Bosses With Benefits: A Reverse

Harem Romance Cassie Cole

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 Contents
Title
Copyright
Books by Cassie Cole
1 - Ginny
2 - Michael
3 - Ginny
4 - Ginny
5 - Michael
6 - Ginny
7 - August
8 - Ginny
9 - Ginny
10 - Ginny
11 - Ginny
12 - Kai
13 - Ginny
14 - Ginny
15 - Kai
16 - Michael
17 - Ginny
18 - Ginny
19 - Michael
20 - Ginny
21 - Ginny
22 - August
23 - Ginny
24 - Ginny
25 - Ginny
26 - Ginny
27 - Kai
28 - Ginny
29 - Michael
30 - Michael
31 - Ginny
32 - Ginny
33 - Ginny
34 - Kai
35 - Ginny
36 - Ginny
37 - Ginny
38 - Ginny
39 - Kai
40 - Ginny
41 - Ginny
42 - August
43 - Ginny
44 - Ginny
45 - Kai
46 - Michael
47 - Michael
48 - Ginny
49 - Ginny
50 - Kai
51 - Michael
52 - August
53 - Ginny
54 - Michael
55 - Ginny
56 - Kai
57 - Ginny
58 - Ginny
59 - Ginny
Epilogue
Bonus Chapter
Sneak Peek - Nanny for the Mercenaries
About the Author
Bosses With Benefits
 Copyright © 2023 Juicy Gems Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any
form without prior consent of the author.
Edited by Gail Gentry

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www.cassiecoleromance.com
Books by Cassie Cole
Standalone Novels
Bosses With Benefits
Nanny for the Mercenaries
Shared by the Billionaires
Nanny for the Santas
Nanny for the Firemen
Nanny for the SEALs
Shared by the Cowboys
Nanny for the Billionaire
Her Lucky Charm
Naughty Resolution
Unwrapped
Frostbitten
Snowbound
Hail Mary
Extra Credit
Nanny With Benefits
Triple Play
Tiger Queen
The Study Group
Undercover Action
Trained At The Gym
Christmas Package
The Naughty List
Smolder
Sealed With A Kiss
Full Contact
The Proposition
Saved by the SEALs
Shared by her Bodyguards
Triple Team
All In
Five Alarm Christmas
Drilled
Broken In

Pyromancer’s Path
Warrior’s Wrath
Mage’s Mercy
Tinker’s Trial
Ranger’s Risk
Shadow’s Savior
 1

Ginny

I was the latest example in a long history of sex workers.

