Good Girls Don't (5 page)

Sometimes, however, he was too eager. Like now. As in entering her office on one of those knocking-as-he’s-opening-the-door kind of things. What if she’d been testing a product? True, she never tested the vibrators, nipple teasers or love potions while in her office; Adventurous Accessories had private rooms for that kind of thing, and as project lead, she had her own suite. But still . . .

“I can do that,” he said, nodding. “Just wanted to let you know Pinky didn’t pass the trial run.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Can I sit?” He pointed to one of the two leather chairs facing her desk.

“Of course.” Dang, was he a “Mother, may-I?” guy about everything? Lord knows, if she ever did want a man in her bedroom, she wouldn’t want him asking questions throughout the process. She’d heard of the type.

Do you like this? How do you like that?

Try it and see what the woman likes, Bozo.

But Amy didn’t have to worry about those occurrences, the ones her friends described whenever they went barhopping and talked about bedhopping. She used the toys, got the job done and didn’t have to worry about how she looked in the morning. It was a foolproof system, and she liked it.

Moreover, she liked her newest toy more than any other. Listening to Wallace’s claim, she was floored. She had one of the Pinky demos at home and had even offered it to her sister because it was so good at hitting the mark every time.

It failed?

“How many test subjects?” she asked, grabbing a pen and paper.

“Thirty.”

Amy frowned. That number was large enough to get a general idea. “And what was the percentage?”

He cleared his throat and pulled a folded paper out of his shirt pocket. “Twenty percent positive response.”

Six women out of thirty? That was it? But it had found her bull’s-eye every time. Multiple times, in fact.

“I . . . have a theory,” Wallace said, “but I’m not sure if it’s one you want to hear.”

“I’m listening,” she said, her brow furrowed. “Any theory that could potentially help our company and our products is one I want to know,” Amy clarified, though she cringed inside. Did she really want to hear anything negative about Pinky? It was her creation, the one that would catapult her to fame in the sex toy industry. And it only worked 20 percent of the time?

What was up with that?

“Well, it’s been my personal experience,” he said, his face tinting a tad from peach to pale pink, “that some women require manual stimulation as well.”

Amy blinked. “This is manual stimulation, Wallace. It’s a toy. A do-it-yourself for the woman who doesn’t need, or want, a sexual partner.”

Another clearing of his throat, a finger crooked in his shirt collar, and his hue altered from pink to red. “What I meant was, some women may not be able to simply use a toy. Some may require a toy
and
a partner.”

“Why?” Amy asked, stunned by his so-called-theory. Had he tested it? And if so, on how many subjects?

He straightened in his chair and his color shifted closer to normal. “Adventurous Accessories does promote its products as enhancements to a couple’s lovemaking. Maybe Pinky is more of an enhancement to the act, rather than the sole instigator.”

“But my entire concept was for something that stimulates the G-spot without a partner,” she said, not embarrassed one iota talking about sex. She’d grown up in the same house with Wanda Campbell, after all.

“I know. That’s why this was so difficult to bring to your attention. But, in truth, if you market it as a solo act, and then it doesn’t live up to the claim, Adventurous Accessories will take the heat for it.” He inhaled deeply, exhaled loudly, as though immensely relieved to have made his point.

Amy considered the possibility and knew he was right. Dang it.

“Okay. Change the marketing angle. But include a teaser that it can keep you happy while your partner’s away too,” she added, determined to suit women who were like her as well.

Women like her. Which was . . . what? Toy savvy? Men haters? No, she didn’t hate men. She just didn’t need one.

Self-sufficient. Yeah, that was it. And that’s what she’d continue telling herself.

“Anything else, Wallace?”

“No, that’s all.”

“Fine. Try to get something worked up by tomorrow morning’s staff meeting. We’ll go over it with the team then.”

“Will do, boss.” He stood and made a quick exit.

“Boss,” she repeated, grinning as she crossed the room and locked the door. Privacy should be easier to come by in her business. She returned to her desk, snatched the phone and dialed.

One ring . . . two . . .

“Hello?” a husky voice answered from the other end. No doubt Butch had been sleeping.

