by Roz Lee
He fully understood his plan could backfire. Becky Jean could walk out and leave him there to woo customers all by himself, but he didn’t think she would. He needed it not to happen. If he had to subject himself to public ridicule, she would, too. They were partners, after all.
She placed her feet precisely over the X taped on the floor. “Let’s do this.”
Ford glanced at the clock. Less than a minute to airtime. He exchanged a look with Justin then turned his gaze on Becky Jean. “Hmm. Something is still not right.”
“Really? I look perfectly fine. Nobody’s going to be looking at me anyway.”
Oh, he begged to differ. Yes, the women would be looking at him most likely, but they’d be curious about Becky Jean. They weren’t just selling butt plugs, they were selling sex. And though he thought she oozed sex appeal no matter what she wore, present suit notwithstanding, the viewers, all two of them, he suspected, didn’t know his partner as well as he did. Therefore, something had to change.
“Which is why we need to do something different. No one wants to buy a butt plug from someone who looks like their ass is so tight nothing short of a jackhammer could drive a wedge of plastic up it.”
Color flooded her cheeks, and her mouth fell open in horror. Moving quickly, Ford reached for the top button on her blouse. Despite its tight-ass appearance, the fabric was the softest silk. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t mind feeling it slide against certain parts of his body. His fingers slipped, but he managed to release the top two buttons before Becky Jean recovered from his shocking statement. By then, it was too late. The fabric fell in a soft V from her collarbone to the top of her cleavage. Bedroom ready, he’d call the look. Perfect.
“On the air in Three. Two. One,” Justin counted down.
Ford faced the camera and plastered a smile on his face he’d used countless times to charm women out of their panties. Slipping his arm around Becky Jean’s waist, he tugged her to his side. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the ASS—The Adult Shopping Show. I’m K. Ford Adams, and this is my partner, B.J. Parker.” He smiled down at Becky Jean who looked sexy as sin with her cheeks flushed and her lips parted. He hoped the audience would interpret the anger simmering in her gaze for another sort of passion. Before she found her voice, Ford rushed on with the detailed instructions he’d memorized from the original script. Business was business, and the viewers, if they had any, needed to understand how the ordering process worked.
Keeping his arm snug across her back and his fingers digging into her hip, he ushered Becky Jean to the display table, talking to the camera all the way.
“B.J. and I want you to know every product we recommend has been tested by us and deemed worthy of adding to your bedroom collection. And all our products come with a money-back guarantee. If the product doesn’t live up to your expectations, simply return it for a full refund within thirty days of purchase.”
He stopped behind the draped table where an array of butt plugs lay artfully arranged to showcase the item from all angles. After the initial release, sales had warranted production of the plug in various sizes from a slim, beginner model to a fist-sized one for the more advanced ass-play crowd. Across the board, the line represented the lion’s share of their earnings.
“Tonight, we want to introduce you to a revolutionary new product—the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System.”
She was going to kill him. Right there on local television. Becky thanked heaven the projected viewership for the eleven-thirty-to-midnight time slot on the small regional cable network amounted to about a dozen people. With any luck, ten of those had already fallen asleep, leaving only two witnesses, and Justin, to convict her of murder.
Ford’s voice droned in her ears as he explained to the camera what made his butt plug better than all the others on the market. No one knew the item better than the man who had designed it, and his expertise came through in his confident tone of voice. Every woman out there would be hanging on his every honey-and-testosterone-laden word. As she’d suspected from the beginning, he didn’t need her. They were twenty minutes into the half-hour show, and she hadn’t uttered a single word.
“B.J., honey, you’ve tried the revolutionary new Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. Why don’t you tell the viewers what you thought of the product?”
What the hell? He didn’t really expect her to endorse his butt plug, did he?
Rage washed through her, making her see red. The two viewers who were still awake would know she’d tried not only his invention, but several of their competitors. She really was going to kill him, but first, she’d give him what he wanted.
“Go ahead, honey. How did it compare to others you’ve tried?”
Remembering her humiliation at having to call him to help her remove the plug, she smiled up at him. “I’d be happy to, Ford.” Facing the camera, she began. “Ladies, I have tried the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System, and let me tell you, the operative word here is ‘locking.’” She picked up the medium-sized sample and pointed the base toward the camera. “Justin, can you get a close-up of this, please?
“There, ladies. See how tiny the key is?” She looked into the camera lens. “We’ve all fumbled with trying to fit a key into a lock in the dark, and know how impossible it is even with a key the size of your car or house key. Now, imagine this product is in place, and you want to remove it. There is no way you’re getting this out on your own. Once it’s in, and the lock is engaged, it isn’t going anywhere until your partner inserts the key for you.”
“And, there you have it, folks!” Ford took the plug from her hand and held it up triumphantly. “A glowing testimonial from B.J. Parker! Thanks for watching, and remember, the number is 1-800-BUT-PLUG. We’re K. Ford Adams and B.J. Parker for the Adult Shopping Show, saying good night, and sleep tight. See you next week. Same time. Same channel.”
He tugged her close and planted a kiss on the top of her head just as Justin chirped from behind the control panel, “And, we’re out!”