That’s not to say I was a prostitute. God, no! That’s an important distinction that I want to make
very clear. Not that there’s anything wrong with prostitution. As long as the woman (or man, as the
case may be) has total agency over the decisions they make with their body, and aren’t being coerced
or exploited, then hey, go wild. Do whatever you want. When done right, prostitution is great. But it’s
not what I did.
I was an OnlyFans model.
It was nine o’clock on a Sunday night, and I had just gone through my typical pre-show routine. I
took a long, hot bath. I shaved my legs. I selected one of the outfits from my closet to wear—tonight I
was going with a black teddy with Venice lace, a playful satin bow in the front, and garters connected
to black stockings. The routine had become something like a religious ritual. Swapping one persona
for another. The transition into my naughty Mr. Hyde.
Completing the routine, I pinned my hair back and donned a long, red wig. When I was done, I
examined myself in the standing mirror in the corner. I looked like a slightly curvier version of
Jessica Rabbit.
I nodded at my reflection. “It’s showtime.”
My bedroom looked like a studio. Well, I guess it really was a studio. I had a Neewer Professional
Softbox Kit, which was a series of four stand-lights attached to umbrellas to make sure the lighting
wasn’t too harsh. My Razer Kiyo high-resolution webcam was mounted on a tripod facing the bed,
and behind it was my computer desk with two ultra-wide monitors. Altogether, my setup cost about
five grand, and that’s not counting the drawer full of toys that I used. But as someone smarter than me
once said, you had to spend money to make money.
And let me tell you: I made a lot of money doing this.
I used a remote to turn on my feed, and a red light on the webcam appeared. I had the feed
displayed on one of my monitors, which allowed me to make sure everything was perfectly centered
and working properly. I laid sideways on the bed in a casual position. Like this was how I normally
spent my evenings, rather than being meticulously planned for the feed.
I hit another button on my remote to enable the online stream. Instantly, the three hundred and forty-
nine viewers who were in the lobby were connected to the stream. On my second monitor, their typed
comments filled the chat log.
“Hi everyone,” I said in a sultry voice. “Thanks for tuning in tonight. I was just getting
comfortable…”
 I stretched on the bed, arching my back a little bit. Showing off my curves. I knew all the angles that
best emphasized my assets, and I was well-practiced at showing them off for the camera. I finished
stretching and rolled over onto my belly, then pushed up until I was on my hands and knees. Then I
raised up into a kneeling position, and tossed my hair dramatically.
“Do you like what I’m wearing?” I asked. Seconds later, their responses flowed into the chat log.
“So fucking sexy”
“I love the teddy”
“Show us the back”
“Your tits look amazing in it”
“I liked the corset yesterday more”
“Hot”
“Damn bby u always wear the hottest lingerie”
“Mmm”
“GOD DAMN”
“I like you better without anything on”
“I’m so hard right now”
“That would go great with the red stockings”
“Am I late? Did I miss anything?”
“Bend over facing the camera”
“Amazing”
“Woooooow”
“Hurry up and get to the good part”
“Vry sexy”
I only glanced at the messages. They didn’t matter right now. I was just getting started. Foreplay
was important in sex, and it was every bit as important in this business.
I pressed another button on my remote, and soft music began playing. I slid off the bed and began
gyrating like a stripper, showing off the outfit from every angle. Giving the viewers a little taste of
what was to come. The comments were going wild now, as I hoped.
As I danced a little bit, my computer made a barely-noticeable “cha-ching” sound. Like a cash
register. That was the sound that played whenever I received a tip from one of my viewers.
I made money on OnlyFans in several different ways. First, fans had to pay a monthly subscription
fee to “follow” me. This subscription fee varied wildly depending on the model—some charged as
much as a hundred bucks a month! But that wasn’t my strategy. I kept my subscription fee very low:
just $1.99 per month. About the cost of a Coke at a convenience store. That gave fans access to most
of the videos I posted, which they could watch whenever they wanted, as often as they liked.
But in addition to those videos, I had “premium” videos that had to be purchased on a pay-per-
view basis. I charged $9.99 a pop for these because they’re usually more explicit. For example, the
free videos might show me dancing around in lingerie, and maybe go topless. In the premium videos, I
would get completely nude. I would play with myself, and with toys. Masturbation videos sold really
well. I had a lot of those in my online portfolio.
Then there were live shows, like the one I was doing tonight. Subscribers could pay $19.99 and
watch the feed live. They could leave comments for me to see in real-time, and make suggestions.
Sometimes I listened, which gave viewers even more incentive to tune in to live shows in the future.
On top of that, users could send me an individual tip if they liked the show. If someone tipped more
than ten bucks, I would acknowledge them by name.
“Nice tip, LakersFan69,” I said when one such tip flashed on my computer screen. “Thanks for
tuning in, baby. I hope you like the rest of the show even more.”
There was one final way in which I made money: special requests. Before a show, users could
submit a private request to me for a certain price. These varied wildly: some were as innocent as
wanting me to moan their name, while others strayed into weird fetish territory. One guy paid me
$200 to paint my toenails cherry red in front of the camera. Easy money. Some girls would write their
fans’ names on their boobs. I thought that was kind of weird, so I never did that. But I did have a
special request in store for tonight’s show that someone had paid me $1,000 for. That’s right:
someone was giving me a thousand freaking dollars to do something on camera.
“Is everyone having a nice evening?” I asked. “I’m feeling pretty randy tonight, if I’m being
honest.” I laid back on the bed, spread my legs a little bit, and let my fingers drift down to my panties.
A flurry of cha-ching tip noises came from my computer.
Yeah, you’re probably judging me right now. I get it. But let me emphasize: this kind of work pays
so much money. Stupid money. Life-changing money.
Like most people, I was only vaguely familiar with OnlyFans until recently. It was something on the
internet related to porn, and that was about as far as I cared. I was busy trying to make rent with my
crappy minimum-wage job while taking finance classes at night at the local community college.
But then I read an article in the New York Times about a woman who was paying her way through
medical school by doing OnlyFans once a week. According to the article, she was making ten grand
per month, and that was while only submitting one video a week. A few hours of work for the
equivalent of a six-figure salary.
I was skeptical at first. But I was curious enough to start doing research. There were plenty of
examples of women making serious cash while doing this as a hobby. And those who turned it into a
full-time job were sometimes making millions. It felt like I had stumbled upon a gold mine, and all I
needed to do was grab a pickaxe and start swinging.
Surely there was no way I would make serious cash doing this, I thought. All the top earners were
porn stars, or amateurs who looked like supermodels. I was just a random twenty-three year old
woman who couldn’t afford to go to college. There was another hiccup: I had no interest in showing
my face on camera. The last thing I wanted was for explicit videos to pop up whenever a potential
employer Googled my name. Because of that, it took me a while to work up the courage to give
OnlyFans a try. Months went by while I slaved away making minimum wage—which, in New
Mexico, was $11.50 an hour. Do you know how many hours it takes at minimum wage to pay for my
monthly car payment? Twenty-five hours. That’s too many hours!
Then, one night after a particularly awful shift at my job, I took the plunge. I swung by a Halloween
store on the way home and bought a cheap mask and a red wig. I arranged my laptop on the edge of
my desk with the built-in webcam facing my bed. Next—and this is the most important step, by far—I
got wine-drunk on a four dollar bottle of chardonnay. And when I was good and sloshed, I stripped
down to my birthday suit and took a bunch of photographs in scandalous positions. I even took a few
videos of me dancing around, bending over in front of the camera, and lightly touching myself.
Nothing crazy. Then, before I could change my mind, I created an OnlyFans account and uploaded the
best photos and videos.
I woke up feeling like I had been run over by a dump truck. Cheap wine gives the worst hangovers.
I immediately regretted what I had done, and quickly logged on so I could hopefully delete my
account and pretend like none of this had happened.
But then I saw that I had four subscribers. Just four, enough to count on one hand. And at $4.99
each, that netted me just under twenty bucks. Per month. For about half an hour of work.
If I were a cartoon character, big dollar signs would have replaced my eyeballs in that moment.
That was two months ago, and I now had over three hundred subscribers, but I still remember those
first four guys by name. Their screen names, at least. Sometimes, I wished I could send them each a
thank-you letter for leading me toward a path to financial freedom. I had invested a lot of equipment
into the venture since that first drunken foray. All the tech equipment I already mentioned, plus a
closet and three dresser drawers dedicated only to lingerie. I upgraded my wig along the way, trading
in the five dollar costume accessory for an elegant Daniel Alain crimson wig that cost just under two
thousand dollars. Which, for those keeping score, would have taken me nearly two hundred hours to
