Lorena’s ‘Sunset Chill’ party is this evening and if I’m going to go I need a new dress. Not that I’m seriously considering going . . . oh fuck, I can’t fool you, you know me by now . . . I’m going.

The best part about buying the new dress is that I bought it with my own money. I earned it. Didn’t even touch the debit card. And even better, it’s not Trowbridge family money. It’s all mine.

I gotta admit, something about Lorena and the job offer intrigues me. It couldn’t hurt to just go to a party, right?

I have until eight p.m., so there’s plenty of time to go back home, shower, and then go. But before going back, I thought I’d just come over here to see if I could catch a glimpse of anything Lukas Thorn-related.

But nothing. Oh well. Story of my life.

I turn to walk to the bus stop over on Collins when a voice makes me jump.

“Hello.”

I turn to see one of the most gorgeous girls I’ve ever seen. Stunning blue eyes behind big glasses with thick black frames. Smooth auburn hair. Thick luscious lips. She’s wearing a flowing see-through body veil over an aqua bikini that picks up the blue from her eyes. Firm round breasts and curves in all the right places. A shiny belly button piercing glistens in the dimming sun. And I swear she’s glowing from within. For a split second, I go full lez.

“Are you here about the ad?” she says.

Oh shit. “Um, what ad?”

She cocks her head to the right and squints her eyes. “The ad.”

My left foot is trying to make a break for it, shouting Let’s go! But my right foot argues, saying Well, let’s just play this out. This girl doesn’t look dangerous.

“Well,” I say, “there was an ad.”

The girl beams the warmest, most welcoming smile ever in the history of the world. God, her teeth are whiter than snow.

“Come on in,” she says, motioning toward a door behind her. Is that where she emerged from?

My feet continue their argument.

Left foot: Run! Go! Come on! Ocean Drive is right there! Don’t do it.

Right foot: Aren’t you even at all curious about what’s behind that door?

Left foot: Are you fucking kidding me? You could get raped, killed, murdered.

Right foot: By this girl? Puh-leeze.

Left foot: No, idiot! By the guys with biker tattoos who sent her out here to get you.

Right foot: But isn’t this what we came here for?

Left foot: You know, there’s no talking with you! You always have to get your way, don’t you?

Right foot: Come on, lighten up. You’ve got to take chances in life. Live a little, for Christ’s sake.

Left foot: Cut me off. I’ll make a run for it myself.

Right foot: You’re going in, and that’s that.

Left foot: I’m surrounded by idiots.

I follow the gorgeous girl awkwardly as she presses on something that causes the door to swing open. She steps in and shoots me another one of those welcoming smiles.

I step to the door and look inside.

It’s an office.

Whew.

Just an office like so many other offices.

See? says my right foot. Nothing to worry about.

You’ll see! warns my left foot as I step fully inside and the door mysteriously shuts all by itself behind me.

“I’m Erica,” says the girl, extending her hand.

I take it, an electrical charge passing through us as I touch her. I get a flash of her face looking down at me, my tongue buried in her pussy. Then it’s gone.

I realize I’m holding her hand too long so I let go.

“And your name?” she says.

I laugh. “Oh, right. I’m Abi . . . Jayd.”

“Abijayd?”

“Jayd. Just Jayd.”

“Nice to meet you, Jayd. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Erica sits and types some information into her computer. I drop into the chair facing the desk.

Where am I? I swear it could be any office anywhere.

“Now,” she says, folding her hands on the desk with a big smile, “what brings you in today?”

My heart races. Suddenly, this feels like a job interview. Problem is I have no idea what I’m applying for.

“Um, I thought you could tell me what it was all about,” I say.

“Here’s the deal. If you know what we do here, then you want to be a part of it. If you don’t, then maybe you should just go.”

How do I respond to that? “Well, the thing is–”

“Do you want to be here or not?” Her tone has gone sour, her eyes squinting, her arms folded.

Oddly, this entices me, firing up my inner diva. I respond to challenges.

“I want to be here,” I say. “I do. I think I know what goes on here . . . I think.”

She relaxes, her arms unfold, and she smiles. “Good. Now, I just need to ask you some questions. They’re a little personal, but this is a very personal business and we wish to ensure that our clients are happy.”

Business? Clients?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she says.

“Not currently, no.”

“Are you seeing anyone casually?”

I bite a nail and cross my legs. “No, I just moved here from . . . far away.”

Erica writes something down with no emotion. What the fuck is she writing? “What was the most sexually adventurous thing you’ve ever done?”

None of your fucking business, bitch. Steady, Abigail, steady. Just go with the flow. “Um, I, uh, gave my boyfriend, um, oral, at the top of the Prudential Center, on the observation deck.”

“Is that high?”

“Yeah, like fifty-five stories I think. Highest public place in Boston.”

She makes a checkmark. What the fuck? Then she looks at me with a more piercing stare. “What was lacking from your previous relationship?”

“Um, nothing. It was great. It was fine.”

She cocks her head to one side, her blue eyes seemingly lit from behind. “Really?”

There is a rumble of thunder outside, then a flash of lightning through the window. My shoulder muscles tense. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about—”

“It is relevant to what you want to accomplish here. You do understand the nature of this place, don’t you?”

“Well, sure but—”

“And like a guy you meet in a bar who wants to have sex with you. You just wouldn’t go with any random guy. You’d want to get to know him first, right? That’s the point of these questions . . .  . . . to get to know you. Maybe there’s no point in continuing, but we’ll never know unless we talk and find out about each other.”

I take a deep breath. Bitch makes sense, even if her tone has grown condescending and cold. I don’t know if I want to punch her or lick her.

But this is weird. I came here looking for Lukas Thorn. Not to allow some bimbo to interrogate me.

“So,” she says, “back to the question—what was lacking from your previous relationship?”

“Well, nothing, really. It was just, um, very, um, boring.”

Her eyes perk up. “Boring?”

“Yes, I wanted more. I always want more. It’s never enough. He was done, but I wasn’t.”

“What was the furthest you ever went with him?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”

“How far did you go with him?”

“We had sex.”

“How?”

I squelch my sudden urge to spit on her. “He put his dick in me and fucked me!”

Oops, my tone turned a little sharp there.

She rolls her eyes, shakes her head, squints and makes a note, underlining and circling something. What the fuck?

“Did he tie you up?” she says, almost disinterested now.

“No!”

“Did you do anal?”

“No.”

“Did he dominate you?”

A huge thunderclap shakes the building with another flash of lightning. I can hear the heavy rain pouring down hard on the roof. “No.”

Something wells up inside me. It’s a mish-mosh of anger and fear. It surrounds me and pushes itself to the surface.

Relax, Jayd. This is sexy. It’s kind of like a scene from that kink site you used to watch. The door is right behind you. You can run at any time. Just breathe and relax.