Read the first chapter of Hiring John here!
The Reviews Are In!
"A book that delivers...It is a modern day adult farce once a popular genre with mistaken identities, compromising situations and in more stricter times literally caught with your trousers down...Pure Vegas but delightfully witty and summing up why this is such a pleasurable read." ~ Richard/Goodreads
"Entertaining, screwball shenanigans in Sin City." ~ Linda/Goodreads
"Many LOL moments. Fabulous book, highly recommended." ~ Geraldine/Goodreads
When you're looking for a 'snort milk through your nose' romantic comedy, look no further.
Chapter One Promotion, Commotion, and Cougar Status Denied! “Congratulations, Brit! No one deserves this more than you.” Kathy Chapman toasted her friend, and now supervisor, Britain St. James. She held up her enormous, fruit-ringed cocktail encouraging the other two women at their table to do the same. Emma Cole tossed her blonde locks over her shoulder and hefted her bottled beer clinking the glass with Kathy’s. Brit pasted a smile on her face and belatedly hoisted her glass of Chardonnay to theirs.
“Thanks, girls.” She looked at her two friends. Kathy bounced in her chair in time with the music blaring from the stage of the pub they were currently visiting. It was a nice pub, to be sure. It was frequented by the working stiffs from the surrounding banks and corporations, so suits were a normal sight within the establishment known as The Foxy Hound. It was corny as pub names go, but popular. Sitting within the heart of London, it tried for that bygone era feel with modern fixtures including the stage where some alternative trio was banging out dance tunes on their guitars.
Brit watched as Kathy sipped her ridiculously large beverage while chair dancing. Her long, black hair was wound up into a chic twist that accentuated her gorgeous face with perfect cheekbones. At thirty-two, she was still young, lively, and lovely with a sickeningly perfect figure, one she achieved by visiting the gymnasium every morning before work. Brit could barely haul her ass into the shower each day.
Kathy dated, a lot! Tales of her endless train of men showing up on her doorstep with flowers in one hand, and condoms in the other never ceased to entertain. Brit wondered if half the shite she shoveled was real, but even at half, it was one-hundred times more action than her own love life offered, which was zilch, zero, and not at all.
Across the small, round table sat Emma Cole. Emma used to work in accounting, but she would be taking Brit’s old position as loans consultant now that she’d been promoted to department manager. She was blonde, curvy, and happily married to the love of her life for two years and counting. They’d spent many a luncheon chatting about Sam’s insatiable appetite for sex. Funny, as much as she seemed to complain, Brit could tell Emma didn’t mind at all. She was usually blushing while relaying how Sam had snuck up on her in the shower before work or caused cramps in her legs bending her over the kitchen table with the window wide open so anyone passing by could see. Sam was obviously a bit of a freak, but he loved Emma with all his heart. No one seeing them together would disagree.
“Why are you being so glum, Brit?” Emma noticed Brit’s unusual silence.
“Yes, you should be bouncing off the fucking walls with joy.” Kathy nudged her shoulder.
“You’re getting loads more money, a better office, and more company stock. So what’s with the sourpuss?”
“It’s nothing. Really, I’m having a wonderful time.” Brit sat up straighter, not wanting to be a damper on everyone’s good time. She threw her arm around Kathy, and saluted Emma “You birds are the best, you are.”
Kathy smacked her hand down on the table. “Well, there’s the problem then.” She looked at Emma. “She’s surrounded by chicks when she should be wallowing in cocks.” Emma spit her beer out, laughing. “Kathy!”
“What!” Kathy was unapologetic. “You have your cock on the daily. I’m drowning in cock, but when’s the last time we heard you mention cock, Brit?” She looked at Brit. Blushing, Brit opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“Exactly. You can’t even remember, can you? Just look at you.” Kathy cupped Brit’s chin. “Mouth hanging open like a hungry baby bird. What you need is a juicy worm, a hot hunk to fill your cheeks to the brim until you look like a cock-hungry chipmunk.” Emma snorted.
“Good Lord, Kathy!” Brit finally found her voice. “It’s a good thing we’re not on the clock.”
“I’m not the least bit repentant. You need to get laid, Brit. Powerful women such as yourself should have a booty call on call twenty-four seven. I mean, what’s the point of being a department head for a large bank if you can’t fucking fuck whenever you want?” Kathy blurted out; her cocktail almost gone.
Indeed, Brit thought. But out loud, “Well, I don’t know about all of that, but I suppose there’s a bit of truth to what you’re saying.”
