Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series) (4 page)

"I bet," he said.  "I bet she was."

I didn't know what problem
Bob had with Kate, but I right now I didn't want to hear it.  With her out of the picture, I wanted to be gone from this strange place.

"Come with me," he said.

I followed him down the hallway to the first office on the left, where he motioned for me to sit in a big cushioned leather chair.

"
How do you ever sell any of the others?" I asked.  He curled his brow, so I clarified: "If most people don't get past Flora Girl, I mean."

"There's a delay in restocking," he explained.  "Once you take Flora Girl home, it'll be a few months be
fore we have another available.  Once in a while we get a customer who isn't impressed with Flora Girl.  These men tend to be sociopathic.  It's the feeling she gives you.  The nostalgia, the sensation of being in love.  It's painful to some men."

"I see."
  That was a lie.  I couldn't fathom anyone being immune to Flora Girl's sweet, exhilarating scent.

He clapped again.  "Okay, Melissa, why don't we step into my office and get you started.  It's a basic contract, but it's pretty long.  You have to sign three times and initial each page.  We also take an electronic fingerprint
."

"How much does it cost?"

Bob looked up at me and let out a half-snort, half-giggle.  "No one has discussed this matter with you?"

"No."

"Well, today's your lucky day, Melissa.  You get to take Flora Girl home at no initial cost."

"What?"

He nodded slowly, grinning.  I knew there had to be a catch.  He looked like he was hiding something.

"What do you mean by no initial cost?"

"This is where most clients get nervous."

I looked at his smug, chubby face and suddenly felt angry.  "You know what?" I said.  "I don't care how much it costs.  It's Ted's money anyway."

"You are married, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you have no prenuptial agreement?"

"No."

"Then all you have to do is sign and initial."  He leafed through the pages one by one, pointing out the places where I needed to sign.  "Are you sure you don't want to peruse the contract?"

"I'm in a hurry," I said, finishing the last signature and standing.  "When will she be delivered?"

Bob jumped to his feet and straightened his suit jacket.  "How does six o'clock this evening sound?"

When I went home, Ted had just returned from a run.  He sat at the table drinking orange juice
, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and sneakers.  His bare chest glistened in the sunlight slanting through the sliding glass door.  I loved how he shaved his whole body.  Most men didn't.

"Where's Ellen?"

"Orientation for college."

"She's leaving?"

"Yes, she's going to Berkley," he said.  I detected sadness in his voice and a streak of pain stabbed through my chest.

"
California?"

He grunted and finished off his juice, then slammed the glass down on the table.
  "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Shopping."

"I don't see any bags."

"
It's being delivered."

Ted looked up and said, "Goddamn it, Melissa, it better not be new furniture again."

I wanted to scream.  Why did he have to talk to me that way?  It was his idea to replace the furniture.  He'd told me to pick out anything I wanted.  When he got home that night, he hated what I'd picked and has held the position ever since that he never okayed any furniture shopping.

"I actually got something for you," I said, trying not to cry.

"For me?"  Snarky with a twinge of guilt.  "What is it?"

"You'll see."

"Hopefully it's a gun so I can blow my fucking head off."

"Ted!" I cried.  "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm sick of all this bullshit."

"What bullshit?"
  I barely squeaked out the words.

"Nothing," he said.  "I'm just overloaded.  Work stuff."

This was nothing new.  Ted was always bitching about his job.  I didn't even know where his office was or how much money he made, just that he was a CEO for a mergers and acquisitions company.

And he was a billionaire
, admittedly the aspect of him that sucked me in as a young adult.

To be honest, in our three years of marriage, I
never learned much about Ted.  Our relationship consisted of nothing but fucking, eating, and sleeping.  If we weren't doing one of those three things, most of the time we weren't in the same room.

I think it's easy to fall
in love with someone like Ted, and by that I don't mean a super-rich and handsome guy.  I mean the kind of guy who hides himself from you, disguising what he is with charm and excitement.

It is
exciting, and that's the problem.   I went instantly from a normal upper middle class life under the strict rule of my uber-religious parents to running around buck naked in a mansion spilling expensive Champaign and only stopping to be penetrated or to smoke a bowl of medical grade marijuana.  Hot tubs, bubble bath, catered meals, a full bar, an indoor swimming pool.  The beginning of our relationship was a constant party.  Sometimes we'd even go out to a club and pick up a girl together, then bring her home, liquor her up, and fuck her senseless.

But soon I found I was partying by myself
.  Ted's job became more demanding, or at least that was his story.  In retrospect, I think he probably got tired of me and started seeing other girls.

And now, sitting at the breakfast table, sweating and full of adrenaline, his younger plaything driven away by the older one, he looked at me like leftover food turning putrid on the counter.

Ted got up and went to the refrigerator.  I quickly jumped on the opportunity to leave the room, not because I was upset but because I could smell sex on my clothes.  Potent as a new scented candle.

Infidelity on Ted's part didn't automatically entitle me to the same, at least
not in his eyes, and getting through this day was difficult enough already without more fuel for arguing.

Under the hot blast of the raining showerhead, I felt the remnants of the L
ibido Drug in my skin.  A tingling, topical pleasure that rooted deeper inside me as I lathered my body.

I started thinking about Kate, her pink nipples, the contrast of the transparent white top and her iodine skin.
 
You have to stop
.  It took all the willpower I could muster to stop massaging my clit, and when I stepped out of the shower into the chilly air, I felt sick with desire.

