When Staci Takes Charge (Leave Your Shoes On 2)
“You got the promotion!”
“I did.”
The very pert and fashion-forward Maxi Shayne clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. “I knew you’d get it! I’m so happy for you. I know how badly you’ve wanted a marketing position—and to move back to Scottsdale to be closer to your family.”
“Not to mention, this East Coast humidity is killing me.”
“So it’s true what they say about the Arizona dry heat?”
“We might be able to fry eggs on a sidewalk in July, but I prefer a hundred and fifteen degrees over needing another shower two seconds after I walk out my front door.”
Maxi reached for a cocktail napkin and fanned herself. “I’ll admit, I’m feeling a bit moist myself. And not in the good way.”
Lola laughed. “Makes two of us.”
A female server finally swooped in, blowing from her forehead a lock of light-brown hair that had escaped her high ponytail. She looked sufficiently frazzled by the Friday night crowd.
“Sorry for the delay, ladies. We’re shorthanded at the moment. What can I get you?”
Maybe it was because she was feeling particularly pleased with her climb up the corporate ladder—or because there truly was no place like home, and she had a one-way ticket back there—Lola announced, “A bottle of Taittinger, please.”
“Coming right up,” the server assured them before rushing off to wait on more tables.
Maxi whistled under her breath. “Expensive champagne, no less.”
“It is a promotion—with a sweet bump in pay. Plus, the company is footing the bill for my relocation costs. And you, my friend, are worth every Taittinger penny. I say we splurge!”
Maxi grinned. “Really, who am I to dispute that kind of logic?”
“You’re the one who convinced me to pitch my Web campaign to the vice president of Marketing when he came out for those executive meetings. I gave him a provocative idea for reaching the stiletto-wearers of the world and he totally jumped on it. So…thank you very much.”
Granted, she’d had to stalk Todd Connelly, the VP, for two days—finally cornering him outside the men’s room. A girl had to do what a girl had to do, right? His usually stoic expression had turned enthusiastic when Lola had proposed a risqué online campaign with a brazen social-media blitz.
She said, “Even our ad agency hasn’t gone where I boldly decided to go with this campaign. We might not be Prada, but then again, we don’t come with a lofty price tag, either. There’s absolutely no reason why women around the globe shouldn’t have a closet full of sassy Staci Kay shoes.”
“Amen to that, sister.” Maxi high-fived her. “Suggesting Staci be featured in the ads was sheer genius. Every time I see our fearless leader strutting through the office in a pair of five-inch, siren-red, patent-leather heel
s, I can’t help but think, Hell, yes! You go, girl! ’Course I also wonder if I have bisexual tendencies…”
“Please, you wouldn’t be the first woman to conjure a mental image of Staci rockin’ a baby-doll nightie to go with those stilettos, smacking a riding crop against her palm and wearing a confident, devilish grin.” Lola wagged her brows. “Sort of a female Christian Grey, you know? Turning the tables.”
The concept was exactly what she’d pitched to Marketing. A powerful, successful woman taking charge in the boardroom—and in the bedroom. All while showing off ultra-sexy footwear. Todd had deemed it brilliant and timely, what with the current Fifty Shades craze.
“I so love your wicked side. Speaking of…” Maxi handed over her iPhone. She gave Lola a grave look as she said, “I beg you, do not let me drunk-text Kevin tonight. I swear, I won’t be able to stop myself from offering to be his sex slave. And then I’ll fall in love with him all over again.”
“Bad and wrong, girlfriend.” Lola shook her head for emphasis. “Serial cheater, remember? You deserve way better.”
“Yes, but—rock my world,” she said on a lusty sigh, “the man knows what he’s doing when he goes down on me.”
Lola resisted the urge to bang her forehead on the table. Last time someone had gone down on her…? Had to have been a good year ago, at least. A friend of a friend from Accounting, if she recalled correctly. And it hadn’t been all that great. In fact, she’d sensed that he’d lost his way a few times. So she’d faked an orgasm to get him to move on to fucking her. Another disappointment—no sparkage. At. All.
Yeah, depressing pretty much summed up her romantic life.
“We shouldn’t talk about sex,” Lola contended. “Otherwise, we’ll both end up going home with someone. With my luck, I’ll meet Prince Charming before I leave town. I don’t do long-distance relationships—I’m not getting laid enough as it is.”
Maxi smirked. “Silly girl. There’s no such thing as Prince Charming, but it’s sweet that you’re still so optimistic at twenty-five.”
“Not all men are Kevins.”