Gritty Gossip Girl must know.
Another Gritty Gossip must: the new f-ing machine featured in today’s contest. This time, women–and a few adventurous men–were challenged to last as long as they could, without letting the machine bring them to climax. One chick with incredible focus managed to hold out for seven minutes…and wow. These babies have all sorts of attachments, including spankers, anal plugs, heat, and an optional “sex soundtrack.” Gritty Girl wants one baaadly. Donations accepted via PayPal. –wink, wink.
Until tomorrow,
G-G-Girl
David didn’t feel any better the second time he’d read it than the first.
“Bloody hell.” Britt stood immediately behind him. “Fucking hell. What the blue fuck is she talking about, you and that bugger Rafe?”
“Get a handle on yourself,” Vic murmured. “You know she’s manufacturing stories.” She did a fantastic job of acting nonchalant now, considering how freaked-out she’d been earlier this morning.
“Who does he think he is, going ’round telling tales like that?” Britt shoved the laptop closed. “I’ll have him drawn and quartered for libel. And defamation of character.”
Mark folded his arms over his chest. “Well, he didn’t say anything concrete. And as Tori pointed out, it’s possible this blogger misquoted him, in any case.” He smirked. “Besides, the last time someone was drawn and quartered was–”
“Oh, can it, hon.” Carmyn slapped Mark’s ass. “This has got to be drumming up future reservations. Have you checked with your staff at the Mountain?”
Vic rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes. Reservations are up. Exponentially.”
“Has anybody considered the possibility that it could be the captain behind the blog?” Carmyn asked. “You’ve gotta admit, he’s got a vested interest in keeping the manifest full, especially with a second alimony judgment coming up soon.”
“It’s not Rob,” Vic said.
“How can you be sure? I think Carmyn has a point,” Mark countered.
“I just know.” Vic dismissed the discussion with a wave of her hand. “He’s too busy with other…interests right now, anyway.”
“What about that reporter? Mick?” Mark suggested. The Great, Throbbing Cock. “It would definitely further his career to have a blog following like this one.”
Britt shook his head. “We can’t do a search to rule him out, but we’re certain a female is composing these posts.”
“What female would hate you this much? And why?” Mark asked. “The only person I know of who hates you is that creepy helicopter pilot.”
Vic scoffed. “Why would Gil hate Britt?”
“Jealousy?” Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve seen the shit looks he gives him behind his back, though. Maybe he wants Brett’s woman.”
Carmyn doubled over laughing. “Gil…is…gay.”
“Not entirely.” Vic turned an interesting shade of pink, but kept her chin up.
Silence.
And then Mark asked, “And you know this…”
She cast him a ball-shriveling glare. “I make it my business to know my employees, just as I make it my business to know my clients.”
Britt’s eyes narrowed on her, but he must know better than to ask what he had to be wondering–why’d she blush?
Carmyn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Besides, remember? Gil’s brother died in that helicopter crash with Luke. He and Tori go way back.”
Vic gave her a little smile–of thanks?–and shook her head. “I think tonight at dinner I’ll ask Rafe who talked to him yesterday about me. We’re going to find this girl.”
David had made it a point to lay low in this conversation, but they were missing the most obvious person. “What about this fucker Rafe?”
Everyone looked at him, shock on their faces. Well, hell. If Britt hated the guy for being after Vic, so did he.
“Er. I mean, if he hates you as much as you hate him…” He looked at Britt. “And it seems like the blogger only says good things about him.”
“Honestly, I admire the guy as an actor,” Carmyn said, “but I seriously doubt he’d be able to scheme up something like this. He’s a little dense.”
“So here we are, back to square one.” Vic shook her head.
“Yes.” Britt took her by the shoulders and steered her toward a lounge chair. “Square one, on day six. So let’s pretend we’re on holiday, shall we?”
* * * *
One more try, and that’s it. David undid the knot in his tie again, and flattened the crumpled edges. He’d give it one more shot, and then if it didn’t turn out good, he’d go see if Vic could help him. Or maybe Britt. Nice of Britt to loan it to him, since his own tie was hopelessly wrinkled after being shoved around in the duffel so many times. Still, he’d almost rather stay here alone in the suite tonight than dine at the captain’s table. Almost. Staying here alone would mean missing out on precious waking hours with Vic and Britt. So he’d agreed, borrowing Britt’s tie and one of Mark’s shirts–they happened to work with his own black slacks, which Vic had sent down to have pressed.