afford on my minimum-wage job.
“We’ve got a special treat for some of our viewers tonight,” I said in a sultry voice. A voice I never
would have imagined using two months ago. “A new toy. And it has a very special name on it.”
I rose from the bed and went over to my drawer. The sex toy that I pulled out could only be
described as military grade. It was a huge dildo, nearly the proportions of a can of Pringles. It was
also green, a shade that no natural penis could ever hope to achieve. No healthy penis, I should say.
The cha-ching noises from the computer intensified as I showed it off for the camera like Vanna
White.
“This thing is massive,” I said with fake awe. “I’m told it’s a replica of…” I twisted the dildo to
show the side where a name was written in black marker. “Spencer Gilroy. Spencer, you’re a gifted
boy! Let’s put this guy to the test…” I returned to the bed and began rubbing the tip of the gargantuan
dildo around my pussy.
Again, I know you’re judging me right now. I don’t blame you. But please keep in mind: someone,
probably a bunch of guys at a bachelor party, paid me $1,000 to do this during tonight’s show. Plus all
the other tips I was receiving during the show itself. Easy money. And still somehow less degrading
than my old job.
Some girls were born with a fat trust fund. I was born with a fat ass. Why should I be the one
judged for using what I’ve got?
The live viewer count on my laptop skyrocketed as soon as I began playing with the toy—which I
was calling The Hulk in my head. So did the chat feed. Some guys were creeps, sure. Any time you
got 300 guys together in one place, especially the internet, a sizable portion would be assholes. And
that’s before factoring in all the sex stuff.
But I had come to learn that most of my subscribers were just lonely. They had grown up with the
cold, impersonal effects of internet pornography, and just wanted something a little more real. Sure,
this was still nothing compared to connecting with someone in real life, but it was something. If
anything, I felt sorry for these guys. I got some money, and they got to feel like they had a level of
companionship they couldn’t find out in the real world.
On the chat, one Premium Question popped up to the top of the list. That meant the user had paid
$9.99 to ask the question and get a guaranteed response from me. I squinted from the bed and read it
out loud.
“ThiccGinger, what did you do before you were a camgirl?” I gave a little chuckle. I had a rule
against asking for personal information, but since this guy had paid, I wanted to make him happy
without revealing too much. “I worked at Subway. Yep, I made sandwiches. I definitely like this work
a lot more.” I spread my legs and pushed The Hulk a little bit deeper inside myself. “There are better
foot-longs here. With more meat.”
The chat scrolled by with laughter and emojis.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had gotten good at deflecting questions like that while making my
subscribers laugh. Guys were always trying to squeeze hints and clues about my identity. I was very
careful to make sure I didn’t reveal too much, and I had put down in my profile that I lived in
Chicago. I had also ditched my Halloween mask in favor of a webcam filter that automatically
blurred out my face. I could do jumping jacks or run back and forth, and the video algorithm would
filter out my face the whole time. All anyone would see was a blurry face surrounded by crimson red
hair. Not only did that ensure total anonymity, but it meant I didn’t have to wear a bunch of makeup,
unlike some of the other girls on this program.
That was the clinching reason I kept doing this: total anonymity. I made sure my bedroom was clean
and devoid of anything that could identify me. Not that I had a lot of visitors to my apartment. For
someone who had guys paying to see her nude every night, my sex life was surprisingly dull.
I can attract them on the internet. But in real life, I always seem to push them away.
“Ohh, Spencer feels real good,” I said while playing with myself. “I almost can’t handle him.”
I glanced at the tip total on the laptop screen. There were some big shots on tonight’s feed. A few
guys were tipping $100 at a time. A night like tonight could really help toward my end goal…
Suddenly, my doorbell rang.
I winced, but ignored it. The sound was low enough that it probably didn’t come through the stream.
I was expecting a few deliveries—new lingerie to wear on my stream—but I could pick it up later. I
closed my eyes and let out a moan while thinking of Channing Tatum.
But the doorbell rang a second time. It was totally identical to the first chime, but it felt more urgent
in my mind. The only person who might ring my doorbell twice at this hour was Mr. Fedener, the
building manager. The last thing I needed was him assuming I was gone and letting himself into my
apartment. He wasn’t allowed to do that, but…
I laid the big green dildo on the bed and got up. “Back real soon, lovelies. Don’t go anywhere. I
promise we’ll have some real fun when I return.”
I cut the feed and rushed to make myself presentable to whoever was at the door. I put on a robe
and tied it tight around myself. I removed my wig, but my hair underneath was pinned down, so I
threw on a baseball cap to cover it. I walked out into the living room, closing the bedroom door
behind me, and checked the peep-hole at the front door. Sure enough, Mr. Fedener’s round face was
gazing back at me outside.
I opened the door a crack. Mr. Fedener was old enough to be my grandfather, with just a few
strands of silver hair around his egg head. He always wore the same Arizona Diamondbacks hoodie,
whether it was ten degrees outside or a hundred. He gave me a polite, but forced, smile.
“Mr. Fedener. It’s late,” I said.
“You an Isotopes fan?” he barked at me.
“Huh?”
He pointed at my head. “The Albuquerque Isotopes. Minor league team for the Rockies. You’re
wearing their cap. I didn’t peg you as a sports fan.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Can I help you?”
He picked up a thin square box from the ground. “I’m here to swap out all the air filters.”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s ten o’clock. And you’re supposed to give forty-eight hours’ notice
before entering our units.”
“Paperwork is a hassle, and we’ve got the building inspectors coming tomorrow,” he replied. “It’s
no big deal. It’ll only take me a minute to swap them out.”
The last thing I needed was him walking into my bedroom and seeing all the equipment set up. Not
to mention The Hulk sitting on my bed, all lubed up and ready to go. “Leave the air filters here and I
will install them myself,” I replied.
Mr. Fedener chewed on his lip. “I’m supposed to do it. Otherwise tenants might just sell the filters
instead of installing them. These are about forty bucks.”
“Really?” I asked. “You’re telling me there’s a whole underground market for air filters?”
“You’d be surprised,” he said, deadpan.
“Even if that were the case, I could always let you install them, and then take them out after.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m supposed to do it. Protocol. If I don’t, and you make a complaint…”
I tried to suppress my own sigh. “I have a job interview tomorrow at eleven. I’ll be gone then, and
you can come install them.”
I could tell he wanted to argue, but then he gave in. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He picked up the
air filters, but instead of leaving, he stood in the doorway. Hesitating.
“Is that all?” I asked impatiently.
He gave me an uncomfortable look. “I heard a rumor…”
My heart stopped. Oh no. Had I been careless with my identity? Had someone recognized an item
in my bedroom on the stream, or maybe the texture on the walls, and he had discovered what I was
doing? Nothing was illegal about it, but the last thing I wanted was for Mr. Fedener or anyone else to
learn that I ran an OnlyFans account from my unit…
“I heard a rumor that rents are going up next month,” he said.
At first I was relieved, but then I groaned. “You’re kidding me.”
He nodded. “Mrs. Trout don’t always warn the tenants. It’s not right. Woman like her, squeezing
everything she can out of those of us who live in a place like this. Just thought I’d say something so
you know it’s coming.” He gave a curt nod. “You have a nice night.”
I closed and deadbolted the door, then shook my head. More rent raises. That was the problem with
being on three-month leases in an apartment complex that was just barely a step above the slums.
People like us could be taken advantage of because we had no other options. And by a woman like
Sandra Trout, who owned most of the real estate in this town and had enough money to last a thousand
lifetimes.
I was grateful for Mr. Fedener’s warning, but he had ulterior motives. He was on to me. I was
certain of it. I didn’t think he knew exactly what I did, but he was suspicious. He could tell something
unusual was going on in my apartment.
All the more reason to get out of this place.
A few more months on OnlyFans and I would be free. I was saving up for a down payment on a
house. A place that I would own myself and never be beholden to any sleazy landlord. After shopping
around, I had determined that I needed about $50,000 for a down payment on the size of house I
wanted. That number was unthinkable a few months ago. An impossible amount of money for
someone like me to save up. But thanks to my sexy side-hustle, it was within reach. I just had to hold
out a little longer and I would be out of this dump.
And not just me…
I peeked through the peep-hole to make sure Mr. Fedener had gone down the hall, then I rushed
back to my bedroom. I disrobed, tossed aside my baseball cap, and put my wig back on. After
checking myself in the standing mirror, I laid out on the bed and used the remote to reenable the video
stream.
“Sorry about that, my lovelies,” I said. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Mr. Spencer Gilroy…”
It’s only temporary, I thought as I hefted the dildo. Just until I can get out of this place.
 2

