Executive Engagement

She dives right in.

“Have you heard of A Cunning Linguist?” Her eyes narrow and her gaze sharpens as she scrutinizes my face. It’s like she’s trying to get a read on me.

I nod, not sure where she’s going with this, but sure it has something to do with the FCC. Because I have heard of the show, and I can’t imagine Lori asking me to come into her office for some water cooler chat about a late-night talk show about sex.

“I have heard of it, but I can’t say I’ve ever watched it.”

Why would I? ACL is more of a self-help show than a talk show, and my sex life is just fine. I don’t need dating or sex advice. While I don’t really have time to pursue an actual relationship because my job keeps me so busy, I do get out and date. And I know what I like and I know how to get it. So yeah, my sex life is perfectly satisfying. I can have casual hookups whenever I want without the complication of anything else. I definitely don’t need advice on how to have better orgasms, so I can’t say I’ve actually watched the show. Though the self-proclaimed sex guru, Jacob Kent isn’t hard on the eyes. If I ever did watch the show, he’d be the reason.

“Well that’s good to hear,” Lori says, pursing her lips, looking for all the world like the mere idea of me watching the show is enough to make her nauseous. “That show is downright obscene.”

I press my lips together, trying not to smile. I don’t know if obscene is the word I’d use, but Lori’s stance on the matter is clear.

“They’ve gone too far this time, Layla.” She reaches up to pat her perfectly coiffed bun at the nape of her neck. I wonder what she’d look like if she let her hair down—literally and figuratively—once in a while. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without that severe bun pulling at her temples. “Look at this.”

Lori turns her computer monitor to face me and clicks the little arrow to make the YouTube clip of what must be A Cunning Linguist start playing. Her mouth tightens into a firm line.

“This was last night’s episode.”

I glance at her and wonder for the hundredth time if she’s always been wound up this tight. She used to be married, from what I hear, but as long as I’ve known her she’s just been married to her work. If she’s this offended by a talk show about sex, I can’t imagine her sex life with her ex was all that exciting. I feel a bit of sympathy, but in the next second I forget everything else except what I’m seeing on the screen.

I almost can’t believe my eyes. My mouth drops open. Because OMFG. Jacob Kent isn’t just going down on his featured guest of the night like he supposedly does every episode. He’s full on clam diving, and every fucking bit of it is on display for the world to see.

Holy shit.

As I watch the Cunning Linguist himself eat pussy like he’s starved, I can’t deny that there’s a little tingling going on between my own legs. Yeah, the man is sexy as sin, but the way he’s making that guest scream and moan makes me wish for a minute it was me he was getting a taste of.

I cross my legs to relieve some of the growing pressure in my now throbbing clit as the guest’s eyes literally roll back in her head and she passes the fuck out.

What the hell did I just watch? And why am I so turned on by it? It’s not like I haven’t seen something like that before—in much more graphic detail. But the skills that man must possess to actually make a woman pass out? I can’t even imagine. I have to admit, I’m impressed.

Though from the look of disgust on Lori’s face, I certainly won’t admit it to her.

“It’s obscene,” she rants again. “We have to bury ACL in fines immediately. They are in clear violation of FCC regulations. This show needs to be canceled.”

God damn, this woman is the picture of self-righteous right now. I force myself not to look back at the screen that’s now paused on an image of the woman passed out, Jacob Kent’s face still buried between her thighs. And I hope to God Lori can’t tell that I’m a tad bit horny after watching that.

I nod wordlessly.

“This show could ruin marriages, Layla. Do you understand that?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lori this worked up. Her polished exterior is slipping slightly, and I start to wonder again just why she’s so uptight—apparently even more so when it comes to sex. Sex is meant to be fun, to be enjoyed. I’m not intimately familiar with Jacob Kent’s show, but he’s famous enough that I know he spouts off rhetoric about how much women deserve good sex and killer orgasms like it’s the gospel truth. I can’t say I disagree.

Lori, however? Not so much.

“This is bad for families,” she continues. “We just can’t have this. We’re going to slap them so hard with fines that they won’t have any choice but to cancel the show.” Lori levels me with a stare. “I want you to take the case, Layla.”

My eyebrows fly up. I didn’t expect that. Typically, Lori takes on all the big cases. I sit up a bit straighter as a smile spreads over my face. Perhaps I’ve finally proven myself and she’s ready to trust me with something major.

“Really?”

Lori nods once. “Yes. This could really help your career. I think this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for to take your career to the next level. What do you say? Do you think you can handle it?”

Even though I don’t have near the amount of disgust for ACL that Lori obviously does, this is an opportunity I can’t refuse. “Absolutely,” I say with confidence. “You might as well consider ACL canceled.”

Layla

Flashing my FCC badge as I breeze by the security buffoon standing at the door that goes backstage at the studio where ACL is filmed, I glance around. This place is posh, even backstage. I can hear Mr. Kent’s voice as it reverberates through the studio. It’s even sexier in person. I’ve only heard him a couple of times on interviews. The deep timbre almost sends a shiver through me.

God, Layla, pull it together. I am so not going to be some stupid horny fangirl for Jacob Make-You-Pass-Out-With-My-Tongue Kent. Nope.