Cupid’s Arrows had changed all of that practically overnight.
The sisters had long since sold the brand and it had passed through several hands of ownership until it landed in mine. I intended to let the brand shine. The last thing I wanted to do was break any promises made to Cupid’s Arrows customers. They had a product they loved, and I wasn’t going to mess with that. All I wanted was to bring a bit more fun to the game.
I just didn’t realize how much fucking work it would be to have a bit of fun.
In the back room of the store, wardrobe coordinators tossed outfit after outfit in my direction, barking at me to try different pieces together. Some of them could hardly be called pieces at all and were more like scraps that covered my junk but left a hell of a lot of ass cheek and inner thigh exposed. I had a body I was proud of and worked hard for, but damn, I wasn’t sure how thrilled I was to show every square inch of it on giant billboards or on in-store posters for the foreseeable future.
I tugged at a tiny little red silky thing encasing my manhood. “Is this really the way we want to go here? Men aren’t going to buy this shit.”
One of my assistants, a young woman with thick glasses that made her eyes look very large, giggled as she looked over her shoulder at my social media manager, who had captured my words, and discomfort, on film.
I grimaced. “Delete that, Erin.”
Erin, my social media queen, stopped filming. “Absolutely not. It’s quite charming seeing you so disarmed. Who knew all we needed to calm your ego was less fabric?”
Someone nearby announced that Laila Hunt was about to arrive.
Chaos erupted all around me as people made room in the back for her to come get ready. Her outfits were assembled on a rolling rack, looking much more appealing than the shit they had me putting on. Where I wore a dick-sized stocking on my cock, Laila had the choice between one-piece suits made of lace and silk. Sure, there was a cupless bra in there, but she wouldn’t be wearing that and only that for the shoot.
Unfortunately.
I stood with both hands in front of my crotch. “Can someone find me a pair of fucking boxers, please? I’m the goddamn CEO, not a poster boy for dick mittens.”
Erin and my assistant wheezed with laughter but offered no help. They skittered out of the back room, abandoning me amongst a sea of outfits, half-unpacked boxes of inventory, and my bruised ego.
This simply would not do.
I hated to think what would happen if Luke saw me in something like this. I would never hear the end of it. Or Garrett. Or Guillermo.
I groaned.
Death would have been preferable to this.
All at once, the back room became engulfed in action again. More people swept in, and this time my raven-haired girl appeared on the heels of her own bodyguard, the tough, shaved-headed woman who often drove her around the city. Lexi, I believed her name was.
Lexi’s kind brown eyes flicked immediately to my hands covering my crotch. She pointed, threw her head back, and cackled like a witch in a kid’s movie.
I blew out an exasperated sigh.
Laila shouldered her way around Lexi and drew up short as soon as she saw me. Her hazel eyes flicked from my horrified stare and down, right to my poorly concealed jewels. Her cheeks blew out like a puffer fish as she struggled not to laugh.
Fuck me.
“Someone get me a real pair of underwear!” I bellowed.
Laila hiccupped and wiped tears of humor from the corners of her eyes. “Please tell me there’s no male underwear within a ten-mile radius. This is priceless.”
Lexi snapped a picture with her camera phone.
Erin asked her to send it to her, and they exchanged numbers.
I didn’t dare to move for fear of something slipping out. Hell, I didn’t dare to breathe.
Eventually, Laila took pity on me and fetched me a robe, which she cast around my shoulders so I could turn and do it up. My cock still felt uncomfortable, all tucked into this tiny little fabric cast, and I had to resist the urge to adjust myself when I turned back to her and managed a morose, “Thank you.”
Laila’s cheeks glowed neon pink. “You’re welcome. I have found myself in many compromising positions in this line of work. It happens to the best of us.”
I didn’t deserve her grace.
“I hate to think how long these sadists would have hung me out to dry,” I grumbled.
“Hung,” Erin wheezed, slapping her thigh and descending into another fit of laughter. “You were definitely hung out to dry, Storm.”
“All it would’ve taken was a stiff wind,” my assistant added.
“How was that thing even staying on?” Lexi asked.
I gritted my teeth. “Through sheer force of will.”
The women howled. I wasn’t quite sure where they thought the joke was.
Laila put a hand on my shoulder. “Ignore them. They’ve never had to stand practically naked in a room full of people a day in their lives. If they had? Well…” She trailed off and her eyes danced with mirth. “It would have been better than you having to stand here with your, erm, thing, tucked into a silk condom.”
More laughter erupted out of all of them, Laila included.
I had the urge to sneeze but held it in. Surely if I let it go, I’d fall out of what Laila had endearingly called my silk condom. The description was pretty accurate actually. Unable to do anything else, I gave in and started laughing at my own expense, which won me a radiant smile from Laila, who leaned into me, her shoulder grazing mine.
“It’s good to see you,” she said before being whisked away by her own wardrobe team and ushered into a corner of the back room that had been made more private with heavy black curtains so she could change discreetly.
I had to wait about ten minutes before Laila emerged in her outfit. She looked like raw, unedited, unfiltered sin poured into a lacy red and black set. She moved like a goddess, all power and sophistication. Her makeup artist flitted around her, dashing her cheeks with blush and various kinds of powder I didn’t know the names of. Laila checked herself in the mirror and shamelessly pushed her breasts up, reaching her hands into the cups and lifting her breast tissue so it sat just right.
I ached to put my hand in her bra like that.
Laila had her lips painted red and her eyes lined in black that flicked out at the edges. Sultry lashes were applied, followed by jewelry, followed by nude high heels with glittery ankle straps. Lastly, she slipped into a sheer black shawl that fell off her shoulders like a cape.
I swallowed.
The little silk condom was suddenly quite tight, and the fabric didn’t have any give to it.
The event coordinator, a woman whose name I hadn’t even managed to catch but had been referring to as Boss Lady in my head, swept into the back room and took note of mine and Laila’s readiness.
“Excellent, everyone back here is ready to go?” Boss Lady asked.
Everyone but me nodded.
Boss Lady clapped her hands together. “Good work, team. We are going to do this once and once only, so that means you have to get it right on your first go. There is no room for error. Laila, you’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times over, so I expect you to lead Mr. Thornton through the process. First, you’ll emerge for event pictures with the professional photographers. Those photos will be used for marketing and other social media campaigns, so remember to work your angles and strike your poses there. After, we’ll set you loose with the shoppers, who will probably want pictures and autographs, too. Expect to sign printed photos, bare asses, cleavage, phone cases, the whole nine yards. We have one hour to get this all done before the VIP shopping event begins, at which point you will both move to the back of the store, where we will work you on a rotation, changing you into different outfits to showcase. Got it?”