The Sexpert

by JA Huss

  Smug.

  Do I? Or am I making that up?

  Oh, no. No. I’m definitely smiling.

  Jesus. Was I happy that morning? I honestly don’t recall smiling like that.

  There’s no footage of Eden at this point. No one was looking at her while Pierce was doing his little act up on stage. But as soon as he says Myrtle’s name, a camera goes looking for her. Finds her. She’s laughing it off while Eden… Eden is horrified.

  The goons appear and start dragging Myrtle away, but I catch a glimpse of Eden, who is not watching Myrtle, but staring up at the stage.

  At me, I realize.

  The angle flashes back to the stage to find Pierce’s reaction. He looks… devastated. And I look… holy shit.

  Am I laughing? What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Eden makes her way up on stage and the whole thing changes, the focus no longer on Myrtle’s valiant attempt to beat the shit out of her security detail as she’s led up the aisle to be booted from the company, and now it’s all directed to Eden’s speech on stage.

  I’m standing next to her. In the very same spot I started out in next to Pierce. And again… I’m smiling. Like this whole thing is my proudest moment.

  I blink at me on the screen.

  Unable to recognize myself.

  Holy shit. No wonder she blocked me.

  My self-righteous gloating is… sad.

  Who are you, Andrew Hawthorne?

  What have you become?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - EDEN

  I go home after the morning-show interview. Which may not sound like a big deal but it is because I’ve been at Zoey’s house since the whole Sexpert débacle happened eleven days ago and aside from the one trip home to my dad’s for dinner (and dessert, of course) we’ve pretty much been hermits. We just put our heads down and forgot all about the threats, nasty comments, and opportunities that were never meant to be.

  We put our heads down and we worked. We worked our asses off.

  Because we realized something while we were having dinner with my dad.

  We make our own opportunities. We don’t need permission from anyone to make a new opportunity. And even if Pierce’s lawyers rip us apart in court and take the Sexpert away, it won’t matter. We’re going to make sure of it.

  So we’ve been making a lot of changes. For one, we have a website now—courtesy of her mad design skills. And two—well, the URL of that website isn’t Sexpert.com.

  And ya know, ya’d think that after a whole month of unexpected beginnings and middles, I’d be prepared for the unexpected ending as well.

  But it was a very sweet surprise.

  I take the elevator up to the second floor because I’m hauling my overnight bag of dirty clothes and a stack of pink bakery boxes filled with sweet, delicious desserts, for research, of course.

  The elevator dings and I get out, smiling at the other people in the elevator when I exit. God, what a difference eleven days make. When I was here last I was a broken mess. My heart aching for the love that was never meant to be.

  I’m over that now.

  I’m focused, hopeful, and one hundred percent ready for the future.

  Now if I could only get my key card out of my purse—

  “Here. Let me take those for you.”

  And then the bakery boxes are lifted out of my hands into the waiting ones of… Pierce Chevalier.

  “You,” I say, all my Zen bullshit flying out the window. “You,” I seethe again. “What are you doing here? If you think you’re gonna threaten me again, well, buddy, let me just school you in what’s gonna happen next—“

  “Hey, wait a minute. I’m not here to threaten you, Eden.”

  “Oh, so now you know my name!”

  Pierce is a handsome man. And he’s got a very charming smile. Which he unleashes on me right now as he shuffles the boxes into one hand and places the other over his heart in a gesture that makes my heart ache because I think about Andrew crossing his heart with promises. “You’re quite unforgettable. I will never make that mistake again.”

  I huff out a breath of air that sends my hair flying up and my glasses sliding down my nose. But I’m not in the mood to push them back into place. Because I have things to say to this man. “You know what my motto is, Pierce?”

  “Uh… Eat dessert first?”

  “When things get hard, I work harder.” But I kinda like his motto too. I might have to revise.

  “Look, I’m here to apologize. And if you’ll just invite me in, I swear, you won’t regret it.”

  Now I do push my glasses up my nose. “Don’t be so sure, mister. I’m still pretty upset about things.” Which is only half true. I mean… I really did find my inner Zen, even if I lost it for a second there. But I feel obliged to play this part with him.

  Pierce places a hand over his mouth, trying to hide a chuckle, I think. Which kinda pisses me off all over again, because I get the feeling this guy doesn’t take me seriously. But then he says, “Please. Eden. Five minutes of your time. I promise to make those minutes as sweet as the desserts inside these boxes.”

  “Five. Minutes,” I growl, turning to flash my key card at my door lock. “I’m a very busy businesswoman.”

  I don’t look back at him, but I think he’s chuckling again.

  I open the door and wave him in, but he says, “After you.”

  So I go inside and… sigh. I’m kinda glad to be home. I mean hanging out with Zoey and baby Stevie was fun and super productive, but I missed this place.

  It’s home now. Even though the main reason I moved here is gone, I still feel like my future is in the TDH.

  “Should I put these in your kitchen?” Pierce asks. But then he kinda squints his eyes at my tiny kitchenette and looks around for another option.

