Page 11 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)
Katarina
M y clit is still tingling from last night's fantasy fuck fest when I drag myself out of bed.
It’s been a week of non-stop masturbation, and I think I might have broken my vagina.
I'm hunched over my laptop at my kitchen table, nursing my third coffee while scrolling through the clusterfuck that is my inbox. The light from my window hits my screen at the perfect angle to highlight just how many unread messages I have. Ninety-seven. Jesus Christ.
This is the life of a freelance graphic designer—drowning in emails while wearing yesterday's tank top and a pair of underwear with a cartoon avocado on the ass. No pants necessary when you work for yourself.
“Fuck off, fuck off, definitely fuck off,” I mutter, deleting spam and lowball offers from people who think my time is worth about as much as a Happy Meal.
Then I pause, cursor hovering over an email with the subject line: “High-end branding project - urgent and well-compensated.”
My interest perks up at “well-compensated.” Those are magic words when you’re a foster kid turned adult who’s never had actual money.
Miss DeLuca,
I require sophisticated branding assets for a new luxury venture.
Your portfolio demonstrates exactly the aesthetic I'm seeking.
My budget is substantial, and I'm prepared to meet your rate without negotiation.
I would prefer to discuss details in person rather than email. Are you available this afternoon?
Regards,
Tessa G.
Short, direct, and with a name that sounds a little bit waspy. I sit up straighter, suddenly aware of my nipples poking through my thin tank top.
Tessa,
Thanks for reaching out. I'm available today at 2pm at Grind House Coffee on 7th. Looking forward to hearing more about your project.
Kat
Glancing at the clock, I have ninety minutes to transform from feral gremlin to functioning human. I slam my laptop closed and dash to the shower.
I wash my ass and hair in the least amount of time possible and now I’m staring at my closet wondering what I should wear today.
Shorts and a t-shirt or jeans and a t-shirt.
This is a real Sophie’s choice, so I do what I always do when I’m undecided and make a wheel choose.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up my go-to website and enter jeans or shorts five times each, shuffle and then spin.
The wheel finally stops and jeans it is.
I pull on a pair of black jeans that make my ass look spectacular, a crimson red t-shirt and a pair of Converse. Mascara, black eyeliner and red lipstick pull it all together.
Grind House is busy but not packed when I arrive. I head to the counter and order an iced brown sugar shaken espresso and scan the crowd looking for anyone who might be Tessa.
My eyes skip over the girl with the light purple wavy hair, but when she quirks an eyebrow at me, I do a double take.
“Kat” my order is called out and I grab it before walking over to Miss Lilac.
“Tessa?”
“Katarina DeLuca,” she says, sounding like someone who's used to knowing exactly who she's talking to. “Please, have a seat.”
I slide into the chair across from her, trying not to stare. But fuck, it's hard not to. This woman is the opposite of what I expected. In my head, Tessa G was some middle-aged Karen with a designer handbag who wanted beige everything for her boring-ass business.
“You look surprised,” she says, lips curving into a knowing smile.
“I am,” I admit, taking a sip of my coffee. “You're not exactly what I pictured when I read 'luxury venture' in your email.”
She laughs, a sharp, pleasant sound. “I get that a lot. People expect someone older, more conservative.” She leans forward slightly. “I know I don't look how you expected, but that's part of why I wanted to meet in person. I got your name from Natalia, by the way.”
“Natalia?” I wrack my brain. “The fitness influencer?”
“That's the one. I saw what you did with her branding and website—the clean lines, the edge you gave her that set her apart from every other perky blonde selling protein powder. She couldn't stop raving about you.”
“That was a fun project.” I take a long drink of my coffee, feeling more at ease. “She let me do whatever I wanted, basically.”
“Which is exactly why I'm here.” Tessa leans forward, elbows on the table. “I need someone who can think outside the box.”
I mirror her posture. “So, what's this mysterious luxury venture?”
“I'm launching a high-end sex toy line.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “You're—what?”
“Sex toys.” She says it loud enough that a guy at the next table glances over. “But not your basic vibrators and dildos. I'm talking artisanal pieces that double as sculptures. The kind you'd leave out on your nightstand because they look like expensive art.”
Holy shit. My brain is already spinning with design possibilities.
“I've got the product development handled,” she continues. “What I need is branding that's sophisticated but unmistakably sexual. Something that makes people feel both classy and turned on.”
“And you're only twenty-three?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
Tessa's eyes narrow slightly. “Yes, and I know that's young to be starting something like this. Does that matter to you?”
I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. I'm just impressed.”
“Don't be impressed yet. Be impressed when we're successful.” She pulls out an iPad from her sleek leather bag. “I'm thinking of midnight blues, deep purples, black and gold for the color scheme. The brand name is 'Contessa.'”
“Contessa,” I repeat, a smirk forming on my lips. “Classy. Named after yourself?”
She shrugs, but I can tell she's pleased. “Might as well brand with confidence, right?”
“Where'd you get the capital for this? Sex toys aren't exactly cheap to manufacture, especially if you're going high end.”
Tessa takes a sip of her latte before answering. “Family friend, actually. They fronted me the cash, no questions asked.”
“Just like that? Damn, I need better family friends.”
She laughs. “It wasn't quite that simple; nothing is ever free. But my dad's been in business forever—he runs way too many of them—so I've been absorbing that shit since I was like, twelve.”
“Daddy's little entrepreneur,” I tease, but there's no bite to it.
“Pretty much. He wanted me to go into finance, but I figured if I was going to sell something, it might as well be orgasms.” Her delivery is so matter of fact that I burst out laughing.
“Can't argue with that logic.”
We spend the next forty minutes going through her ideas for packaging, website aesthetics, and marketing approach. I'm scribbling notes on a napkin because of course I forgot my actual notebook.
“I'm thinking the high-end vibrators could have these custom charging stands that look like modern art pieces,” she says, showing me a rough sketch on her iPad.
“Fuck yes. And what if they had different modes named after famous artists? Like, Picasso could be all chaotic and unpredictable, while Monet is more…flowing and gentle.”
Tessa's eyes light up. “That's fucking brilliant.”
I glance at my phone and nearly choke. “Shit, it's already four. I've gotta get going—I have a shift at Euphoria tonight.”
“Euphoria?” Something flickers across Tessa's face. A weird look I can't quite place.
“Yeah, it's this bar downtown. Not the classiest joint, but the tips are decent.”
She nods slowly, composing herself. “Right. I think I've heard of it.”
I start gathering my stuff, shoving napkin notes into my bag. “So, we doing this? Because I'm definitely interested.”
Tessa stands, smoothing down her blazer. “Absolutely. I like you, Kat. I think we should be friends, not just colleagues.”
The offer catches me off guard, but in a good way. I don't make friends easily—most people can't handle my particular brand of chaos.
“I like you too, lilac,” I say, gesturing to her purple hair.
She throws her head back and laughs. “God, I haven't heard that one before.”
“I'll draft up some initial concepts and send them over in about two weeks?” I ask, already checking the time again on my phone. Fuck, I need to get moving.
“Perfect. I've got your email, so I'll send over the formal contract tomorrow. I want to get this rolling ASAP.” Tessa offers her hand for a shake.
I take it, surprised by her firm grip. “Looking forward to it.”
But the truth is, as excited as I am about this project, my mind's already sprinting ahead to Euphoria. To Mr. Mysterious. To that fucking peach drawing that's been burning a hole in my bag all week.