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SADIE

Three years later…

“Okay. Perfect. Perfect. Sit perfectly still…” I press the button and rapidly take five shots before I hobble away from the tripod.

Golden light bathes a head of cabbage perched on a satin pillow, beads of dew clinging to its crisp leaves.

After checking the images in the camera, I turn my back on the shot and stare at the computer readout on the table instead.

“I think we got it,” I call out over my shoulder.

There’s no sound until bare feet slap the tiled floor. “Can I see?” a trepidatious voice asks.

I don’t turn around but keep staring at the monitor. “Sure. What do you think?”

My client moves closer but still maintains a respectful distance.

“Is that me?” he asks as I scroll through the hundreds of shots of the cabbage.

Some are simple and elegant photos that could be served up in a food magazine.

In others, he’s posing by a pair of handcuffs or a zester.

Apparently, that’s the rage in the underground vegetable BDSM clubs.

“Yep. What do you think?” I start to glance over my shoulder, wanting to see the client’s face to make sure he’s happy. All I catch is a hint of tan skin coated in water spray before I turn back. “There’s a robe under the pedestal.”

“Right, right.” He shuffles back, hopefully covering himself. But he also can’t stop cheering. “That’s amazing. I’ve never looked so… Damn. Are those my leaves? They’re going to love it.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll get to editing the best and pass them on to you. Sound good?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He sticks out his hand. Even though it’s coated in oil, I take it and give him a hearty pump.

“Congratulations,” I say.

The groom blushes like he didn’t just pose for some boudoir photos in his very natural state.

“Thank you, Ms…” His gaze drifts to the ring on my finger.

Everyone knows who runs Crudité and what happens to those who disrespect the woman behind the desk.

Wandering off my hand, he stares at the signage plastered on the walls and the door. “Nair.”

I had to keep my last name. All of my business contacts know me as Nair.

True, I didn’t expect to start supplementing catalog shots with portraits of vegetable shifters. But I’ve cornered the market on shoots of steamy vegetables to share with loved ones.

The happy groom takes one last look at himself on screen before he drifts back to the lockers. I linger by my camera in my studio. I’ve upgraded my hardware twice in the past few years, but I still have my old camera and the memory card crammed with pictures of eggplants.

“Excuse me.” The door into my white world swings open and the Vegas life comes blasting in at full color.

“What is it?” I ask, recognizing the faces behind the sunglasses and suits.

“It’s your…special guests.”

With a deep sigh, I stop putting away my camera. “Take me to them.”

People take notice of the woman in a simple white button up and slacks strolling just in front of two armed men in suits. They move aside without knowing why. A few of the employees give a small nod or acknowledgement as we pass onto the main floor.

Past the slot machines and tucked back by one of the nicer bars with complimentary beverages sits the high roller room. Guarded by a familiar face, I nod to Green Bell. “Are they in there?”

“Yes, ma’am. But you should be careful. Things are getting out of control inside.”

My two guards stiffen, hands dropping to the pistols at their sides. “I can handle it,” I assure them. Before I can reach for the door, Green opens it.

Here is opulence. The whole room has a crisper drawer in heaven feel.

White walls are circled with sharp lined wainscoting.

Tiled floors dotted with gold and soft but pleasing lights highlight the room from chandeliers dotted with pearls.

Even the tables, staffed by the best in Vegas wearing white gloves, have marble tops instead of green felt.

Only the richest patrons can even get inside.

“Woo! Come to papa!”

For the most part.

I raise my head and chase the voice echoing through the room.

It doesn’t take long to find the source.

Just past a tasteful statue of a nude man covered only by a cornucopia of vegetables I spot him in a Hawaiian shirt.

He’s tipping back his foot tall drink, trying to slurp up the last of the pink juice with a twisty straw.

“Sadvhi!” my father shouts, waving me over. He’s so excited he tips over his drink. The last dredges of pink slush drip across the venetian marble. “Look, I’m up two hundred dollars.”

“After blowing five hundred and fifty at roulette.” My mother explains from behind him.

She’s dressed more respectably for the back room, but insisted on the sandals and shorts.

Though, her earrings and bangles fit in perfectly with the women decked out from head to toe in diamonds.

I got all my height from my father, and all my curves from her.

It’s no wonder Aubry is happy to host them for every little weekend vacation.

“Sadvhi, please tell him he’s being a fool.”