  “Just give them to me,” I say, letting my overnight bag thump to the floor next to the bathroom door. “I’ve got to put them in the fridge so the frosting doesn’t go bad.”

  He looks at my apartment-sized refrigerator, then back at my stack of pink boxes, and spends about five seconds wondering how I’m gonna do that.

  I just take the boxes from him and open the fridge door.

  It’s kinda packed with old take-out containers, and I’m trying to balance the pastries on my hip as I rearrange things, when Pierce comes over and starts clearing space for me.

  I watch him sniff the containers, and then unceremoniously throw them in the trash. “So listen,” he says, moving on to reorganizing my condiments. “First of all. Andrew—“

  “I don’t want to talk about him. OK? So if you’re here on his behalf, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna ask you to leave. I’ve moved on, he’s moved on…” And then I just get sad, so I shut up and start placing the boxes inside the fridge.

  “OK,” Pierce says, checking the expiration date on the ranch dressing. “That’s not really why I’m here. I’m here to make you an offer.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m not interested.”

  “You didn’t even hear it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The Sexpert was our idea and we don’t care how many threats you throw at us, my dad has a lawyer who said he’d help us for free if we needed it, and we’ll use him if we have to. We will.”

  My dad does have a lawyer friend, and he did say he’d help us for free, but he’s like some kind of estate planning guy. Still, it sounds good in the moment.

  “There’s not going to be any lawsuits.”

  “There’s not?”

  “No. I’ve… I’ve decided... When did you come up with the idea?”

  “When? Like two years ago. I didn’t steal your idea, Pierce.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “How?”

  “I know.”

  OK. Fine. He can be mysterious. Just as long as he doesn’t sue me.

  “I know it was your idea first,” he emphasizes again. “And you know what?”

  “What?”<
br />
  “It was a damn good one.”

  I smile. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  He nods. “And I think your take on sex is something special.”

  “You do?” I say, sniffing a little because I must’ve left the AC on in here when I left and it’s freezing.

  “Desserts. It’s kinda perfect. I mean… yeah. Just perfect.”

  “Well, thank you,” I say. “That part was all me. Well, no. Zoey was all, ‘We need a schtick. A thing. And your cupcakes are fantastic.’ And she was right. I do have the most fabulous cupcake recipe. So at first—“

  “Wait.” He laughs. “You came up with this because”—and then he looks over at my giant cupcake picture over my bed—“because you actually bake the perfect cupcakes?”

  “Yeah. My dad owns a bakery and I’ve been working in there since I was six. All those pink boxes? Those are my desserts we sell at our store. As I said. I’ve moved on. We’re keeping the Sexpert because, well… it’s just too lucrative to let it go. But we’re moving into consulting.”

  “You are?” Pierce raises an eyebrow. “What kind of consulting?”

  “You don’t need to know that. And before you make me an offer to take the Sexpert off our hands, my answer is still no. It’s ours.”

  His hand goes to the slight shadow of stubble on his chin. Like he’s thinking about this. And then he says, “How many clients do you have?”

  “Plenty,” I say. Which is a lie. We have my dad’s bakery and that’s it. But one is better than none. And I don’t owe Pierce an answer anyway. “Plenty,” I say again.

  “Well, I’m only asking because I’m actually in the process of hiring some marketing consultants. Is that what you consult about?”

  “Yes,” I say. “We’re social media experts.”

  He smiles. And I do admit, that smile is super charming. “You know, you might not’ve heard, but my social media expert quit last week.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Yup. She did. We kinda pissed her off. We’re very sorry about that, by the way. In case you’re worried about her. Very sorry. But that means I need to hire someone else—“

  “No way. I’m not working for you again. You didn’t even know who I was last month. And I’m tired of stupid Gretchen stealing my ideas and then taking them up to you, pretending they’re hers. It’s bullshit.”

  “Total bullshit,” Pierce says.

  “I was the one who came up with the idea to repurpose articles so your stupid magazine could compete with my Sexpert. Did you know that?” I don’t wait for an answer, because I’ve been wanting to say all this to Pierce ever since I started working at Le Man and was forced to deal with Gretchen’s dictatorship because I had no choice. “And I was the one who retitled all your dumb blog posts and got them delicious graphics. Me. And Gretchen was thwarting me at every step. She actually ordered me not to do that. So. No. I don’t want your job. I’m a businesswoman. Not some cheap, entry-level hashtag maker.”

  “Wow,” he says.

  “Wow what?”

  “I can totally see why Andrew is so devastated about losing you.”

  “Yeah,” I snarl. “He should be! Oh, hey, wait a minute… did you say he’s devastated?”

  I allow myself a moment of hope. Because after rewatching that day on film… that smile he was smiling as my world was falling apart… Well, that was some real eye-opening shit right there. I’d given up on him. I figured he was just one of those asshole guys.

  But that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss him. Or what I thought we had.

  I do.

  And if he’s devastated, I mean, that’s a strong word.

  “Devastated,” Pierce reiterates.

  “But he was so happy about busting me.”

  “It’s my fault,” he says. “It’s all my fault.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m like a… king. And I just unknowingly project this incredible sense of loyalty. Some say it’s in my genes. My family history. Or maybe my father’s corporate holdings, but I like to think it’s just part of my charm.”