Michael

I need to get out of this place, I thought while gazing out the window of the penthouse condo. This
unit was at the top of the Omni Building, the tallest skyscraper in Fort Perth, New Mexico. The condo
was two stories with lots of open air, and a gaudy spiral staircase leading up to a loft. It was at least
four thousand square feet, far too large for any one person to live in, but tonight it was filled with
nearly a hundred people. The lights were turned down low and music thumped from the speakers by
the DJ stand. I could barely hear myself think.
I hated these sorts of things, even in the best of circumstances. I would rather relax with a small
group of friends. I had gotten all of my partying out in college.
“Sir, can I get you something?” the bartender to my left asked. He smiled cheerfully from behind a
very stocked bar. “The drink of the evening is a whiskey soda, but I can make anything you would
like.”
“Sure, whiskey soda,” I replied.
While he made my drink, I turned my view from the windows to the giant projector on the wall that
was showing college football. Baylor versus Texas A&M. Neither team was good this year, but it
was better than trying to socialize.
“Mikey! What are you doing over here by yourself?”
I turned to my buddy August Cunningham. He looked sharp in a lean-fitting suit that was different
from what I had seen him wear at work today. “I’m getting a drink.”
“You’ve been over here getting a drink since we got here,” he replied. “You look like you’re at a
funeral.”
“I’d rather be at a funeral,” I replied. “There’s like a hundred people here.”
“Yeah,” he said in a confused tone. “It’s a party. They usually have people.”
“Bachelor parties are usually smaller. I don’t even know the groom very well. Neither do you.”
He put an arm around me and took my drink from the bartender. “Who cares? Relax, have a drink,
and enjoy yourself.” He shoved the drink at my chest.
“I’ve reached the upper limit on my fun levels.”
August shook his head. “Erin really pulled a number on you, didn’t she?”
The mere mention of her name summoned a circus of emotions in my head. “This has nothing to do
with Erin.”
“It’s been over a month,” August insisted. “You need a rebound.” He patted my chest. “You look
like a cologne model for Armani or some shit.”
 “Sorry, August, but I’m not going to bang you.”
He barked a carefree laugh. “Fuck off. A guy can compliment his best friend without it being gay.
The point I’m trying to make is you could have any woman you want. And not just any woman at this
party: any woman in Fort Perth. It’s time for you to move on.”
“I’d like to move on from this party,” I muttered, but I knew he was right. Since we had become
friends in middle school, August could always read me like a book with size 48 font. I needed to
move on from Erin. She had certainly moved on herself—all the way to New York City, some two
thousand miles away. I had to get her out of my head.
Easier said than done.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said, pausing to take a long pull from my whiskey soda. “You’ve
never dated anyone longer than two weeks.”
August gripped his chest like he was wounded. “That hurts, Mikey. It’s also completely inaccurate.
Audrey and I dated for three weeks.”
“Wow, I stand corrected,” I said sarcastically. “You’re a regular Danny Tanner.”
“Who?”
“The dad from Full House.”
He scrunched up his face. “What’s Full House?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes I wonder how you float through life without knowing these
things.”
“Because pop culture is stupid. I know things that matter, like the closing price of the NASDAQ
today, or the exact amount of assets we’re currently managing at the New Mexico Community
Foundation.”
“I thought you said work was off limits tonight?” I pointed out.
August made an annoyed gesture. “It is off limits tonight. You got me ranting. Come on, let’s go
watch those guys play beer pong.”
We watched beer pong for a while, which brought back lots of memories from college. August and I
jumped into the next game and got all the way down to the last cup, just barely losing. After that, I
wandered away. The college football game up on the projector was a blowout, with Baylor losing by
thirty points—much to the dismay of the party hosts. A cluster of guys were standing around a laptop
while watching the game, so I got close enough to overhear their conversation.
“Let’s check out the prop bets,” one guy was saying. “Here. I’ll put ten on Baylor to get a
touchdown in the fourth quarter.”
“Then I’m putting down twenty on the A&M quarterback rushing for a touchdown,” another guy
said.
“Why such small stakes?” a third guy chimed in. “Whoever wins their bet first has to chug a glass
of Fireball whiskey.”
“What if neither of us win?”
“Then you both chug a glass.”
“You’re on.”
 I winced when I saw the laptop screen. They weren’t betting ten and twenty dollars on those
wagers—they were betting ten and twenty thousand. And they considered that small. I couldn’t
imagine spending that much money on a flippant sports bet. I didn’t grow up rich. If not for my
scholarship, I never would have gone to a big college. Unlike August, I’d had to grind for everything I
had in life.
I shook my head. That wasn’t fair. August may have been the son of the CEO where we worked, but
he was a good guy. Smart, and a hard worker. And most importantly, he was a good friend. He’d
always had my back. Especially after Erin. He gave me a hard time about needing to move on, but
those were just words. I didn’t know what I would have done without him to help me recover from
that breakup.
He was getting another drink at the bar, so I walked over and clapped him on the back. “Have I
mentioned lately how much I appreciate you?”
August turned and smirked at me. “Go on. I like having my ego stroked almost as much as other
parts of me.”
“Thanks for dragging me out tonight,” I said. “I’ve been sitting in my apartment a lot lately. It’s
good for me to get out. You were right.”
He bit his lip. “Keep going. I’m close.”
I punched him in the arm. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too, Mikey,” he said with a grin.
The DJ music trailed off, and the host of the party climbed halfway up the spiral staircase so that he
was looking down at everyone. “I know everyone’s having a good time, so I’ll keep this short.”
“You know all about keeping things short!” August shouted, holding his thumb and finger about two
inches apart.
The host flicked him off while everyone laughed. “We’re all here to celebrate my best friend,
Spencer, allowing himself to be tied down. Or rather, we’re celebrating Spencer finally finding
someone who will put up with his bullshit!”
The crowd chuckled appropriately. Spencer, the man for whom this bachelor party had been
thrown, blushed and rolled his eyes.
“Seriously though, we’re all happy for you, pal. You’re a lucky man, and Wren is a lucky woman.
Ever since we were roommates together at Baylor, I knew you would find the perfect woman
eventually.” The lights dimmed a little more. “But you’re not married to Wren yet, so I’ve arranged
for some very special entertainment tonight. Especially after that garbage football game.”
I groaned. I was twenty-seven, and had never been to a bachelor party before, but I’d had one
experience with a stripper. One of my teammates on the football team in college hired one after we
won the Orange Bowl. Most awkward hour of my life. I looked around the condo for an escape route.
“No, no, I know what you’re thinking,” the host said. “But it’s not a stripper. Strippers are broke.
This is bespoke.”
The projector, which had previously been playing the Baylor football game, suddenly went black.
When the feed returned, it showed a bedroom. A woman was kneeling in bed, and she was wearing
black lingerie. Long red hair was visible, but her face was a strange blur—even when she moved. It
must have been some kind of video filter.
 “We’ve got a special treat for some of our viewers tonight,” she purred. “A new toy. And it has a
very special name on it.”
A few cheers went up in the crowd as the woman got out of bed and strutted out of sight. When she
returned, she was holding the biggest dildo I had ever seen in my life.
“Baylor colors!” someone realized. “Nice!”
“This thing is massive,” she said while hefting the thing. “I’m told it’s a replica of… Spencer
Gilroy. Spencer, you’re a gifted boy! Let’s put this guy to the test…”
The group of gathered guys roared as she twisted the dildo to show the name Spencer Gilroy
written on the side in big black letters. “If that’s a replica, then it’s definitely not to scale!” August
shouted, which drew more jeers. Several people smacked Spencer on the back as the woman lowered
the sex toy down between her legs.
“Her information is on the laptop,” the host shouted. “Feel free to join the feed on your phone and
leave comments. And if you really like what you see, there’s a link to give her a tip.”
“Tip?” August shouted. “Why not give her the whole thing?”