“Can I speak to Erika?” Amy punched the speaker’s button, dropped the phone in the cradle, then tapped her computer keys to view the latest product statistics while she spoke to her friend. Her orange stallion vibrator was slowly but surely making its way to the top of the line and had crept past the fuzzy navel massage oil in sales. Cool.

“Hang on. She’s walking on the beach. Want me to yell at her?” Butch sure didn’t sound like the romantic picture Erika had painted in her James Dean description.

“If you could see if she’s nearby, that’d be great. You don’t have to yell—”

Amy didn’t get a chance to complete the sentence. Butch evidently didn’t mind yelling. At all. She winced while he bellowed her friend’s name so loudly she was surprised she didn’t hear it in stereo, echoing all the way from Tybee Island to Atlanta.

She listened to the two of them snap at each other, then heard the receiver clang as if dropped to the floor. “Erika?”

“I’m here. Hold on. Butch, where are you going?”

“Beer,” he answered.

The unmistakable sound of a slamming door overpowered the line.

“Sure. Why should today be any different?” Erika sighed into the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Amy said, turning away from her computer screen.

“Hey!” Erika’s voice took on an entirely different tone than a moment ago with Butch, as if she were actually pleased to talk to Amy. “How’s it going? Everything’s okay with Uncle Bill and the alibi, right?”

“I’ve got a couple of things to tell you,” Amy said, “but first tell me if everything’s okay there. I thought you said he was your dream guy? The one you wanted to spend your life with?”

“Yeah, I said that.”

“That wasn’t what I heard,” Amy informed, as if Erika didn’t know she’d caught every word of their heated little exchange. “What gives?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. I’ve never been around him when he’s drinking quite so much. And he’s a little . . . different around his buddies. It’s biker week here, you know.”

“I didn’t know.” Amy frowned. “Biker week” didn’t sound very romantic.

“Yeah, they stop off at Tybee Island, then head on up toward Myrtle Beach for the big bash.”

“Are you going to that too?” Amy asked.

“Somehow I think he’ll be okay without me. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Have you met someone else?” Amy asked.

“No. I’m still crazy about Butch, even if I’m having a time trying to figure him out. Being with someone around the clock isn’t quite the same as dating. But everything’s going fine, really.”

“Is it your mom?” Amy asked. Erika had been very emotional since her eighteenth birthday, appearing to miss her mother even more than before. Therefore, Amy didn’t want to do anything to upset her. She had been so excited about the chance at a romantic getaway with her true love. Unfortunately, Amy didn’t hear any of that excitement in Erika’s tone now.

“I’ll be all right,” Erika said. “Let’s talk about something else. Was your sister okay with me hiring her? She didn’t mind, did she? I mean, she shouldn’t, right? It’s just another client, nothing really out of the ordinary from her regular job.”

Evidently, Erika didn’t want to touch the subject of her mother, and that was fine. Amy was smart enough to let her friends talk when they wanted to talk, and be quiet when they wanted to remain quiet.

“Amy?” Erika asked, reminding Amy that she’d been silent a few seconds too long in this conversation. “She’s okay with the alibi thing, right? I really don’t want my uncle knowing where I am; he’d freak. This is just another client for her, right?”

Amy mustered up her courage. “Not exactly.”

Erika opened the top dresser drawer and eyed her clothes, folded in neat little stacks. Then she turned to see Butch’s suitcase, with every stitch of clothing, primarily leather, piled on top. Sliding her hand beneath the bottom pair of jeans in her drawer, she found the pointed edge of an envelope and eased it free.

Propping the phone in the crook of her neck, she sat on the bed. Then she carefully withdrew the paper from the envelope.

“Erika?” Amy said on a huff. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“No, to be honest, I didn’t. Tell me again.” She liked Amy, and she loved that she’d run into her in Atlanta. It’d been a long time since she’d been around someone who knew about her past, who understood where she came from.

Amy had been her “big sister” at Sheldon High. When the middle-school kids prepared to move to high school, the faculty assigned a senior to help them learn the ropes. She had been blessed to meet Amy Campbell through that pairing. Even more because Amy had been there, and had truly cared, when her mother died.

