter Five
Georgie
I'd been invited to lunch, and before I had time to breathe my response, I was being swept to a local restaurant in a navy blue Tesla. Trey wasn't your typical high power executive. He was charming, direct and, oddly enough, seemed pretty down to earth.
Trey walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. "Hope you like comfort food."
I climbed out. "Well, I like comfort and I like food, so it works for me." He was much taller than I realized, and now that I was walking next to him, I noticed that he smelled nice too. Guess that wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was finding out just how nicely the company was run. Something told me I could bug the place or hide in corners for a week and never find fodder for a damaging article. Meredith was going to be pissed, but I wasn't going to make something up and risk my credentials as a journalist just to feed her carnivorous appetite. Trey had mentioned that he had an idea for a story, but I just couldn't figure out how that was possible.
We walked inside and attracted more than just a little bit of attention from the other diners, most of whom looked retired or on their way through town on a road trip. There was no ritzy, white linen and crystal water glasses at the end of our quick drive through the city, but rather, a mom and pop style restaurant, complete with corny decor and laminate tables.
The hostess, a stout woman with red apple cheeks and a mop of bleached blond hair waved from behind the register. "Hello, Trey, honey, just take any seat."
Trey placed his hand behind my elbow. It was a light touch, but I could feel the heat of his fingers through my blouse. We walked to a booth at the back and a young man, not more than twenty, dropped menus in front of us.
"I'm Kyle, and I'll be your server. Can I get you started with something to drink?"
We ordered iced teas and Kyle lumbered off, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but serving food in a mom and pop restaurant.
Trey's long legs stretched out beneath the table. His toe touched my foot. I wasn't completely sure it was accidental. The way his intense gaze seemed to be assessing me made me fidget with the place setting. The knife fell on the floor, producing enough clamor to grab everyone's attention for a second before they returned to their meals and conversations. Trey leaned down to pick up the knife and took his time about it.