Ford’s hand slid from where it rested on her hip, and she had to grab the table to steady herself. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been relying on him to keep her upright during the show.
“Great job, Ford. And, Ms. Parker, you were awesome!” Justin bounced with his enthusiasm.
“Are you insane?” She directed her tirade at Ford. “What happened to the script?”
“The teleprompter broke just before you got here. We figured you’d have a coronary, so we decided not to tell you and just wing it.”
“Wing it?” She might be irrational, but his winging it had gone too far. “How dare you tell the whole world I’ve tried the… the System?”
“I didn’t exactly tell the whole world, Becky Jean. You said it yourself. The viewership for this time slot is practically nothing. So what if two or three people know? None of them know you.”
“They might!” She stomped to the door and grabbed her jacket off the doorknob. Jamming her arms into the sleeves, she faced him. “What if my mother is one of the people who saw the show?”
He shrugged, and she looked around for something to throw at him. Seeing nothing she could easily pick up, she shook her head in frustration.
“For what it’s worth, Ms. Parker,” Justin piped up, “I thought it went very well. Better than rehearsal, and the sparks flying between you two was awesome. Heck, you had me wanting to call in, and I’ve already got the samples you gave me.”
“Thanks, Justin,” she said, ashamed she’d ranted at Ford in front of an employee. “I’m glad you found the spectacle entertaining.”
A knock sounded on the door. Becky spun around and opened it. The young woman she’d hired to work the switchboard overnight in case orders actually came in stood there with a worried look in her eyes. “Yes, Camille, what is it?”
“Ms. Parker, ma’am. Uh…. Could you maybe take a few calls? Kim and Lisa are answering calls as fast as they can, but people are hanging up.”
“People are calling in?” She couldn’t believe it. “How many calls have come in?”
“At least a hundred, and those are the ones I could answer. If this keeps up, you’re going to need a bigger switchboard and a lot more order takers.”
“We’ll be right there,” Ford said over Becky’s shoulder. “Can you patch calls into our offices?”
“Sure. Just let me know when you’re ready.” Becky stared at the girl’s retreating back.
“We’d better hustle. Justin, can you take a few calls, too?”
“Sure thing.” As the technician pushed past her, she thought she heard him say, “Who would have thunk it?”
She sure hadn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Whoowee!” Roseanne fanned herself. “Talk about hot. Your show was H.O.T. hot last night, girlfriend.”
“Please,” Becky pleaded across her friend’s kitchen table. “Can we not talk about the show?”
“Why ever not?” Roseanne plunked two sweaty glasses of iced tea on the table to go with the chicken salad sandwiches she’d prepared for their weekly lunch date. “You are gorgeous, always have been, and Ford… well, he’s about the sexiest thing to ever come out of this little town. But the two of you together? Bam! The chemistry between you two is explosive.”
Becky lifted the slice of homemade multi-grain bread to examine the chunky chicken goodness underneath. Two lengthwise pickle slices, also homemade, topped the mound, just the way she liked it. For someone who’d never had any culinary training, Roseanne had become a fabulous cook. “You saw rage, not lust. You are right about one thing—there was almost an explosion. I came within an inch of blowing my top, right there on set.”
“Really? Do tell, my friend.”
Becky replaced the bread on her sandwich with a sigh. The crazy number of orders that came in overnight had gone a long way toward calming her anger. Ford had been right, but damn if she would admit it to him. However, she could tell Roseanne. As they downed their sandwiches and cold drinks, she told her friend what had transpired the night before.
“But the show went off without a hitch, or so it appeared from my end,” Roseanne said.
“If sales are any indication, then you’re right. We’re looking at adding more phone lines to handle the calls.”
Her friend shook her head. “I still can’t believe you sell sex toys for a living. What does your mother think about it?”
Becky shrugged. “She almost had a heart attack when I told her, but she’d rather me sell sex toys than move to Dallas, or farther away, to find a job.”
“Your mother always has been the practical sort.”
“Yeah, she is. However, she’s still after Colin to get a regular job.” She curled her fingers into air quotes around the word regular.
“How’s your brother doing? Is he still playing at that club in Nashville?”
Becky’s younger brother, Colin, had never been interested in going to college—much to their parent’s disappointment. Right out of high school he’d packed his belongings and the guitar he’d made in eighth grade woodshop into the beat-up truck he’d saved all his life for and struck out for the bright lights of Nashville. Determined to make it as a country singer/songwriter, he’d lived like a pauper for years before obtaining a measure of success shortly before their father’s passing.
Becky rose to place her empty plate and glass in the sink then leaned against the counter. She needed to go back to the office but was reluctant to do so. “Yeah. He signed a record contract earlier this year. According to him, he’s on his way to stardom. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“That would sure be something, wouldn’t it?” Roseanne placed her dishes in the sink, too. “Tell him I said hi, next time you talk to him.”
“I will. He says he misses Butte Plains, wants to live here when he makes it big. But for the time being, Nashville is his home.”
“Well, I hope all his dreams come true. If talent is what it takes, he’s got it in spades.”