Everyone laughed, but I turned away and downed the rest of my drink. This felt less sleazy than a
stripper, but still left a bad taste in my mouth.
“What’s the matter?” August asked me. “I thought you liked redheads.”
“Oh, I love redheads,” I replied. “But this… it’s kind of gross. I hate that a woman is doing this on
our behalf.”
“She’s providing a service in exchange for money. Just like the girl who makes my coffee every
morning. That’s capitalism, baby. Nobody’s being exploited here. Hell, sitting in front of a webcam
and jacking off all day sounds like my dream job.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I said. “I’m sure there are some guys out there who would pay to
watch you.”
“Is that supposed to deter me? I don’t care if it’s women or dudes watching me.” He stood up a
little straighter. “I’m comfortable enough in my sexuality.”
I shook my head. “But no, I wasn’t talking about her being gross. I don’t blame her for following
the money. But the guys paying her… it’s weird.”
August rolled his eyes. “Sex work is the oldest profession. As long as the sun rises every morning,
there will be lonely guys paying women to take off their clothes and touch their penises. It’s a
physical transaction.” He gestured with his drink glass. “I bet you wish you and Erin were just
physical. Then you wouldn’t be so emotionally wrecked.”
I sighed wistfully. “That’s the thing about love, August. High risk, high reward.” I looked at my own
empty glass. “Can we get out of here now?”
August looked at his watch. “We should stay a little longer. Don’t want to make it seem like we
popped in only to make an appearance. You want another drink? I’ll get us some more drinks.”
I watched him walk away, and didn’t really know what to do with myself. There was another game
of beer pong going on at the dining room table, but I wasn’t in the mood for more of that. I gazed
through the floor-to-ceiling windows at downtown Fort Perth, and the centralized square where
people came to take photos, eat food, and go for a stroll after dinner. The laptop on the table was now
crowded with guys giving tips to the camgirl on the projector.
My eyes drifted up to her.
She had an incredible body. A modest chest, but curvy in the hips that gave her a natural hourglass
figure. Her lingerie accentuated all of this flawlessly. And the way she moved…
I didn’t even care that she was playing with a sex toy. It was the way she grinded and gyrated on the
bed that had me mesmerized. The rocking of her body in time with the soft music. Even though her
face was blurred out with some sort of filter, I was completely, totally transfixed by her. There was
something captivating about this girl. Even though I was in a room with a hundred other dudes, and
even though she was streaming this to who-knows how many other people on the internet, for a few
moments it felt like she was doing it just for me.
For a few precious moments, I forgot all about my ex.
“Atta boy,” August said when he returned.
“What?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I see the way you’re watching her. You’re into it.”
“She’s hot,” I said casually. “And it’s up on the projector. It’s tough not to watch.”
“Whatever you say.” August glanced at the screen. “I didn’t have you pegged as an ass man.”
“I’m a full-package man,” I replied. “Body, brains, personality.”
August rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure you are. Me? I’m all about that ass. Can’t get enough. My dream
is to die with a girl sitting on my face. Just totally smothering me until all the life goes out.” He sighed
happily. “Way better than old age.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Aren’t I?”
The woman on the projector screen glanced over her shoulder. It seemed like she was looking at
the art above her bed, an unframed print of pink splotches that looked like modern art, but then turned
to face the camera. “Back real soon, lovelies. Don’t go anywhere. I promise we’ll have some real fun
when I return.” And then the screen went black.
Half the guys in the room groaned. “What the actual fuck?” the party host loudly complained. He
bent over the laptop and tapped the keys. “Did this bitch really just cut the feed?”
“Hey, relax,” Spencer said. “She’s probably changing into different lingerie or something.”
“I paid big bucks for this show,” the host argued. “She can’t just take a break in the middle of it.
This isn’t the fucking DMV.”
“Gotta love technology,” August said. “You wouldn’t have this problem with an in-person
stripper.”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” I said. “You hate technology and don’t even own a cell phone.”
“I don’t want to be a slave to my devices.”
“Were people a hundred years ago slaves to books just because that was the only entertainment they
had?”
He glared at me. “You’re just trying to rile me up.”
“Only because it’s so easy!” I teased.
 “I’m just saying, there’s a lot of cases of data privacy issues. Facebook got busted for using cell
phone mics to listen in on people’s conversations and then target ads to them. Not to mention GPS
tracking data. Conspiracy nuts think vaccines have tracking chips in them, but why bother when
everyone carries around a smartphone that transmits all that data to Big Tech?”
“You’re the one who sounds like a conspiracy theorist,” I said, knowing it would get a rise out of
him. “Next you’ll tell me you think birds aren’t real.”
August clenched his jaw. “Birds aren’t real is a joke conspiracy. It exists to make fun of all the
other stupid conspiracy theories. I don’t actually think birds aren’t real, except as a joke.”
“Right,” I said doubtfully.
The projector screen flickered, and the video stream returned. “Sorry about that, my lovelies,” she
said. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Mr. Spencer Gilroy…” She hefted the big green dildo with his
name on it.
“What the fuck was that!” the party host shouted. He seemed to realize that she couldn’t hear him,
so he bent over the laptop and angrily banged on the keys. “We’re not paying you to take piss breaks.
Stupid cunt.”
It may have been my imagination, but the woman seemed to flinch. Like she was reading the
comments as she went and saw what he had typed.
“We can’t let her get away with this bullshit,” the host announced. “Everyone, login to the feed with
these credentials and give her a piece of your mind in the chat. That’ll make her think twice about
ditching us in the middle of a show. Stupid cunt.”
Before I knew what was happening, I was striding toward him. “Hey, man. Chill the fuck out.”
“Hell no. I paid her a thousand bucks for a show with that Baylor green cock with Spencer’s name
on it. She’s trying to rip us off.”
“Making a big deal over a grand?” August said behind me. “You’re a wealth manager, home slice.
You make more than that in a day.”
“So what?”
“So, you’re throwing a temper tantrum for nothing,” August shot back at him. “That’s real tiny-dick
energy.”
The host whirled from the laptop ready for a fight. When he saw me, he hesitated. I had at least
forty pounds on him, and it was mostly muscle. Being a broad-shouldered former football player
meant people judged me all the time, but sometimes it had its perks.
The scowl on his face disappeared, and he let out a fake laugh. “Right, right. I’ll issue a charge-
back on my credit card. Won’t let this bitch scam me.”
It was the third time he had insulted the woman. I felt my fingers curling into a fist at my side.
Before I could make a decision I would regret, I turned around and disengaged. August gave me a
grateful nod in passing.
I went to the bar and got another drink. The host was a trust-fund baby. He’d gotten his masters at
Princeton, was making middle six-figures, and lived in one of the nicest penthouse suites in Fort
Perth. And despite all of that, he was going on a power trip because the feed went out for a minute or
two.
 I never want to be like him. Even when I have money.
The girl was still gyrating on the bed like nothing was wrong, while sliding the dildo up and down
her pussy. I allowed the show to calm my nerves after the argument with the party host.
I had been heartbroken about Erin. I thought she was the one. It was the worst breakup of my life.
Even a month later, thinking about her created a sharp, pinching sensation in my gut. I hadn’t been able
to even look at another woman since then, let alone think about dating again.
But watching this girl on OnlyFans? I felt my pain melting away. Like it was medicine or
something. It was ridiculous. It made me feel shallow. What did it say about me that some random sex
show could heal my wounds?
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” August said. “Spencer’s already shitfaced and won’t remember
how long we stuck around. And I don’t want to be a party to whatever revenge tiny-dick is planning.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night,” I said while letting him drag me away. Before
leaving the room, I glanced over my shoulder at the projector. The girl’s screen name was visible in
the corner.
ThiccGinger.
 3

