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let this happen again.”
    “Why would it?”
    She didn’t respond; instead she slid the envelope into her purse.
    “Now,” Bless said with a smile, “we can have brunch.”
    “Fuck brunch.” She placed fifty dollars on the table to cover her coffee and tip, slid her shades back on, and flipped open her cell phone. She called her driver, and when he answered she said, “You can come around now.”
    Collyn stood and could feel Bless watching her ass as she strolled toward the black town car. The driver opened the rear door, and within seconds they disappeared into the city that never sleeps.

YOU HAVE MANAGED…

The amber sun turned crimson as it set over the Sag Harbor estate. From what Collyn could see, the party was going to go off perfectly, from the illuminated orange paper lanterns to the tropical fish swimming in the pond to the blossoming trees swaying in the warm breeze. Directly on the shore were rows of round tables covered with white linen cloths and complemented by gold chairs. There were white-gloved butlers everywhere serving Alaskan snow crab, Maine lobster, freshly rolled sushi, filet mignon, wine, and chilled Moët. White balloons and firecrackers flew through the air, while waterfalls flowed directly into the three in ground pools.
    Collyn and her top girls arrived in a line of red Phantoms, and immediately all eyes were on them, which was no surprise because every actor, performer, and politician who was there knew that Collyn had the baddest chicks in the business: all brick houses, striking, voluptuous, in an array of beautiful blackness, from lusciously sweet vanilla to deep sensual chocolate.
    Each stepped out of her respective Rolls and onto the thick red carpet, which was outlined by lit bamboo torches. The raging orange and blue flames created a mysterious hue that glistened off the women’s statuesque bodies. Collyn’s women wore only shimmering body oil and six-inch Jimmy Choos. Collyn was the exception—she wore a strapless, fitted cream silk dress that clung to her body like papier-mâché.
    Collyn looked over her girls as French horns sounded and exotic male escorts took them by the arm and led them to their assigned venues for the night.
    Once all the girls had dispersed Collyn strolled the grounds. Though she never participated in any of the sex, it was her job to ensure that everyone here had their fantasies fulfilled. And nothing was off-limits. By the time the guests left here all of their fantasies would be reality.
    Each enclosed white tent had been assigned a different theme: girl on girl, swinging, voyeurism, threesomes, foursomes, and anything else one could imagine.
    “Champagne?” the butler asked her, as she exited the S&M tent.
    “Thank you.” She lifted a glass of Moët from the gold tray.
    “Collyn.”
    She turned around and noticed one of her regular and politically affiliated clients calling her name.
    “Peterson, hello.” They kissed each other on each cheek.
    “How’ve you been?” he pointed to Bless, who was standing next to him. “Are you familiar with Blessing Shields?”
    She nodded her head, “Pleasure.”
    He smiled, looking her over, “I’m sure.”
    Immediately Collyn’s clit jumped. “So how have things been, Peterson?” Collyn said as she tapped the ball of her stiletto, hoping that no one could feel the force of her involuntary pussy pumps. She was half heartedly listening to Peterson as her eyes drifted toward staring at Bless. Never had she seen a man so beautiful: the butterfly muscles that protruded from his collarbones and ran into his defined arms were like exquisite works of African art.
    He wore a tight wife-beater that complimented his washboard abs and large pecs. His beige linen pants hung off his waist, hinting at the defined ass within—one that she could imagine grabbing while they made love.
    Collyn traced the rim of the glass with the tip of her index finger as she wondered how salty his skin would taste.
    Damn,
Collyn