  I think he’s serious. So I don’t laugh. “And that has what to do with Andrew?”

  “First, the offer. Because one has nothing to do with the other. OK? You can take my offer and it’s got nothing to do with Andrew. Or you can tell me to fuck off, because God knows, I deserve that. But that will not affect anything you do with Andrew going forward. So hear me out for a second?”

  I shrug one shoulder and say, “Fine. Make your offer.”

  “I need a marketing consultant. And when I say need, Eden, I mean it. I need someone to help me. To partner with me. Because if I don’t do something creative, something innovative, something that can capture the attention of men the way you did… well, I’m done. That’s all there is to it. This magazine was my one chance to prove to my father that I was capable and worthy. And I’m failing.” He throws up his hands and says it again. “I’m failing. And I need help. I need your help.”

  It’s my turn to say, “Wow.”

  “Dramatic? Maybe. But all true. So… I was gonna offer you your job back—“

  “No!”

  “—before I came over here and you told me about your new business. But now… Eden… Can I… Will you… let me be one of your clients? Please?” He holds his hand together like he’s praying. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

  I scrutinize him. Because this feels too good to be true. And since when do kings say pretty please? “What about the Sexpert?”

  “She’s yours.” And then he laughs. “No, like literally, she’s you. It doesn’t matter if I get the name. The Sexpert is all you. You earned it. And…” He does a little bow, his hand waving around in that little flourish thing hands do when people bow. “And well done, sugar princess. Well done. You win.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and breathe through my nose as I take this all in. “OK,” I say. “You send us an offer in writing and my partner and I will discuss it.”

  A smile creeps up his face until it’s wide and his eyes are sparkling with hope.

  Wow. I thought I knew how all this was gonna end, but it just goes to show you… a new day can bring anything.

  “Now about Andrew and how that was all my fault.”

  My heart speeds up again. Because I know I’m gonna lose this battle. No one gets two good things in one day.

  Example A. The day I met Andrew on the freeway and the Sexpert went viral.

  So I’m expecting something pretty terrible to come out of the second half of our conversation.

  But I listen to Pierce tell his side of the story anyway. Andrew’s side. And hear what he’s saying. He tells me of their shared past, and what they mean to each other, and we sit down on my stupid tiny loveseat and have tea and cupcakes.

  It’s weird, I think. Just so weird how just when you’re ready to move on and let the old things go, the old can still surprise you.

  And by the time Pierce is done telling his story and he’s kissing my hand and thanking me for a lovely afternoon, I’m planning one last Sexpert video.

  Because I might just get to have my cake and eat it too.

  Sexpert Advice

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - ANDREW

  “Andrew, thank you, the Director is very happy.” That’s Carrie from Justice. I finally stopped dodging her calls and emails and had Dev deliver the app to the government.

  “Don’t thank me. It’s all Dev.”

  “Is he there?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Hey, Carrie.”

  “Dev, great job.”

  “Thanks. Sorry it took a minute. We needed to make certain all the bugs were worked out.” He raises his eyebrows at me as if to say, We didn’t really, but my boss was preoccupied with a girl and he didn’t want to know the truth about her because he unexpectedly fell for her and didn’t want to have to choose between her and his friend, and besides, we weren’t going to tell you that we were planning on using ta
xpayer money to run voice recognition on a pair of boobs on the internet anyway.

  Maybe that’s not exactly what his raised eyebrows are trying to say to me, but it’s along those lines, I feel like.

  “So, Carrie,” I start.

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t be asking, but you guys are just gonna use this for, like, surveillance and to, y’know, ID potential terrorist activity and stuff, right?”

  There’s a long pause before she says, “What else would we use it for?”

  “I dunno. What else would you use it for?”

  “Andrew, you’re not implying that we would spy on US citizens, are you?”

  “I dunno. Is that an implication I should be making?”

  Another long pause.

  Finally, “Don’t be silly.”

  “Oooooo-kay,” I say.

  “Seriously, Andrew, don’t worry. You’ve done a good thing and you’ve helped your country. Just go take a swim in your private pool and sleep easy tonight knowing you’re one of the good guys.”

  “How do you know I have a private—?” But she hangs up. And while that should be the most disturbing part of her sentence, the part that actually upsets me is that she called me “one of the good guys.” Because, as much as I try to be and as much as I really want to be, I’m not sure I am right now.

  “Well, that was fucking creepy,” says Dev.

  “Yup.”

  “OK, well, cool. I’m glad that’s done. I wanna get back to playing around with Theme-Attack.” (It’s a thing that takes the rhythms of your own vocal patterns and converts it into musical notes so that you have your own, personalized theme song. It’s pretty cool. But...)

  “We gotta come up with a new name,” I say.

  “I like it. Thematic, Theme-Attack, I think it works.”

  “It’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, is it worse than AVATAR?”

  “I wish I had never told you about that.”

  “Hey, man,” he says, rounding my desk and slapping my knee, “I love that you were once a young, idealistic artist. I think it’s sweet.”