Ginny

I slept like garbage.

There was a lot on my mind. I had my job interview the next day, which was a persistent anxiety
that never disappeared. My rent was increasing—for the third time in a year. That was going to hurt.
Not me, since I was making good money with my sexy side-hustle, but for people I cared about…
And to top it all off was the asshole from last night. I was good at ignoring inflammatory messages
in the chat. There were always a few, and I went through them and permanently muted the really bad
ones after every show. But the guy who had hired me to use the big green dildo? He took the cake.
Calling me the C-word, and then getting all of his buddies at the party to spam the chat with
complaints. That caused my other fans to argue back at him, until it was a giant war of insults in the
chat.
That’s the opposite of sexy.
It got worse when I woke up this morning and checked my email. The ass-hat had issued a charge-
back on his credit card for the purchase. That meant the $1,000 he spent for the special treatment was
gone. It also meant OnlyFans flagged my account for review, freezing all my tips and other earnings
from last night’s show until they determined if the charge-back was valid.
I spent an hour that morning submitting a support ticket to the OnlyFans administrators. Hopefully
they would look into it and rule in my favor. The guy paid for me to use the green dildo during the
show for at least ten minutes, and I had fulfilled my obligation—and exceeded it by using it for nearly
thirty minutes!
But in the meantime, it felt like the universe was throwing a bunch of roadblocks in my way. It
sucked.
After submitting the ticket, I forcefully pushed it all out of my head. I had a big job interview today!
And not working for Subway or any other crappy retail job: I would be working for a non-profit in
downtown Fort Perth. A real office job like I always dreamed of.
Sure, I was making good money on OnlyFans. But I couldn’t take my clothes off on the internet for
money forever. I was only doing it long enough to get out of these slummy apartments and into a real
house. A place that I could call my own, without landlords or building managers.
It was easy to choose what to wear. The majority of my closet wardrobe was devoted to lingerie
and sexy outfits to wear during my online shows. I only had one legitimate professional outfit: black
dress slacks, a white blouse, and a dress jacket. Dad had bought it for me when I was taking classes
at the community college, so I would be ready for the avalanche of job interviews he expected me to
have. Lord knows how many extra hours he had to work to afford the simple outfit.
 I’ll buy a bunch more outfits when I get the job, I thought. When, not if. I was trying to think
positively.
After getting dressed and doing my hair, I locked my bedroom door behind me. It was a custom lock
I had installed myself. The last thing I needed was Mr. Fedener snooping around.
Our building didn’t have an elevator, and the stairs were difficult to navigate in heels. I was
definitely out of practice. I walked outside and clomped my way to the parking lot across the street.
The car next to mine had a broken window, which made me sigh with relief. Better theirs than mine. I
didn’t keep anything valuable in my car—I didn’t have anything valuable to keep in there—but that
didn’t stop the local druggies from smashing a window to see what was in the glove compartment. I’d
had to replace the window twice this year. Just another wonderful benefit of living on this side of
town. Being poor was expensive.
My 1998 Toyota Corolla started on the first try, which I decided was a good omen for the day. It
wasn’t always that easy with a car that was almost older than me. Even if I could afford a better car,
I’m not sure I would care. I wasn’t a materialistic girl. As long as it got me from point A to point B, I
was content. Which was in doubt for the Corolla, which had over 200,000 miles on the odometer.
I stopped at the pharmacy on the way to print out my resume and references. The job already had
copies of everything, but I wanted to bring in a physical copy. It was only ten cents per page, and I
thought it would make me look prepared.
The guy behind the counter at the printing desk gathered the six sheets of paper and stuffed them into
a manila folder. When I reached out to grab it, the edge of the folder sliced into my finger, giving me a
small paper cut.
“Careful,” he said in a bored voice. “Those folders are weirdly sharp.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. A droplet of blood was forming on my finger. “Where are your
bandages?”
I bought a pack of Band-Aids, wrapped my finger up in the parking lot, and then drove the final four
miles to downtown Fort Perth. It was a medium-sized city, with a nice little city center, and a park
adjacent to lots of shops. It was a beautiful September day, and the park was full of people walking
around or sitting on benches eating an early lunch. Lots of them were dressed in business attire.
That could be me, I thought.
I pulled into one of the parking garages and winced as I took a ticket. Parking was $20. Yeah, I
made good money on OnlyFans. But every minor expense I incurred chipped away at my house fund. I
found a spot and then checked my watch. I was early. Like, too early, where it would be an
inconvenience to them if I walked inside now.
To kill some time, I opened OnlyFans on my phone and checked my dashboard. I had a big spike in
subscribers last night. That would make up for the charge-back on my account, which was still
pending.
Then I checked the results of a poll I had posted to my page:

