Page 17 of #Bossholes

“I thought your parents said he wasn’t a candidate for surgery.” She crosses her arms, staring me down exactly like her lawyer mom. “And when did you find this out? When you were avoiding me?”

“Yeah, well, it turns out my parents were liars as well as drunks. He could have gotten the implants when he was twoand learned how to talk with all the other kids his age. Now he’s going to have to work so much harder.” With a sigh, I shake my head. I still can’t believe they lied to their own son, kept him from getting a procedure that could have literally changed his entire life. “I don’t know how two people could be so selfish.”

Her eyes widen, and she lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I don’t even know what to say. I couldn’t imagine keeping something that significant from Oli. That’s?—”

“Sorry I’m late.” Daisy rushes in the bookstore, furiously texting on her phone. She has her book tucked under one arm, her black Loubouton bag swinging from the other, and doesn’t miss a beat as she steers us toward the stairs, the stilettos on her booties—ones that no doubt match her bag and cost more than my rent—clicking with every step. “Let’s start this thing, ladies. I have a few fires to put out before bedtime, and I need my bimonthly dose of romance.”

Normally, I’d agree, but after today, I’m pretty sure what I need is the opposite of romance. Like a cold shower. Or a punch to the face. Anything to get my wandering mind off my three hot bosses. Maybe focusing on this mafia book will help. Or hearing about these fires Daisy has to put out, that is if we can get any information out of her.

She’s usually locked up tighter than Fort Knox, but I’m sure you have to be when you make your living fixing celebrity images. While we don’t know who exactly she works with, she’s told us she usually takes on the more challenging cases, AKA the dumpster fires.

I quirk a brow, following her up the stairs to the large sitting area on the second floor. “More misbehaving celebrities?”

She snorts, slipping her phone into her purse, and runs a hand down the length of her long blonde ponytail. “Always. But hey, it’s job security.”

June leans in, glancing between us, and whispers, “Who are you working with now?”

Daisy huffs a laugh, waving her off with a flick of her wrist. “Nice try. You know I can’t divulge any information about my clients.”

“Oh, come on. One little hint?” June sits on the leather couch, pulling Daisy down next to her. “Rumor has it, Finn Dawson started a brawl at a nightclub last week. Noel Adams is notorious for showing up drunk for filming and, according to my sources, her and the director got into it a couple days ago. Some kind of casting dispute.”

“Your sources?” I laugh, flopping down on the loveseat to her right. “Unless you’re trading secrets with Ryan’s publicist, I’m not sure you have a source.”

She crosses her arms with a huff. “I’ll have you know I heard it on the morning radio. It’s a very reputable resource.”

Holly drags in a chair from the little in-house coffee shop and takes a seat across from us with Ava, a new member, following close behind. “Speaking of celebrities misbehaving, have you heard about the lead singer of the Righteous Kings? He was just arrested in Vegas for public intoxication after trashing his hotel room and going on a rampage through the Palms Casino. He resisted arrest, and they’ve got him on video punching a police officer.”

June nods, leaning toward Holly. “They’ve had to cancel two shows because he was too drunk to perform.”

“He’s so hot, though,” Ava says softly, her face turning a bright shade of pink.

“Oh yeah, he’s got that bad boy vibe perfected.” Holly groans, putting a hand over her chest. “And the drummer? Sweet baby Jesus, I’ve had dreams about that man.”

Daisy snorts, something that’s very unDaisy-like. “Righteous pricks is more like it. They’re nothing but a bunch of spoiledbabies with too much money and no fucking sense. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. More like venereal disease and a distorted sense of entitlement. I wouldn’t work with Wilder Hayes if my career depended on it.”

“What if his career depended on it?” I give her a quick glance, taking note of the scowl etched across her face.

“Definitely not then either. If those assholes fell into obscurity, the world would be better for it.” She places the book on her lap with more force than necessary and gives us all a pointed look. “Let’s talk mafia romance, shall we? There are plenty of fictional men thatdeserveour attention.”

Holly opens her book, flipping pages until she finds what she’s looking for and aggressively points at the page. “This virgin auction was everything I didn’t know I needed. The way her brother’s bestie showed up was perfection. I’m not sure if she was going to go through with it until he tried to talk some sense into her.” She punctuates the last couple words with air quotes and laughs. “Lucia would do anything just to spite that man.”

“And when he outbid everyone by millions…” Ava sighs, or maybe swoons is a better word.

“Who knew selling your virginity would bring in so much money?” June waves the book in front of her and chuckles. “If I knew that back in college, I’d have never given it away to Paul.”

I shift, tucking a leg underneath me, and attempt to sound as casual as possible. “Do you think that’s a real thing? Selling your virginity?”

“I’m sure.” Holly’s quick to answer, earning a horrified gasp from Ava. “There’s a market for everything these days. If there are men looking to buy used panties or pictures of feet, there are guys willing to pay top dollar to take someone’s V-card.”

“I couldn’t imagine being that intimate with a stranger. I’d be mortified. What if he wasn’t attracted to you and couldn’t, youknow…get it up? What if he ended up being a creepy old man with dentures and liver spots? What if he was married?”

All valid possibilities. If something like that existed, it would either be out of some sort of exclusive sex club or maybe even on the internet. You can get a kidney off the internet if you know where to look. Although, an auction is risky, you’d have zero control. You’d literally be in a stranger’s hands.I’d be in a stranger’s hands. Oh, God, and what if he tried to steal my kidney and sell it on the black market? I don’t know what I’d do if I woke up in a bathtub full of ice.

Could you imagine?

Not that it’s something I’d even consider. Just pure speculation. You know, for science.

Ah, who am I kidding?

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