Erika unfolded the letter, scanning the words in her mother’s familiar curly script. She swallowed past the thickness in her throat.

“Your uncle and my sister knew each other in Sheldon. I can’t believe we didn’t think about that possibility.”

Erika blinked past her tears. “What did you say?”

“They knew each other before.”

Erika pulled her attention away from the letter, blinked a few more times, then forced her mind to concentrate on the implications of Amy’s news. Uncle Bill knew Colette Campbell. Okay, that wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? As long as they didn’t recognize each other’s voices on the phone, what would the harm be in . . .

“Amy?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you find out that they knew each other?”

“It wasn’t that hard. She called him, gave him her name—”

“She uses her real name for My Alibi?” Erika asked, and the pieces clicked into place.

“There’s no reason not to; none of her clients have known her before.”

“Didn’t she recognize his name on the application?”

Oh God, this wasn’t good. He’d never understand why she wanted a week with Butch. Uncle Bill had been adamant that she finish college first, before chasing after love, the way her mother did.

She let her back fall to the bed and clutched the letter to her chest. Her mother had no regrets, and neither would she.

As long as she didn’t hurt Uncle Bill.

“I think she was paying more attention to the client information than the contact, particularly since you said he wouldn’t be home.”

“He was home? She actually spoke to him? She was supposed to leave a message.” This couldn’t get any worse. Oh God, she’d promised her mother she’d be good for Uncle Bill. It was the last thing Erika had said to her before she died. But then, there was the letter. . . .

“She would have, but he answered the phone.”

Erika closed her eyes. This was not happening. It wasn’t. She’d followed her heart, just like her mother had said to do in her letter, and pursued true love. It was supposed to go perfectly. She’d spend a week with Butch, fall in love for life and maybe even come back with a ring on her finger. Wasn’t that the way love went?

Admittedly, the first day with Butch left plenty to be desired. And now Uncle Bill knew? But if he knew, why hadn’t he called?

“Did your sister tell him about me? The truth about where I am?”

“No. In fact, she’s giving your case to another My Alibi representative today. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Erika breathed a little easier. “So he doesn’t know? I’m okay?”

“He doesn’t know,” Amy soothed. “And he won’t find out, or at least I don’t think he will.”

“What do you mean you don’t think he will?”

“Your uncle asked my sister out, and they’re going on a date. Tonight.”

Erika sat straight up in the bed. “Get out!”

Amy’s laugh relieved the tension pulsing through the phone. “Seriously.”

A flurry of emotions battled within Erika. True, she didn’t want Uncle Bill to find out she lied. But another part of her wanted him to find true love too. He’d dated over the past three years, but rarely did he ever take a girl out twice. The interest simply wasn’t there. Plus some women were turned off when they saw the teenage girl living under his roof, or when they had to call it an early night because he didn’t want to leave Erika alone.

What if Colette Campbell was his true love? The one who could fulfill his dreams, the way her mother described in her letter. Wouldn’t her mother have wanted Erika to help make his dreams a reality too?

She placed the paper against the comforter and smoothed out the wrinkles, then silently read the last lines:

I’ll never regret chasing the dream, following true love. Don’t you regret it either. Chasing my dream gave me what I treasure more than anything—you. Everyone deserves a chance to have something, or someone, that makes them feel complete. That’s the reason we live, isn’t it? To find completeness. I want that for you, Erika. More than anything, I want you to find happiness—to find love—and to feel complete.

Erika swallowed thickly, looked out the window and saw Butch ambling up the sidewalk. Was he her true love? Right now she wasn’t so sure. But she wasn’t going to back down from chasing this dream. Not yet.

“Amy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what you think about all this,” Erika said, folding the letter and sliding it back in the envelope.

“I’m sure Cassie, the girl who is taking over your case, will do a great job as your alibi,” Amy said.

“I’m sure she will too,” Erika said, quickly crossing the room to put the envelope back in the drawer. “And I’m betting it all happened for a reason. I ran into you. You told me about the alibi agency. Your sister ends up calling Uncle Bill. Sparks fly.”