Like two giddy schoolgirls, we dart toward the entrance of a sprawling, one-story warehouse with a gray exterior and a single metal door. Several feet from the door, Jenny stops and grabs my arm, bringing her mouth close to my ear.
“Do you think we’re about to get murdered?” she whispers.
I jerk my head toward our waiting cab. “Don’t worry, our driver will save us if we need help.”
“Amen, sister.”
We bust out laughing, and we’re still giggling as we knock on the door. It swings open to reveal a tall, muscular man wearing a tight black shirt and sunglasses. He was wearing sunglasses inside. Weird.
“Hi,” I say in my most professional voice. “We’re here with a delivery. For Thomas?”
The man pops the Ray Bans onto his forehead, his eyes filling with relief. “Oh, good. They’ve been waiting for this.”
They?
I’d expected Mr. Dick to come outside like he’d stated in his request, but Muscle Man gestures for us to step inside. Jenny and I share a wary look, until he smiles reassuringly and says, “Nothing to worry about in here, ladies. Tommy just can’t come outside right now. He’s naked.”
With that, he turns around, leaving me to gape at Jenny. “Did he just say naked?”
She nods vigorously. “He said naked.”
Dear God. What the heck are we walking into?
Despite our apprehension, we follow Muscle Man into the warehouse. Which turns out to not be a warehouse. It’s…a studio, I realize as I take in the lighting setup and various cameras. And the set. There’s an actual set, designed to look like a classroom, complete with teacher and student desks and a chalkboard.
“Fetch saves the day again!” a deep, jubilant voice shouts.
The next thing I know, a very, very, very naked man jogs toward us. He jogs naked. Jogs. Which causes his impressive man parts to swing around jauntily as if they’re waving hello to us.
“Oh. My. God,” Jenny breathes.
Her dazed response matches my own. At least she’s able to get words out. Me, I’m speechless. And staring. Yes, I can’t help but stare at Mr. Naked as he approaches us with a big smile on his face and an even bigger erection down below.
“Ah. Sorry.” He notices us staring and glances down at his junk. “Viagra just kicked in.” When we continue to gape, he offers a shrug. “It’s an eight-hour shoot, you know? Gotta stay hard or there’s nothing to pump.”
“Pump?” I say stupidly.
“You know, pump the pussy.” Now he’s the one staring at us. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
My mouth falls open. “Um. What are you doing here?”
His grin dies. “Porn, sweetheart.” He waves a hand around the large, well-lit space. “Dark Door Studios—I own this company. You never heard of us?”
“No,” I answer, at the same time that Jenny says, “Yes.”
I swing my gaze toward her. “You’ve heard of them?”
“Of course,” she says airily. “Their teacher-student scenes are top-notch.” Jenny steps closer and pats Mr. Dick on his thick, oiled-up arm. “Good work. And everything makes so much more sense now.”
He cocks his head to the side. “It didn’t make sense before?”
“We, uh, get it now,” I stammer as all the puzzle pieces fall into place.
He’s still frowning. “All this time you didn’t know those deliveries were for a porn-production company? I put that information into my client file at Fetch.”
Jenny and I exchange a loaded glance as I realize that my strict approach to client confidentiality has its downsides.
“But your account is set to private, sir. The people working on your requests don’t have access to those notes. Maybe that’s, uh, a flaw in the system,” I admit. “Sorry.”
“Well, hell,” he says, his smile returning. “I made a lot of those pictures extra silly on purpose. I thought if you were in on the joke, it would be funny.” He chuckles ruefully. “But if you’re not in on the joke, it’s just kinda awkward.”
“I loved the joke,” Jenny insists. “And we brought your stuff. Sixty-four ounces.”
“Thanks!” His smile warms. “I really appreciate you getting here so fast.”
I’m about to hand it to him when a naked woman strolls past us. She’s got long red hair, a pair of doubleD’s, and legs I’d kill for. “Where are the horn-rimmed glasses? I thought we were doing a librarian scene?”
“Hailey,” Jenny hisses.
I snap out of my stupor. “What?”
“The man needs his lube,” she prompts, gesturing to the bag in my hand.
“Oh. Right.” I jerk my arm out. “Here you go, sir.” Sir? For Pete’s sake. You’d think I’d never spent time on a porn set before.
Um, because I haven’t!
Mr. Dick, a.k.a Thomas, a.k.a. Porn Star accepts the bag gratefully. “Thanks again.” Then he spins around and marches toward the teacher’s desk, providing us with a candid view of his tight, round ass.
“Great ass,” Jenny murmurs to me.
I finally manage to close my mouth. “Can’t argue that.”
I’m still flushed from laughter when we get back into the office. My giddiness lasts about two minutes. Maybe three. I’m just diving into my email inbox when Mr. Emery sticks his bulbous nose into my office. “Miss Taylor,” he barks.
I make myself count to three before I look up, just to piss him off. For the record, he referred to me as “Miss Taylor” for the duration of my marriage to his son. His refusal to acknowledge me doesn’t even make the top fifty of the crappy things he’s done to me, though. So I brace myself.
“Is there something you need, Herbert? Where’s Jackson?”
“Handling a client emergency.” He steps in and closes the door, and my stomach dips.
Here it comes, my jumpy gut warns.
And my tummy has called it correctly, because his first words are, “I want to buy you out of Fetch.”
“You, what?” Ugh. Smooth, Hailey. “My half of Fetch is not for sale.” I’m flustered already, damn it.
“Everything is for sale,” Mr. Emery says, proving himself to be a walking cliché as well as an asshat. I’m pretty sure I heard that line in a gangster movie this past weekend. “For a half million you could walk away a very rich girl.”
“If you think a half million makes me ‘a very rich girl,’ then you haven’t noticed that the price of real estate in Toronto is pretty cray-cray,” I snap. Also, I’m a little old to be a girl. But I keep that to myself.
“Five hundred and fifty grand,” he says quickly. “My final offer. Take a vacation, Hailey. See the world. And you’ll be well compensated for letting my son run his business the way he sees fit.”
“His business,” I echo, my tone flat with disbelief. This man is the most tone-deaf human I’ve ever met.
“His idea. Therefore his rightful business. Take the cash, Hailey. If he doesn’t want you in his bed, why do you suppose he wants to see you at work every day?”