WHAT NEW CONTENT DO YOU WANT?

1. More toys
2. Better outfits
 3. Longer scenes
4. More dancing
5. Live sex.

I knew what I would see: the fifth option, live sex, was polling the highest by a wide margin. That
wasn’t surprising. Dancing on camera and playing with toys was one thing, but it wasn’t as hot as
actual sex.
For a while, the idea of that had terrified me. I couldn’t keep a boyfriend, let alone find someone
who would be okay with what I did—and then also want to be recorded on camera themselves. Even
with the face-covering filter I used. But after talking to other girls on OnlyFans, I discovered there
were ways to find guys for this kind of work. Professionals who would do whatever you wanted
without complication. It wasn’t technically prostitution. It was more like hiring someone to do
amateur pornography. Doing something like that with another person was incredibly intimidating, but
the upside was that I would make more money. A lot more money, which would accelerate how
quickly I reached my monetary goal, and could quit this line of work for good. I had even put out
some feelers to a few potential candidates. One of them, named Kai, had sent me a private message in
the last hour:

Hi, I am available any night after 8:00pm. I prefer to sit down and meet with you first, and get to
know each other, before deciding if we should proceed together. I can charge a flat rate per video,
or negotiate a percentage of earnings. Whichever you prefer. Let me know if you would like to
schedule a sit-down.

I read the message twice. Kai seemed nice—and he was hot, to boot. I also liked the idea of sitting
down to meet him before we decided to make videos together. That took some of the pressure off. But
still, there was a huge difference between making videos by myself in the privacy of my apartment,
and inviting another person to join me…
I’ll see how today’s job interview goes, I decided as I got out of the car. Then I’ll figure out
whether to expand my video options.
I strode out of the parking garage with purposeful steps.
 4