“You’re bloody right, there is.” Kathy held up her now empty glass waving it at the cute bartender. His name was Tom, and Kathy had been flirting with him for free drinks ever since he began working at The Foxy Hound two months prior.
Tom grinned, and before long, walked over with another obnoxiously large, frothy drink for Kathy. He was quite handsome in that twenty-something, devil-may-care way with dark brown waves, and large, chocolate-brown eyes. He kept a bit of manicured stubble on his cheeks, which did nothing to hide his dimples.
“Your drink, madam, on the house.” He winked at Kathy who giggled.
He turned to leave, but Kathy grabbed his arm pulling him to her side. She threw him a conspiratorial look. “Tom, our Brit has just made department head.” Tom turned to look at Brit. “Congratulations, ma’am.”
Brit’s auburn eyebrow rose a hair. Did that cheeky bastard just call me ‘ma’am’? “Thank you,” she said out loud.
Kathy was up to something. Brit could see it written all over her face. “She’s celebrating,” she said. “We’re all celebrating. She’s a powerful cougar now.” She let out an awkward, purring sound. Brit grimaced.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Emma chuckled. She knew Kathy was trying to engineer a situation, and it was painful to watch. It was even more painful because Brit was the unsuspecting recipient of Kathy’s plan.
Tom eyed Kathy. “Well, now, I do like cougars.” He said this while staring at Kathy, but Kathy was still looking at Brit, oblivious.
“She’s a lovely cougar too. Won’t bite much, not unless you ask.” She winked at Brit, and then turned to look at Tom who appeared suddenly confused.
“What? Oh, you mean…,” he looked at Brit. “Sorry, I need to get back to the bar.” He beat a swift retreat away from Kathy and her machinations.
“What a twat!” She bit her lip and glanced at Emma who shrugged. Then she looked at Brit. “I’m so sorry.”
Brit sighed. “No need to apologize. Just let it go, Kathy. I should be heading home anyway.” Brit got off her stool, straightening her dove-gray suit skirt. “Henry will be waiting for me.” She picked up her clutch.
“Well that’s positively fucking sad.” Kathy pouted.
Emma stood up too, cell phone in hand. “At least Henry loves her. And speaking of love, my Sam is texting so I should head out as well.”
“You’re both party poops.” Kathy sucked on the straw of her drink. “Well, go on then, see if I care.”
“Will you be alright?” Brit looked at her, concern on her face.
“Of course.” Kathy waved them both out. “Go, I’m fine. Maybe tonight will be the night for dear Tommy. God knows I won’t be able to talk to him again after that insult to you, Brit, so I may as well fuck him and be done with it.”
Brit pursed her lips, trying not to point out the inconsistencies of her statement. Emma caught her eye and shook her head, a gesture that said “Never mind her. She’s mad as a Hatter and twice as horny.” *** Henry waited, patient as always, but he still seemed miffed.
“I’m sorry, dearest, but Mummy was given a promotion today, and a little celebration was in order.” Brit picked up the gray cat with white paws, and what appeared to be a spiffy white cravat circling his neck. He had aristocratic markings. The cat blinked his large, green eyes, and swished his tail with enough force to thump his human hard. He was not appeased.
“I know, but the girls need my attention too.” She scratched him between his ears as she walked them both straight into the kitchen where Brit retrieved a container of cat treats. Henry turned on his motor, purring in anticipation. He watched as his human pulled out a small handful of the tasty tuna tenders and placed them on the black and white tiled counter. She set him down where he proceeded to devour the goodies. Brit pet his short, dove-gray coat that matched the suit she was wearing. “If it helps, it wasn’t much of a celebration. Just a couple of drinks while Kathy humiliated me in front of the new bartender. God, Hen, it was awful. The way he looked at me.” Brit continued to pet the cat absently. “Do I really look that bad?” She glanced at him.
Henry regarded her. Now licking his chops, clearly happy to have not only the treats, but her full attention, he meowed.
“Well, I don’t think I look that bad, either, but then, I am forty now. Maybe it’s all fallen to rubbish. I suppose my boobs could use a lift, and perhaps I could stand to lose a few pounds, but damn. I’m forty! Am I supposed to look like a Victoria’s Secrets model? I should hope not!” She continued her rant scooping Henry up and walking into the bedroom where she stood in front of the full-length mirror.
The reflection revealed a woman of medium height, curvy hips, a healthy bust, and auburn hair that framed a roundish face, one that still looked like it belonged to a woman in her mid-thirties. Her skin was clear and smooth, her eyes, large and brown, and lips that were neither too thin nor too full. She smiled. “There, I do have good teeth. All still securely inside my head where they belong.”
