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“Chase Stone took you on a date?” She covered her cheeks with her hands. “What about his fiancée? Oh shit, is that why she texted you?”
“I have no idea why she texted me, and according to Chase they have an arrangement where he can have sex with other women. Three women, in fact.” I held up three fingers. “It’s like they’re all in a relationship together.”
“So they’re like the Amish but with no religion?”
I laughed. “I honestly don’t think Amish men do more than one wife. It’s another group. Maybe, some Mormons.”
“Who cares?” She waved my comment away. “So he wants you to be his new wife?”
“Well, they’re not all married, but yeah. He wants me to join his harem.” I continued my stretching. I explained the whole conversation to Vivian, from him spotting me at the Garden Party to him opening the executive assistant position to lure me in.
“What did you say to him?” she asked. “Are you going to do it?”
“No! Of course not.” I held out my hands. “Wait a minute. You would say no, right?”
She tilted her head as if in thought. “If it was a regular Tom, Dick, or Larry from nowhere with no job, then I would say no. But this is a freaking billionaire. I would probably say maybe and try it.”
“Just because he’s rich?” I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s just like dating someone without a serious commitment.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Not really. He doesn’t allow his women to date other men.”
“Oh, well, then he’s insane.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay.” She crossed her legs. “So after dinner what happened?”
“He brought me to Drunken Lyrics where Troy and you were not at, by the way.”
An old guy watched us while he walked his shaggy dog up the hill. A tiny bell rang around the dog’s neck as he wagged his tail. The man’s eyes lingered toward our cleavage.
At least pretend like you’re not looking.
I scowled at him. He looked away and rushed in the other direction.
“Pervert,” Vivian muttered once the guy and dog left. “So Chase dropped you off?”
“No, he came in with me. We danced. He bought drinks.”
“And?” She blew out air. “You’re killing me.”
I lay on my back and rolled over to my stomach to hide my face. “He finger-banged me in the back of the club.”
“What?! You’re joking, right?” She crawled over to me and shook my arms. “A famous billionaire fingers you in a public and crowded club last night and you wait until now to tell me. So then what happened?”
“When I . . . climaxed I excused myself, ran out the back, took a cab home, and hid under my blankets the rest of the night.”
“You ran away?”
“Yes.” I peeked at her through my fingers. “What do you even say after a guy you don’t know that well fingers you? Thanks so much? Good job with your fingers?”
“Well, that’s better than escaping out the back.”
“And I figured I owed him.”
She giggled. “What exactly would you owe him?”
