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Private Showing
    Jocelyn Michel
    I loved my job as buyer for the Cat Castle, a brothel located in good ol’ Nevada, the only savvy state in the United States. What did I buy? Sex gizmos. Toys, electronic devices, even furniture, all designed to provide pleasure to the persons who used them. I also invested in exotic lingerie, S&M aids, and fancy costumes. Tonight, I shopped at a fairly new manufacturer I'd read about on the Internet. My goal? Furnishing our brand new work-out room.
    Wearing a modest black business suit—I never dressed the part of hooker even though I occasionally turned tricks on the side—I drove my Mercedes into the parking lot of a plain-looking building with Xtremes painted on the black awning. I parked in the spot reserved for customers, barely noticing the other vehicles there. After entering via the front door, I stepped into the sterile beige foyer where a woman who had to be someone's sweet little ol’ grandmother greeted me with a smile.
    "Hello. I'm Lakota Rawlings. I have an appointment for a private showing."
    "I'm Sandra Williams, the owner of Xtremes. We've been expecting you. Will you be looking at toys or our other products?"
    "Toys...?"
    "Dildos, vibrators, whips, chains—"
    "None of that. I want equipment for our sexercise gym. The girls at the Castle love a good workout. The more outrageous and exotic, the better."
    Mrs. Williams rubbed her hands together with obvious glee. “Excellent. Please follow me."
    She led me right into the adjoining showroom, filled with indescribable sex furniture on one side and a tasteful couch, table, and oriental rug arrangement on the other. I heard a gurgling hot tub and took note of its unique phallic shape. I also eyed two closed doors, as well as some glass windows that lined one wall of the vast room. Looking out, I saw three men sitting at computers, another with a coffee pot in his hand, and one more standing at a work table, making something out of wood.
    My gaze swept the first four, all of whom stared right back, then lingered on the guy wearing the tool belt, who didn't know I existed. Tall, dark, and V-framed, he had every physical attribute that turned me on, a rarity. Usually the guys I met had one or two at the most. As a result, I could barely drag my attention away from him and back to the owner, who, I assumed, waited to show me around.
    "Our salesman will be here in a sec to demonstrate everything.” The woman pointed to the guy with the coffee, a burly guy with a shaved head and piercings. I mentally winced.
    "Can he do it, instead?” I pointed to the tool man, who now had a hammer in his hand and still hadn't noticed me. Yeah, I should've known better. I mean, I'd come there on business, and he could be a deadly distraction. But he looked too yummy to be true.
    "You mean Thorn Dawson? He's a designer, not a salesman."
    "Tell me more."
    "Well, he has degrees in Anatomy and Physiology, which makes him an expert at pleasure."
    "I can imagine."
    "Most of the products you see were designed and built by him."
    "Wow."
    "Shall I get Wayne for you?"
    "Who?"
    "Wayne, our salesman."
    "Mrs. Williams, I plan to spend an insane amount of money in here tonight. May I pick my own salesman?"
    Her greedy green eyes rounded. “I'm sure we can work something out. I'll just be a moment.” She darted out a door and into the work room. Deliberately standing in the open doorway, I heard her explain the situation and watched her summon the tool man. Thorn's jaw dropped. Frowning, he glanced over at me.
    I gave him my sweetest smile.
    He looked at his boss and firmly shook his head, disdain written all over his face. Now my jaw dropped. He'd refused my request?
    I so loved a challenge.
    Wondering what he didn't like about me, I stepped over to the glass that divided us for a quick look at my own reflection. I saw shiny hair twisted into a prim knot at my nape; I saw flawless makeup; I saw clothing designed to garner me the respect I deserved. I also saw