piece of paper that looked as if it had barely made it through morning recess. “There’s a company in Miami I’m considering buying. I need for you to do some research for me.”
She read the words written on the paper. “Sunpiper Extreme Sports School?”
“Right.”
“What kind of research?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you can find out—check the Internet, or make phone calls…anything.”
“I don’t know much about extreme sports,” she admitted. “Perhaps I’m not the best person to do this….”
“I need someone I can trust, someone outside my office. As soon as word gets out that I’m making inquiries, the picture skews. People get greedy, and I don’t know if I’m getting good advice from my advisors or if they’re working for the other side.”
When he was serious like this, his eyes warm and intuitive, she understood why the man was so successful. Beneath his carefree exterior beat the heart of a fierce competitor. He was…compelling. Violet averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”
He stood. “Good. If you find anything interesting, have it couriered to my house.”
She stood and nodded. “Absolutely. Is that all, sir? Do you need any last-minute Christmas gifts?”
Dominick grinned and in a flash, he was back to being an overgrown frat boy. “You know me well. It’s on the other side of that piece of paper.”
She turned over the crumpled note and sure enough, on the back was a handwritten list. Not surprisingly, most of the names on the list were female.
He leaned forward over her desk, invading her space, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “What do you want for Christmas, Vee?”
Nan’s comment about her needing something warm and cuddly flashed in her mind, but Violet pushed it away, especially since at the moment the turtleneck was feeling warm, if not cuddly. She drew back slightly and murmured, “World peace.”
He laughed and shook his head. “If you were in charge, lady, I have a feeling you could make that happen. Thanks for the cigars.” He pushed on wraparound sunglasses with reflective lenses, then walked out. “See you, Lillian,” he called out as he strode out the front door.
Violet’s new assistant was in her office before the bell on the front door stopped ringing. “What an interesting man.”
Violet gave her a knowing smile. “I see you’ve fallen under Dominick’s spell.”
“You haven’t?” Lillian asked, nodding to Violet’s hand, which had pulled out the collar of the turtleneck and was fanning it open and closed to deliver some much-needed air.
Violet dropped her hand. “No,” she said with more vehemence than she intended, then reached for the bundle of mail Lillian held. “I mean, he is a client, after all. I need his business more than I need his…er…”
Lillian arched an eyebrow, waiting.
Violet’s cheeks warmed. “Were there any calls while I was out?”
The woman handed over a stack of pink slips. “If there’s something I can take the lead on, let me know.”
A proprietary feeling crowded Violet’s chest. “I will,” she murmured, while admitting she wasn’t willing to entrust her clients to her new assistant yet. Maybe after the first of the year, when things slowed down, she could get to know Lillian better and begin delegating more to her desk. “Thanks for bringing in the mail. Do you mind taking Mr. Burns’s coffee cup? And close the door as you leave.”
“No problem,” Lillian said with a smile, backing out.
Violet turned on her laptop, intending to start researching the company for Dominick. While she waited for the machine to boot up, she sifted through her mail, sorting things into neat little piles as she went. Trash, bill, bill, payment, junk, junk, junk—
Her hand stopped when she noticed a return address of Jacksonville, Florida, on a long white envelope. Covington Women’s College, her alma mater? Probably a fund-raiser of some kind, she guessed. She slit open the top and pulled out a cover letter enclosing a pink polka-dotted envelope that tickled a memory chord. Intrigued, she scanned the letter head—Dr. Michelle Alexander.
Violet frowned. Her former college instructor?
Dear Ms. Summerlin,
You were a student in my senior-level class titled Sexual Psyche at Covington Women’s College. You may or may not recall that one of the optional assignments in the class was for each student to record her sexual fantasies and seal them in an envelope, to be mailed to the student in approximately ten years’ time. Enclosed you will find the envelope that you submitted, which was carefully catalogued by a numbered code for the sake of anonymity and has remained sealed. It is my hope that the contents will prove to be emotionally constructive in whatever place and situation you find yourself ten years later. If you have any questions, concerns or feedback, do not hesitate to contact me.
With warm regards,
Dr. Michelle Alexander
Memories pelted her. The Sexual Psyche class had been called Sex for Beginners by all the students. She’d felt very naughty for taking it. She deliberately hadn’t mentioned it to her grandparents and she’d sat on the back row—at first. But as Dr. Alexander lectured on the virtues of becoming a confident lover, Violet had gradually migrated toward the front of the class. She’d been a late bloomer in her teens, shy and self-conscious, her nose buried in books. Thanks to an absent mother and an old-fashioned grandmother, she’d never really had a proper sex talk. The class had been revolutionary for her, stirring up all kinds of…sensations and…urges. She vaguely recalled the assignment to write down her fantasies, remembered struggling to find the right words, but she couldn’t recall what she’d written.
Violet looked back to her laptop, which was running a virus check. Then she pursed her mouth and tentatively picked up the pink envelope. There was only one way to find out.
2
VIOLET REMOVED two sheets of folded stationery from the small envelope, her heart thumping in anticipation at getting a glimpse into her own mind ten years ago. She had been so serious back then. The Sex for Beginners class had jarred her out of her comfort zone, if for only a few weeks.
She glanced at her closed office door, then unfolded the sheets and began to read.
Dear Violet,
I’m having a hard time with this assignment, writing down my sexual fantasies. I’m still getting used to the idea of what’s even supposed to happen during sex. I’ve only done it a couple of times, and both times it was over before I even got my shirt off.
I have to say—if that’s all there is to sex, I’m not impressed. It all seems rather…boring. Doing it in a bed, for instance—it seems like an invitation to go to sleep! Which is exactly what both guys did, by the way. Can’t people have sex in other places besides the bedroom?
Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not exciting enough to keep a