Brit let Henry down and turned around looking over her shoulder. She reached backwards and ran her hands over her backside. “The bum is a bit broad, isn’t it? But it’s still pretty firm.” She grabbed it, giving it a squeeze. “What do you think? Still have a chance or just garbage, and I should hang it up?”
“Meow.” Henry peered up from the floor.
“Oh, God. You’re right. It’s all rubbish, isn’t it? I’ve waited too long.” She turned back to the mirror. A hint of sadness strayed into her eyes, and her smile disappeared. “Look at me, Henry. I’ve worked hard all my life, and I have a career, but no one to share it all with.”
“Meow.”
She looked down. “Well, of course, I have you.” She leaned down and picked him up, cuddling him close. “I didn’t mean to belittle you, dearest. You mean the world to me.”
Still, Britain St. James felt regret. It had been quite some time since she’d last felt the touch of a man, longer than she cared to admit. Okay, it’s been years! Damn, stop nagging at me, conscience. You’re such a twat!
“Well, I have a new title, and my own flat, and I have you, Hen. It simply must be enough, I suppose.”
She sighed. “Who would want this old bag anyway?” Brit changed into her Friday night pajamas, and then curled up on the sofa with Henry to catch up on Downton Abbey. Before long, she dozed off.
“Need a real man?”
Snort, “What?” Brit cracked an eye, looked briefly around, and then began falling asleep again. Soft music played in the background.
“Need a hard man?”
The voice interrupted her zees once more. “Who’s talking?” Her eyelids weighed a ton each. She couldn’t seem to open them.
“How about a gentle man?” the voice continued in a sultry, deep tone. “We’ve got just the right man for you. Discreet Escorts knows what you need and wants to give it to you.” The male voice purred in Brit’s ear. No, wait. That purr sounds familiar. She finally rubbed the sleep out of her eyes only to find Henry staring at her – purring. Music played, sounding like sex on steroids. She glanced at the television.
“Call and reserve your hot hunk of burning love. Agencies located in London, New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas. Why spend another lonely night when you can spend time with a sexy,” a dark-haired man with smoldering eyes stared out from rumpled bed sheets, “hard”, he flexed, “gentleman.” He smiled seductively. “Discretion is my middle name,” he said. The business name flashed onto the screen with both a local and international phone number. Brit tried not to giggle but failed.
“Well, there you go. I should just hire a man then.” She picked up the remote control and clicked OFF. “Come on, time for bed.” She stood and walked to her bedroom, shutting the living room light off along the way. Henry followed at a slower pace, stretching once, before weaving between his human’s feet. “That’s the most action I’ve seen in a bit, Hen,” said Brit before shutting her bedroom door. *** “Brit, the Bankers Convention is in one week, and Fincter just canceled.
Brit stared at Harold Balsac, her new boss. He was an imposing, older gentleman who smoked cigars without apology in anyone’s presence and spoke over anyone who tried to get a word in edgewise. Curmudgeonly didn’t begin to describe him, but one couldn’t accurately do so without also tossing in narcissist. Mr. Balsac was the self-proclaimed best at everything. If you’d done it, he’d done it better. If you ate it, his chef made it, and his chef was a top graduate of the Cordon Bleu. If you drove a vehicle, he had ten top-of-the-line models. If you dated a woman, he’d bedded supermodels. He was a true misogynist, the type that wasn’t even aware of how offensive he could be, but he was the president of the bank, and the head of the board of shareholders. Now he was standing in her new office, smoking a stogie and really stinking up the space, while telling her that her predecessor, Mr. Titus Fincter, who now occupied a larger office in a separate department, canceled out as representative for Boyd’s of London at this year’s annual convention of bankers. “Sir--” she began.
“As the new director, you will be taking his place. Get with my secretary. She’ll provide your itinerary.” He puffed the cigar, and turned, walking out of her office door.
Brit leaned over her desk and called after him. “But where will I be going?”
Balsac looked over his shoulder. “Las Vegas.” He turned the corner leaving Brit standing at a right angle over the clutter on her desk with her mouth hanging open.
“Holy shite,” she said to herself.
Emma Cole came around the corner carrying a stack of files. She smiled when she saw Brit, and then frowned in concern at the look on her face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She stepped into the office and closed the door.
“I’m going to Las Vegas?” Brit stood up straight, tugging her blouse down.
“Las Vegas? Why the long face then? You look like pudding sliding down the wall.”
“It’s just very sudden. It’s next week, actually,” she bit her lip, “and now I have to pull it together and fly off to America because of Fincter canceling. Balsac didn’t even say why he’d canceled.”
