Sex Says(24)

She pulled the phone away from her mouth and spoke to me directly. “Do you have an appointment?”

I smiled easily. “Nope.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she went back to speaking into the phone. “No. Yes, I know. He says his name is Reed Luca.”

I could practically see the moment the person on the other end of the phone told her that was a horse of a different color. The Wizard would definitely see me now.

“Okay. Yep. I’ll send him up.”

Ah. I’ve got the golden ticketttt. Hey, there was no harm in mixing movie metaphors.

Receptionist Girl didn’t hesitate or say anything about our little moment. Sure, she could have just been trying to be professional, but I had a feeling it had more to do with a stubborn streak in her personality and not liking to be wrong.

“Just right through those doors, up the stairs, down the hall, and to the left. Her assistant will be waiting for you.”

“Fantastic,” I said with a cheeky grin as I slid by with a wave.

The route was just as she’d said, and an impeccably dressed man, most likely in his early twenties, stood waiting for me just as she’d said he would. But she hadn’t said anything about how thoroughly he’d be vibrating with excitement.

“Reed?” he confirmed as I approached.

“Yep.” He held out his hand to shake, so I took it.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a genuine smile and what I imagine was a mental heel-click.

“You too, man. What’s your name?”

“Oh, sorry, I was distracted,” he apologized. “It’s Lyle.”

“No problem, Lyle. Sorry if I distracted you.”

“Oh, no. It’s just…she was expecting a phone call,” he said gleefully. If he hadn’t been standing, I swear even his toes would have stood on end. I couldn’t wait to find out what that was about.

“Yeah, I don’t do what people expect a lot.”

He was nearly apoplectic. “God, this is amazing.”

I laughed at his enthusiasm. “I take it she doesn’t get surprised much?”

“Never. Not in my tenure here anyway. So you really made my day.”

I slapped him on the shoulder and chuckled. “Happy to do it.”

“Here we are,” he said, quieting his voice considerably and stopping to let me step ahead of him. I stopped and turned around.

“I guess she’s a big deal around here, huh?”

“Editor in chief.”

Well, well. I smiled huge as I thought of the woman who considered me her mortal enemy, and the possibility that, in order to get her attention, I might have to make her mine.

Maybe this would be even better than I thought.





The afternoon sun warmed my bare shoulders as I rode to a stop inside Golden Gate Park—one of my favorite writing spots on good weather days…and a good excuse to procrastinate by taking the thirty minutes to ride there. After scanning my surroundings for the safest place to lock up Daisy, I walked her toward an empty pole and wrapped the lock around her frame. My phone vibrated against my skin as I slipped my helmet off my head and hung it on her handlebars. I pulled my phone out of my pocket but didn’t look at it as I headed toward the Conservatory of Flowers to find a spot to lay a blanket on the lawn and stretch out with my laptop.

By the time I got there and settled, it rang two more times. When it rang a fourth time, I knew I either had to answer it or stick it down my pants and use it as a vibrator because the calls weren’t going to stop coming.

Given the public nature of my setting, I deferred on the latter.

“Hold your fucking horses,” I mumbled to myself.

Incoming Call: The Devil

Jesus. Good thing I’d decided against masturbation.

“Hey, Joe,” I greeted as I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder.



And I know what you’re thinking, The Devil?

But seriously, writer’s block can make you do some weird things at three a.m.

And honestly, the title suited him 99.9% of the time, so why change it?



“Shit’s about to change, sweetheart,” he responded and made a little eh-eh sound to clear his throat. “I just got word the Journal snatched up your advice nemesis, and now I’ve got every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the publishing industry ringing my phone off the goddamn hook to get your thoughts.”

Tom, Dick, and Harry? What in the actual fuck was he trying to say?

Whenever Joe started acting like an old-timey newspaperman from the fifties, he was amped about something. I also found it impossible to translate.

“Speak English, Joe. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That cocky vlogger,” he answered. “The Journal just offered him a dating and advice column, and he accepted.”