Chapter 9
AN: Thanks so much for the reviews and the well-wishes...I am feeling a little better, but I am still not up to usual posting and review answering speed. Please forgive me; I'll get there!...Now, back to the show...
Penelope came home from her first show, dragging the still mostly full bag up the flight of stairs she had to get into her place. Tears were blinding her, and she stumbled and stubbed her toes on the step. She was very tempted to let the stupid bag roll to the bottom and crash, she hated those products that much.
The show—obviously—had not gone well.
Just as she reached the top of the stairs, her cell began to ring. It was Derek's ring, but she needed to get into her apartment to take some Aspirin before she talked to him. Her head was aching, her throat was sore, and she felt exhausted. If she hadn't felt perky all day before that miserable party, she'd have thought she was getting the flu.
The friendly little ditty that signaled Derek's call stopped. She took out her key, turned it in the lock, and as she was opening her door, the cell began to ring again.
"I'm coming, Hot Stuff," she growled to herself about her impatient best friend. "Keep your pants on…"
She shook her head as she felt her cheeks heat. She groaned; of all the phrasings she could think of at the moment! All these stupid toys had her thinking much dirtier than usual...and she already thought filthy most of the time.
She tossed the bag to the side, and it landed two feet from her. She gave it a kick for good measure, but then the bag began to buzz. Rolling her eyes, she dropped to her knees with a huff and unzipped the damned bag. While she was digging, her cell rang again—this time, signaling a text.
Finding the item—a leopard-print vibrator in a size that made her wince—she shut it off and grabbed her phone, pressing a button to make the screen light.
BG, r u ok?
Hitting number one on her speed dial, she didn't have to wait more than a second for him to answer.
"Woman, you okay? I wanted to find out about the show, and it's been over an hour…I worried about you," he said. He sounded almost angry, but she could hear the worry in his voice.
She felt kind of bad, then, for needing time to mope. It was a consequence of being in the FBI; they worried needlessly about each other when they missed a check in time.
"I'm fine, D," she said, hoping that her tone didn't sound thick, like she'd been crying, or at least that he wouldn't notice.
It hadn't helped.
"You been crying, honey?"
She sighed again, thinking. No such luck. Another great thing to add to her stellar night—worrying Derek needlessly.
"Just a little," she said. She could never lie to him. She was a lousy liar; he'd find out, and then there'd really be hell to pay.
"Why? What happened?" A second later, he asked, "Who did it?"
Penelope could hear the protective bulldog come out in Derek's voice, as if he were mentally sizing up the person who'd wronged her, so he could flatten them.
"Easy, killer," she replied. "It's nothing like that."
"What is it, then?" he questioned, but much more softly.
She grumbled. "It's nothing."
"Sweetheart," he said, so gently, it brought tears to her eyes again, "you were crying; that's definitely something."
She knew she was hesitating and felt awful because of it. She shared everything with Derek, but this...this really bothered her. She didn't exactly know why, but it did.
"Derek..."
"You want me to come over? I can bring some Chunky Monkey," he cajoled sympathetically.
"That's sweet, but no."
She didn't tell him she was late because she'd gotten a pint of Haagen-Daaz before she came home to make her feel better…and had cried while she'd eaten it in the car.
It hadn't worked.
"The show was bad, wasn't it?"
She almost gasped, and was immensely glad that she hadn't. "How—?"
"Baby, I know you," he said. "If the show had been wonderful, you would have been giggling, bragging about what an awesome sex toy saleslady you were."
"Well, it wasn't bad," she said honestly. "It was awful. An uber-disaster of colossal proportions."
"It couldn't have been—"
"One hundred eight freaking dollars," she said flatly. "I sold only one hundred and eight freaking dollars worth of stuff."
He was abnormally quiet, even for a man. She knew Derek had known how expensive this crap was...and how little one hundred eight dollars in sales had been. She didn't like shocking him into silence over this kind of thing. Other things, sure, but this...
When he did speak again, it wasn't what she had expected.
"Why?"
She frowned, even though he couldn't see her. "Why?"
"Yes," he said. "Why was your show unsuccessful?"
Why? How in the hell was she supposed to know why she stunk as a sex toy salesperson? If she knew the answer to that, she could fix it, and then—
Oh.
"Thanks, Oprah," she said sarcastically, "but I am not in the self-help mood at the moment."
"Baby Girl, there's a reason why, and you know what it is...if you think about it."
Her eyes filled with tears again. Yeah, she'd thought about it the whole impossibly long, bellyaching—that Haagen-Daaz did not sit well—car ride home. She had always thought she was sexy and sensual, always thought she had some skills in that department, but she knew now...she wasn't. She'd stood in front of the crowd of six women...and had frozen.
She had read the manual on how to have a good show, she had been an apt pupil and had practiced. She had even tried some stuff, but none of that seemed to help. She could barely talk. She dropped the dildos, she couldn't get the vibrators to go on the right way. She fumbled so badly with the items, when she did suggest something, the crowd didn't buy it.
In fact, when she suggested a couple's enhancer ring, one rather drunk, obnoxious woman had said to her friend in a stage whisper, "Like she would know how that would feel...she probably gets laid less than me!"
That had ended the party...and any fallacies she had about being a sexy goddess. Now having Derek make her face up to it...
She kind of disliked him right now!
"Derek, I'm—"
"You were damned nervous, that's what," he said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "You went there, all by yourself, to people you didn't know, and my angel baby was a nervous wreck."
She scoffed. "I wish! It was way more than that, Baby Boy. I screwed up."
"No, it wasn't, and no, you didn't," he said adamantly, and then he chuckled. "Hell, honey, if I had to do that by myself, I would be the same way. Nervous, selling one hundred and eight dollars worth of stuff...maybe less."
"I think the ones that did buy from me felt sorry for me," she grumbled again. "Derek, I was all thumbs. I lost my mojo. I was horrible."
"Uh uh, Baby Girl," he remarked, with a tsking sound to his voice. "Ain't no way I am believing that for a second. The woman I know that can light up a room with her smile, flirt with me until I blush, and bring me to my knees with her beauty lost her mojo? Oh, hell, no."
She smiled at that. No matter what, Derek supported her. She owed him that. "Thanks, love bug, but I did. You should've seen me; I was like Rain Man."
"Not my sexy girl." His disbelief was evident.
She laughed out loud. "Baby, I would've changed your mind. It was like I'd left all my sexiness in my other push up bra."
"If I'd been there," he countered, "I wouldn't have let you forget something that important."
She held the phone and grinned to herself. Yeah, Derek had a way of reminding her exactly how sexy she could be. He did that with all women—made them feel like they were the goddesses they were meant to be. She was just the head goddess of his harem, and she was fine with that!
"My push-up bra, or my sexiness?" she teased.
"Woman, you know what I meant."
"What would I do without you, my hunka hunka burnin' love?" she purred softly with a sigh of happiness.
His chuckle was low and pleased. "That's my girl. So when's your next show?"
Immediately, she froze again. Why did he have to bring that up again, just when she was feeling better?
"Oh, Derek..."
"Honey...that is not how I want to hear you moan my name," he chastised. "Now what's the problem?"
"You know the problem!"
"You are going to rock this next show, angel," he said confidently.
She grumbled, "Easy for you to say. You don't have to do the damned thing."
"Sure, I do...because I'm your co-host."