Chapter 1

I was still in bed recovering from Christmas, when the phone rang.

On the other end of the line, I heard the roar of a chain saw.

No, on second thought it was the voice of my boss, Kitty Keough.

"Get your coat, Sweet Knees," she squawked. "And get your ass into the city right away. I need you to cover a fashion show that starts in less than an hour."

"Kitty," I said, "I could use a little more warning when it comes to assignments."

"Oh, barf," she shouted in the same dulcet tones as before. "Are you whining? Because nobody's going to kiss your tiara in the newspaper business, honey. You want to stay at home and count silver spoons? Or you want to get paid this week?"

I could hear the blare of traffic in the background and figured she was phoning from a taxi that careened through the snowy streets of Philadelphia, speeding Kitty to a high-society party that somehow outrivaled the assignment she was tossing over her shoulder to me. No doubt her brassy blond hair was blowing in the wind and she was whipping her driver with the moth-eaten feather boa she carried to formal events in the misguided belief that it lent glamour to her appearance. "Quit playing footsie with the Mafia Prince and get your butt in gear."

"He's not—" I stopped myself from giving her further ammo to use against me and reached for a pen. "All right, give me the details."

Which is why I threw a fur coat over my nightgown, slipped on a pair of Chanel boots and headed out for an evening that promised to be legendary. It was go, or lose my job.

And oh, baby, I needed the job.

I applied lipstick and three coats of mascara while my sister drove into Philadelphia. Michael had other business to tend, so I'd called Libby to go with me. On the way, she told me about her new business venture.

"Donald Trump says a successful entrepreneur has to be passionate about what she does," she informed me as she fearlessly drove her minivan through the snow.

"What does that mean?"

"So I found my passion. My greatest wish is to electrify the romantic relationships of everyone I know."

"Electrify? Sounds like you're selling vibrators."

"At Potions and Passions, we call them intimacy aids."

I nearly scratched my cornea with the mascara wand. "You're kidding, right?"

"Adult products are a booming business! I'm an official Potions and Passions consultant now. I get my first shipment of sex toys this week. Except we're supposed to say erotic enhancements." With a charmingly demented smile, she asked, "Don't you want to know what the buzz is about?"

While she laughed, full of delight and adventure, I said, "Libby, why couldn't you pay off your Christmas debt by going to work as a telemarketer or something? You could sell lawn mowers to bedouins!"

"I'm not passionate about lawn mowers. I am passionate about sex."

Copyright © 2005 by Nancy Martin