Emma set the files down on the edge of Brit’s desk and sat in the chair behind her. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, I know why! Just heard the juiciest gossip down in the fax room about it.” She perched on the edge of the chair, grinning.
Brit waited, and when Emma continued to smile like a loon, she stomped her foot. “Well, out with it!”
A giggle escaped her coworker’s lips. “Well, apparently, Mrs. Fincter felt a need to shake things up in their marriage, you know, spice up the old sex life.”
One auburn eyebrow climbed Brit’s forehead. “And?” She sat down and leaned her elbows onto the desk expectantly.
“So, she purchased a few items online from one of those adult sites. Jackson from the mailroom says one of them was a rather large, vibrating butt plug.”
“What!” Brit stifled a laugh. “How in the world would Jackson know?”
“Because his sister is a nurse at the Royal London Hospital,” Emma dropped her voice to a whisper, “an emergency room nurse.”
“No! What happened?”
“Word is, the device got,” Emma pinched her thumb and forefinger together and pushed up into the air, “sucked up inside.”
Brit covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide. “Ew!”
Emma continued. “And the damn thing couldn’t be shut off or pulled back out. It was really in there, Brit! When they finally dug it out, there was quite a bit of damage to his old bum, so now he’s out for surgical repairs.”
“Sweet baby Jesus!” Brit sat back, looking around the room, and then the laugh that threatened to bubble up earlier burst forth. She immediately stifled it. “I really shouldn’t laugh. That’s quite horrid, isn’t it? Damn, those sex toys are hazardous to your health.”
“Well, that’s not a normal turn of events for butt plugs and vibes, but yes, in the wrong hands…” Emma let her voice trail off, reluctant to go down that path and reveal her own adventures in adult products land.
“More like old hands…or certainly, your vapor rubbing auntie’s and uncle’s hands. Oh!” Brit made a face and shuddered. “I just don’t want to picture it, but now you’ve put that repulsive thought into my head. Thanks, Em.” She gave Emma an accusatory stare.
Emma stood up, grinning again. “Anytime, Brit.” She picked up her files. “But at least now you know why Fincter canceled, and who cares, anyhow? You’ll have loads of fun in Vegas on the company dime so why are you worried?”
“It’s so sudden, Em, and what about Henry?”
“Sam and I would be happy to watch him.”
“But it’s such an imposition—”
“Nonsense! It will be great training for us, babysitting your kitty.”
“Training?” Brit looked at her friend and coworker with an inquiring eye.
“Yes. Sam and I, we’re trying for a baby.” If it was even possible, Emma’s smile grew larger.
“A baby! Oh, Emma, how wonderful!” Brit stood, and walked to her, giving her a hug. “Well, get on it then. I’m thrilled to become an auntie.”
The two women parted company, each continuing on with their day. One spent her lunch hour shopping for kitty toys, and the other went over her travel to-do list that included trying to remember where she’d put her passport and wondering what the weather was like this time of year in Las Vegas. In the end, Brit knew she needed to do some shopping because she was headed for Sin City, USA.
Chapter Two
The Buddy System and Slots ‘O Fun
The flight from London to Las Vegas was long! Thankfully, Balsac decided to send along an assistant for Brit in the form of Kathy. She’d been to the past two under Fincter before being assigned to a separate department, but with Mr. Fincter out, literally on his arse, Balsac felt Brit needed someone with experience to accompany her to her first convention as Managing Director. Her new assistant, Beverly, got her nose out of joint about it, but Brit promised her the next year, and in the meantime, set her up with a lovely spa weekend at a swank salon. This little bit of bribery came out of her own pocket, but she thought, ‘Damn, good help is hard to find.’
Kathy was ecstatic. “God, Brit, I can’t believe old Hairy Balls plucked me up from a boring week of auditing, and had me come with you, but I’m chuffed! These conventions have been piss-poor boring with Fincter. He’s all work, work, work, you know, but now it’s us girls!” She gave Brit a half hug from her seat. The Fasten Seatbelt sign was now on, and the captain announced the plane was descending toward McCarran International Airport. “We’ll represent by day and paint the town red by night!”
Brit pursed her lips, a habit she had when she knew she would be the one to reign Kathy’s enthusiasm in before they ended up posing for mug shots. “We do have a job to do, and since this is my first convention, Kathy, I can’t just cock it up.”
Kathy smiled, undeterred. “Who said anything about cocking it up? Why, we’re going to be model banking reps.” Her grin spread until Brit could see all thirty-two teeth. “And then we’ll get up to some high fuckery. It’s going to be fab. You just wait and see.”
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