From the open door came the whisper of voices. 
I came out of the bedroom and took small steps down the hallway, completely naked and soaking wet, shivering, clenching my fists and holding them against my hips.  I felt snagged in a current of sexual energy.  I wanted sex so bad I yearned to be looked upon, so I followed the voices.

Anyone.  It could be anyone.

The hallway led to a balcony overlooking the den and the foyer, and there stood Ted, talking to someone at the front door.

It was a
deliveryman who wore a white baseball cap embroidered with black letters: YFG.  He was tall and black, with an earnest-looking smile, like the guys in the postal service advertisements.  His voice carried far, amplified by the marble floor and staircase.  He was asking for me.

I came down to them quickly
.  The deliveryman spotted me first and his eyes lit up with what seemed like recognition.  His smile widened and, without loss of eye contact to my water-beaded tits, he said, "Mrs. Reed, if I can just get your thumb print, we'll have your order installed wherever you please.  We'll be super fast."

Ted was staring me down.  He had fire in his eyes.

I stepped past him and placed my thumb on the digital panel of the device the deliveryman held out to me.  He tipped his hat, swallowed, and said, "I'll need you to show me where to install your purchase, ma'am."  He cocked his head towards Ted.  "Sir, would you mind showing me the way?"

Ted said nothing.  His dead stare slowly turned from the deliveryman to me.

"I'll show you," I said, turning back to the staircase.

"Yes ma'am."

I ascended slowly, making my hips rub together, making my ass move.  The shadow of the man lengthened ahead of me as he closed distance between us.  When I turned at the top of the stairs, I looked down and saw Ted stepping out onto the front porch, speaking to someone else.

Even in the confinement of the hallway, the deliveryman didn't speak.  His shoes squeaked on my wet footprints.  I led him
to the master bedroom, where thick, soft carpet replaced the cold hardwood.  Here the air was still humid from the steam creeping out of the bathroom.

"Where would you like your case installed, ma'am?  Against this wall?"

"That's fine," I said, not even sure which wall he meant.  I turned to face him.  "So how does this work?  You just drop her off and that's it?  When do we pay?"

The deliveryman spoke nervously.  He still hadn't adjusted to my nudity, which was surprising considering the company he worked for.  "Your Favorite Girl company policy requires that the installation technician supervise the trial encounter.  Then you'll have to decide whether or not you want to keep her."

"How much does that cost?"

He shook his head.  "Rates vary," he said.  "Flora Girl leases for one-million dollars per day, I think."

A lump formed in my throat.  "A million a day?"

"Yes ma'am."

"How can anyone afford that?"

"If I can be honest,
no one can," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper and glancing around as though he were being monitored.  Something that wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

"Do people
really pay that much?"

"Listen to me," the deliveryman said, approaching me and leaning in close.  "Don't you touch Flora Girl.  That bitch will ruin your life.  You let your husband do this and he'll bankrupt himself.  Your Favorite Girl, Inc. will take everything you have."

He was so tall his face hovered over mine.  I had to tiptoe to do what I was about to do.  My lips pressed against his for the briefest of moments, and then I lost my balance, falling into his washboard stomach.  I could feel the bulge of his erection on my arm.  I slid my hand up his thigh and grabbed his dick through his pants.

Then I looked up at him.  "I want him to lose everything," I said.

I squeezed him a little harder before letting go and grabbing my bathrobe from a hook on the bathroom door.

I poured myself a glass of wine and sat in the kitchen while Mr. Delivery, whose name I still did not know, and the other installation technician, a bald, skinny man with glasses, wheeled in what looked like a fire-resistant gun cabinet.  Black, made of some dense plastic material, secured with latches and a fancy padlock.
  Flora Girl was inside, with no clue where she was or what was about to happen to her.

Ted followed the deliverymen into the master bedroom, mumbling something she couldn't make out.
  A few minutes later they came rumbling down the staircase, where the bald deliveryman headed out the door.

Ted and the black deliveryman came to the kitchen.

"Mr. Moses here says he's not leaving," Ted said, staring me down.  "What the hell is this, Melissa?"

"You know what it is," I said.

"Your Favorite Girl, Incorporated.  You found the card in my wallet."  He sighed.  "I found it in my mailbox at work.  I never went over there."  He looked at Mr. Moses.  "I only called out of curiosity."  Then back at me, looking me over with an expression of disgust I had never seen before.  "What the hell's in that box?"

I batted my eyes at him
, despite the lump forming in my throat.  "It's a gift, Ted."

Mr. Moses
—a fake name, certainly—set a small black box before me.  It looked just like the one Kate had been carrying earlier—the one with the Libido Drug and sex toys.  Sure enough, Mr. Moses turned the key and opened up what amounted to a sex kit, complete with a small vial of the Libido Drug, eyedropper, several vibrators and dildos, a set of soft, fluffy handcuffs, and, strangely enough, a small black taser.

In the upper left corner of the case was a small compartment with its own latch.  Inside
, a small key.

"That one unlocks the big box," Mr. Moses said.

"What's in the big box?" Ted asked.  "Somebody fuckin' tell me already."

"A girl," I said.  "A very young, very beautiful girl."

Ted's eyes fell to the floor.  He grunted and shook his head the way he always did when confused or frustrated.  Then the corners of his mouth began to creep upward and his eyes slowly found me.  "Beautiful by whose standards?" he asked.

"Why don't you
judge for yourself?"