“I am not. I have a system. See. Hit me,” he tells the patient but weary croupier. When the face card lands, my father’s face falls. “Okay, okay. Bad example. But I can make it back with the next hand.” My father’s in heaven, blowing through money that isn’t his as he kicks his feet back and forth.

“What about you?” I ask my mom.

“Oh, I’m supposed to be his army candy.” She rolls her eyes at the very idea, then my father flags her over.

“Pyaari! Come, come.” My dad hops up and down on his leather seat, waving my mother to his side. With a sigh, she sidles up beside him. “I need a kiss for good luck.”

My mom bends closer to plant a peck on his cheek. He swivels his head and gives her such a deep kiss, my mom’s cheeks turn red. “You damnable fool,” she chides and smacks his shoulder after, but her whole face lights up.

“Sadvhi?”

My phone vibrates, and I slip it out.

“When is the show?”

“Not until eight,” I tell her.

“I hope we’ll be eating before then. I saw a noddle place outside that looked pretty good,” my father says.

“Dad, we have Michelin star chefs in house…” I begin to explain when I realize it’s a text from Aubry—a single eggplant emoji. “I have to go.”

“Get some pad thai. I haven’t had that in—”

I rush forward to give my parents a kiss on the cheek. “You two have fun. We’ll see you for dinner, in the ambassador suite, at seven.”

A collective groan rises from my employees as they realize I’ll be leaving them with my parents. But it can’t be helped. The boss summoned me. “Have fun you two. Stay out of trouble.”

“I always do,” my father calls out. “Hit me,” he crows before dropping a mess of chips in my mother’s hand. “Go get yourself something nice.”

At the door, I tug on my bodyguard’s collar and pull him close. “Make sure they don’t go over ten thousand.”

He’s grim, but nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s a far too slow ride to the penthouse with only that single emoji for company. By the time the elevator opens on our private entrance, I bolt for the door and nearly call out for him. A garment bag hangs off the shoulder of the statue with a note.

Wear me.

So he’s in that kind of mood. While having him put it on me himself would be fun, my curiosity’s piqued and I have to look.

Ooh.

Red leaps out at me as I tug the zipper down. I glide my palm over the shiny fabric and my body breaks out in goosebumps.

Yes.

After leaving a trail of my clothing in the hall, I sashay through our sitting room in a dress that hugs my tits, rounds my hips, and cuts so high on my legs I’ll flash the whole world if I lean to the side.

“Aubry?” I call out, growing more bold with every cool breeze against my bare nethers. “Hello?”

He’s not on our favorite couch pretending to do work while he waits for me.

I check the bedroom. “Aubry?” When the lights flick on, an orange pillow in the middle of the bed uncurls itself to stare up at me.

“Have you seen your daddy?” I ask Astin.

His tail flicks like he’s hiding a big secret, then he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

Maybe in his office. As I scoot across the floor, realizing I need to put on a pair of heels to hitch up the dress, I run my fingers over the piano. He still doesn’t know how to play, but it gets used weekly.

Is the light on in the kitchen?

Of course.

The beautiful galley kitchen gleams from a recent cleaning, nary a spot or object out of place. Except for the large, long eggplant sitting dead center on the island. I chuckle internally while gliding around the room.

“Aubry?” I call out, my voice ringing with too much concern. “Are you here?” With a great huff, I collapse my elbows to the island right beside the eggplant. “I can’t find my gorgeous husband anywhere. It’s such a shame.”

With barely a touch, I roll my fingers up the eggplant’s skin. “Me, all alone here, in this silky, tight dress.” The eggplant rocks back and forth under my hand as I reach the tip and start to trace around the stem.

I curl under the eggplant and lift it off the counter. Holding it in my hands, I’m tempted to start jacking my hands up and down the girthy shaft, but that’s too easy of an end for him.

“No one to run his huge palms over my thighs…” Pressing the eggplant to my right leg, I give a deep sigh, and start to roll it up my hip. Every slight divot and dimple on the purple skin brushes the silk dress against me. I shiver to my toes, rubbing him up and down my belly.

“Or hold my tits in his hands,” I cry out as I rub the eggplant under my breasts.

Closing my eyes, I lean back against the counter and give in to the gentle touch of the eggplant.

The skin is tender, but glides the dress in just the right ways.

I trace the long end up over my throbbing nipple and a whimper slips out.