Casey snapped her fingers. “Allow me to quote some feedback from one of our testers. ‘The Wild One is like a direct line to a pleasure palace I didn’t even know existed inside of me.’ Now that I think about it, we should rename this one The Wizard, because this is the closest anyone will ever come to real magic here.” She stopped, took a beat. “Get it? Come?”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I do get it. Wasn’t a hard one to wrap my head around,” he said, tapping his temple.

“See? You’ve got the hang of the puns too. Hard one,” she repeated.

“Been running this business with you for five years now, Casey. I’m well acquainted with your style. And with the magic we’re peddling.”

“Abracadabra,” she said, miming waving a magic wand. “Joy delivered.”

That’s what the company they ran was called—Joy Delivered—and Jack had a meeting in an hour with one of the city’s top purveyors of pleasure products, Eden. The classy shop on the Upper East Side, conveniently located above a private BDSM club Eden also ran, had been actively promoting another device, the Dancing Dolphin. That triple speed, nearly noiseless, terrifically thrilling pocket vibrator had developed a cult following among legions of erotic book club readers, who praised it as the perfect companion while they read one-handed, often about BDSM storylines, as it turned out. The dom-sub lifestyle wasn’t Jack’s personal cup of tea, but he was glad for whatever floated someone’s boat enough to open the bedside drawer and grab a toy.

Yeah, business was good thanks to the erotica craze that had swept not just the country, but also the world, and had made it more acceptable to bring another party into the bedroom, even if the third party required batteries. Nothing wrong with self-love or with calling in backup between the sheets, Jack reasoned.

“Are you going to take this with you to your meeting tonight with Henry and Marquita?” Casey handed him The Wild One, but Jack quickly shook his head.

“They’ve already seen it. We’re just finalizing the paperwork for the new shipment. We’re beyond the giggle-at-the-dildo stage of conversation.”

“But it’s still nice to see the pleasure tools. Especially since they’re going to that sexuality conference at The Pierson, right?”

“Right. He said he’d be attending some sessions in the afternoon. And yet, call me crazy,” he said, stopping to scratch his chin, “I think I might prefer not to display a nine-inch fake schlong on the table at The Pierson Hotel. It’s a classy joint.”

“And all their guests are probably slipping plastic purple friends under those twelve-hundred thread count sheets at that classy joint. That’s why you hear so many high-pitched screams at The Pierson,” Casey said, rising from the desk, and slapping a palm on it to accentuate her punch line. With her other hand, she tossed him the newest toy, her blond hair swishing around her face from the throw. “Take it, Jack. Maybe he wants to bring a present home to his wife.”