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The buzz of my phone jolts me upright. I pull it from the back pocket of my jeans, and my face splits into a smile when I see who’s calling.

It's Delilah Sinclair, my tireless unpaid brand ambassador and new best friend since I dumped Reese into the scrap shredder.

Wiping at my damp cheeks with the heel of my hand, I connect the call. “Dels.”

“Hey, boss! Catch you at a bad time?” Her voice is sultry, with an edge that always makes me think of cyanide-laced melted chocolate.

“No, perfect timing,” I sniff, trying to match her energy and failing.

“Ooh, who pissed in your coffee?”

“Allergies,” I lie, shaking my head. “But I could use some good news. How’s it looking on your end this week?”

“Oh, honey, we’re killing it. Bliss Xtra is pulling in droves of new followers and a decent number of stalkers—plus the usual trolls. It’s like Christmas came early!”

A spark of excitement cuts through my gloom, and I spring off the bed, heading to the dresser for a tissue. Dabbing at my eyes, I perch on the edge and absently sweep my too-heavy mane off my neck, rubbing at the tension there.

My once-chic Parisian bob has grown into a thick mass of waves, thanks to the chaos of family drama, business school deadlines, beta-testing my app, and launching Bliss Xtra—my shiny new vibrator line.

“Lay it on me, Dels.”

“Uh-uh, you first,” she counters. “Did you manage to sweet-talk that hard-ass professor of yours?”

I grin despite myself. Delilah never forgets what’s going on outside of work, even with the chaos of her life as a social media influencer.

In so many ways, she reminds me of Reese—smart, resourceful, with just enough softness under the edge. But Delilah’s shaping up to be a far better human being.

Sure, she’ll sleep with anything for money, but at least she’s upfront about it. Unlike Reese, with Delilah, there are no lies, no secrets, and no knives poised to sink into my back.

I let out a weary sigh. “I’m still working on him. You’d think transferring across continents while running a business would earn me some sympathy, but apparently not.”

“Maybe you’re just not using the right leverage,” she teases. “Try flashing the mafia card—you know, horse-head-in-the-bed style.”

I snicker. “I doubt Professor Lanark owns a horse.”

“Shame.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about offering up your cherry? I’m sure he’d be tickled pink to find out his ‘class slut’ is still a double virgin.”

A laugh escapes me. “So not worth the grade, Dels, trust me.”

“Then gift-wrap a Bliss Xtra for his wife. That’s bound to get you a fucking A. I’m telling you, that thing’s G-spot game is off the charts.”

“So you keep saying,” I muse, wondering why I haven’t tried it myself. It’s huge, sure, but nothing I shouldn’t be able to handle with the right amounts of alcohol and lube.

“Well, wait until the sales report comes in. I told you branching into sex toys was the right call. The app is cute and all, but come on—not everyone wants to go out and meet someone. Some just want to stay home and take care of business.”

I smile, remembering how skeptical I’d been when Delilah first suggested it. “You were right, as usual.”

“Of course I was. Now, onto the main reason I called.” Delilah’s voice practically hums with excitement. “I’ve got some very good news.”

“Really?”

“You bet. Jason Wilkes’s PA slid into my DMs. Apparently, her boss wants a slice of Bliss Xtra. For the right price, of course.”

“Wait, Jason Wilkes? Isn’t he the owner of . . .” I wrack my brain for the name of his brand.

“Temptations. Yes. I’m talking deep pockets here, Luna. You’re welcome.”

I blink. “You’re joking!”