Becky couldn’t argue with her assessment. Her brother had always been gifted when it came to music. He was a genius with wood, too. She counted among her most prized possessions a jewelry box he’d made for her in high school. If music didn’t work out for him, he could easily make a living as a craftsman. “I’ll tell him you said so,” she said, heading for the back door. “Thanks for lunch, and for letting me rant. Same time next week?”
Back in her office, Becky sat at her desk doing her best to stay awake when a blur of pink breezed past her door leaving the faint scent of gardenias behind. Even when her husband had run the company, Helen Adams had been an infrequent visitor to the plant, but she’d been there enough times for Becky to recognize her, even if her unique perfume didn’t give her away.
“Ford Adams!” Yep, Helen Adams had arrived, and she wasn’t happy. Scandalous news spread faster than a brush fire in Butte Plains. “Tell me what I just heard at the Dippity Do isn’t true.”
Becky imagined her partner leaning back in the new ergonomic desk chair he’d insisted on purchasing. This one didn’t creak the way his father’s had, but she’d committed Ford’s new mannerisms to memory. Sometimes having a steel-trap mind could be a liability.
“Good to see you, too, Mom. Have a seat.” Ford’s voice carried through their open office doors.
She didn’t envy her partner the job ahead, but it had been his decision to not tell his mother about her precarious financial situation or fill her in when things began to turn around. Ford’s days of withholding information had come to an end.
“What is the meaning of this, Ford? Do you have any idea what they’re saying about Adams Manufacturing?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” She couldn’t miss the frustration in Ford’s voice.
“Is it true? Are we making…?”
“Sex toys? Yes, we are. And we’re making a lot of money. Money we desperately need.”
Becky experienced a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping on the conversation, but she wouldn’t miss this for the world. Mrs. Adams owned 50 percent of the company. If she pushed Ford to sell her portion immediately, which could be done since her husband hadn’t imposed any restrictions on what she did with her shares, everything they’d worked for would be lost—just as it appeared they might survive the year.
Becky had never envisioned herself selling sex toys, but she had imagined bringing Butte Plains back to life, and she could see it slowly happening—all because Ford Adams had designed and built a revolutionary sex toy. Since they’d first begun production of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System, they’d tripled the number of people they employed, and many were locals who had been out of work for years. This morning, she’d approved the hiring of a dozen more phone operators. The print shop making the headers and instruction sheets for their product packaging had recently expanded into a larger building and doubled their workforce. Their success was a perfect example of a trickle-down economy in action.
She had to give her partner credit, he didn’t mince words with his mother, telling her straight out about the condition he’d found the company in, mentioning that desperate times had called for desperate measures. When she argued the indecency of their products, he argued the indecency of bankruptcy court and seeing his mother move to an apartment complex and flip burgers to pay the rent. Mrs. Adams quieted down after the reality check. Becky’s heart hurt for the woman who, other than burying her husband, had never suffered a hardship in her life.
When other women of her generation were out making their own way in the world, Helen Adams had chosen the path of wife, mother, and social butterfly, relying on her husband to provide for her. If the threat of destitution didn’t scare her straight, nothing would do it.
Becky crept to the door to better hear the woman’s response.
“But really, Ford. You said it yourself—the company is doing better, so can’t we go back to producing decent products?”
“No, we can’t.” H
e patiently explained the shift in the market to cheaper imported goods, as well as the decline in demand for the products they’d been making for the last several decades. Then he reminded her of the ways the company had adapted over the last century, pointing out this latest change to be one more of those shifts. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here and do this, Mom. I planned to sell the company from the beginning, but there’s no market for a dying industrial plant. To be honest, if Dad hadn’t insisted the plant had to operate for a year before I could sell my portion, I would have been gone months ago.”
“Why on earth would you want to sell?”
“I think it’s the only solution. Scott and I worked hard to get where we are. He’s been great about me being here, but I’m neglecting my partnership with him. I need to get back before he loses patience with me.”
“Adams Manufacturing is your legacy. I can’t believe you would consider selling it.”
Go, Mom!
“I don’t see any other choice. There’s nothing for me here.”
“I’m nothing?”
“You know that’s not what I mean. This town has been dying for ages.”
Rustling fabric and the casters on Ford’s chair rolling across the rubber mat alerted her to the mother and son standing. Becky hustled back to her desk and ducked her head, pretending to read the report in front of her. A narrow band of pink appeared along the edge of her doorway where his mother had stopped.
“I don’t know if I can ever hold my head up in this town again anyway. Maybe I’ll go with you when you go back to New York.”
“You know you’re welcome to come live with me in New York or anywhere else I might go, but this is your home. Your friends are here.”
“I can make new friends, but you’re the only son I’ve got.”
Becky held her breath as the older woman stormed past her door. She’d had enough experience with parental guilt to make her feel a little sorry for Ford. His mother wouldn’t make it easy for him to walk away from what she perceived as his familial obligation. But, unlike Becky, Ford would never cave to his mother’s wishes. He’d be out of Butte Plains on the next bus if he found a buyer today.