Ginny

My job interview was in one of the few Fort Perth skyscrapers, a towering building of gleaming
green glass. There was a little cafe in the lobby, with a line of patrons waiting to buy coffee or
sandwiches since it was nearly lunch time. I asked the security guard behind the front desk where the
elevators were, and then followed her directions through the lobby and around a corner behind the
cafe.
The reflective elevator doors opened and I stepped in along with two women in pencil skirts who
had bought salads at the cafe. I tried not to stare as they chatted about the latest episode of The
Amazing Race before getting off on the 24th floor.
I got off on the 28th. There were glass walls with frosted letters announcing the offices for the New
Mexico Community Foundation. I stood up a little straighter, and took a deep breath. It was time to put
on a show, but a totally different one than I usually put on. And with considerably more clothing.
The administrative assistant at the front desk was chatting with another woman. Both of them turned
to smile at me as I walked inside.
“Hi, I’m Ginny Hanover. I’m here to see Allison Escobar.”
The older woman who was standing up extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ginny. I’m
Allison.” She had thick blonde hair and wrinkles around her eyes. “You’re right on time. I like that.
Sometimes people show up way too early and it’s like, ugh, I’m not ready yet!”
“Heh, yeah, absolutely,” I said. “Being too early is almost as rude as being late.”
“I’ve got the conference room blocked off for the hour, it’s just this way.”
I followed Allison through another frosted glass door and into the spacious office. There were
individual offices along the wall with windows showing sprawling views of Fort Perth and the flat
New Mexico terrain beyond. A few men and women glanced up at us as we passed, but most were on
calls or bent over their computer keyboards, too busy to look up. Despite that, the vibe of the office
seemed really relaxed. Lots of people were wearing jeans, including Allison. I wondered if it was
always that way, or if it was because today was a Friday.
“Here we are,” Allison said, gesturing to a conference room. “Some other members of the team
might hop in if they get a chance, but for now it’s just us. What’s that you’re carrying?”
“It’s my resume, a cover letter, and several references,” I said, handing her the folder. She took it
and didn’t cut her finger open, I saw with relief.
“So well-prepared!” she said approvingly. “My grandson is nine and just joined the Boy Scouts, so
he’s learning all about being prepared. I also like paper copies. Maybe I’m showing my age, but
sometimes I get sick of reading off a screen! You can’t beat good old fashioned ink and paper. Sorry,
I’m rambling. I do that sometimes. Welcome to NMCF. Do you know about what we do here?”
“I did some research,” I said.
She continued speaking as if I hadn’t said anything. “We’re a non-profit that manages charitable
donations for wealthy individuals and estates. For example, a well-known businessman in
Albuquerque passed away last month—very sad, although he was 95, so it isn’t too sad. He left half
his estate to his children, and the other half was donated to us. He was passionate about animals, so
we will donate a portion of his wealth to animal-related charities every year. That’s not to say all of
our donors are deceased. Far from it! In fact, our largest donor is very much alive—I’m sure you’ll
hear all about her if you take the job.” She gave me a look that implied this donor was a lot of work.
“Maybe you can help me understand something,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they just donate their
money directly to a charity? Why go through a foundation like yours? I know that’s probably a dumb
question.”
“Not dumb at all!” she said happily. “Donors give us their money, and we invest it. We earn
interest, dividends, and general market growth on their money. That way their funds can persist for
years and years, and continue doling out grants to all the charities they support. That’s so much better
than a one-time donation to a charity.”
“Oh, I think I understand,” I replied.
“The role we’re hiring for is a grants administrator. Every week, we send out grants to various
charities and organizations based on our donors’ wishes. These grants have to be verified, processed,
and then mailed out. Nothing too technical! This is such a wonderful environment to work in, too. The
CEO, Mr. Cunningham, is such a wonderful man. So is his son August, the CFO. We have casual
Fridays, and breakfast tacos delivered to the office at least once a week. We have reduced hours in
the summer too—we leave by 3:00.”
I smiled and nodded along. Allison seemed to like to talk. When was she going to ask about me?
“You’re making it sound like I already have the job, and you’re trying to convince me to work
here,” I joked.
Allison gave a grandmotherly chuckle. “Well, we do want people to know how nice it is to work
here! There are two other candidates applying for the position. We already met with them this week,
so you’re the last interview.” She leaned forward. “We’ve been backed up since the last grants
administrator left, so we’re hoping to fill the position as soon as possible. August wanted to extend an
offer to the man who interviewed on Tuesday, but I insisted we be thorough!”
I swallowed heavily and forced a smile. “I’m glad you did. I have a lot of experience when it
comes to…”
I trailed off as the door to the conference room opened next to me and a tall, broad-shouldered man
stepped inside. I couldn’t help but gawk. He had sandy-blond hair and a strong jaw. He was wearing
a navy button-down with the neck unbuttoned, and tucked into jeans. The sleeves were rolled up,
revealing tan forearms with veins that popped out. He brought with him a spicy, understated scent.
Just the right amount of expensive cologne.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to Allison in a deep rumble that vibrated across the air and into my
breastbone. “You-know-who had an emergency request with one of her grants. Which turned out to be
an excuse to get me to go to brunch with her.”
 “She likes you,” Allison teased.
“Don’t remind me.” The newcomer finally seemed to notice me, and he did a double-take. My
breath caught in my throat: he had the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen in my life. Like round
sapphires behind the tan planes of his face.
“Michael Bauer. Pleased to meet you.” His handshake was strong without trying too hard, and his
blue gaze lingered on me just a heartbeat longer than normal. Was it my imagination?
“Michael is our donor relations manager,” Allison explained. “The grants administrator position
will work closely with him.”
I’d like to work very closely with him.
I gave myself a mental reprimand. I was here for a job interview, not to ogle my potential
coworkers.
“You’ll have big shoes to fill. Our last grants administrator was here for two decades.” He settled
into the seat across the conference desk and picked up my resume from the stack of papers. “Let’s see,
Virginia Hanover…”
“Please, call me Ginny.”
“Are you from Virginia originally? The state, that is.”
“My mom was,” I replied. “She grew up in Charlottesville.”
He tilted his head to one side and gave me a small smile. Somehow, that cranked up his
attractiveness to a Level 11. “Charlottesville is my favorite city in the world. I went to the University
of Virginia.”
“That’s great!” I said. “I got in to UVA too.”
Michael frowned at the page. “I don’t see that listed here.”
“Oh, I didn’t actually go there. I just got in.” I hesitated, then decided I might as well explain
myself. “Out of state tuition was too much for me to afford.”
He grimaced and crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest. “No kidding. My parents never
could have sent me there on their salaries. Thankfully I got in on a football scholarship.”
Football. Nice. He had that physique for sure. He looked like he could knock somebody down
without flinching. Or throw a girl around in the bedroom.
Stop thinking about that, I told myself. This is a job interview. I had definitely been doing
OnlyFans for too long if sex was on my mind this much.
“I already explained the position and requirements,” Allison told him. “I was just about to go over
her experience.”
“I went to community college in Albuquerque,” I said, eager to talk about my qualifications. “I took
every single class they had on finance, statistics, and economics.”
“Did you get an Associate’s?” Michael asked in that smooth, deep voice. “I don’t see a degree
listed.”
“I didn’t get my degree,” I admitted. “I knew what I wanted to focus on. I couldn’t afford to waste
the money on classes that weren’t relevant to my future career.”
I winced as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Was I mentioning my finances too much? I
didn’t want to seem like I was playing up the poor-girl angle too much. Michael and Allison’s faces
were unreadable.
“I respect that,” he finally said, but it sounded forced. Like my lack of degree was a mark against
me. His deep blue eyes drifted down to the resume again. “You’ve volunteered for the past two years
at the Safe Haven Women’s Shelter?”
“Yes!” I said, seizing on the change of topic. “I started off doing basic work around the shelter, but
last year I began helping them with their finances. It was a great opportunity to put my relevant
education to use.”
“Safe Haven is one of our grant recipients,” Michael said. “It’s a great organization that does
amazing work. Holly is so passionate.”
“I worked directly with Holly!” I pointed to the printed papers in the manila envelope. “She’s
actually one of the people who wrote me a recommendation.”
Michael picked up the folder and read the recommendation, nodding as he did so. He flipped to the
next page, and then the one after that. “You have several recommendations, not just from Holly. That
definitely makes up for the lack of degree.”
“Honestly, a degree is only a formality,” Allison told me. “You have all the relevant experience,
which matters more to me.”
“This grants administrator position is fairly routine,” Michael said while perusing my documents.
His eyes flicked up to me for a brief instant. “You might get bored after doing the same thing every
week. How do you feel about that?”
“Bored?” I laughed. “Let me tell you about bored. My last job was working at Subway. Squirting
the same amount of mayo on two hundred sandwiches every day is true boredom. Compared to that,
this job is Disneyland.” I cleared my throat. “And of course, knowing I’m working for an organization
that’s doing good for the world helps.”
“Are you a people person?” Michael asked. “I do most of the schmoozing with our more needy
donors, but you will need to interact with them as part of your job, too.”
“I definitely consider myself a people person.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Even if you’re dealing with a donor who is calling you five times a day
with nit-picky requests?”
I’m used to handling annoying customers. I suppressed a smile and replied, “I have a lot of
experience with exactly that kind of work.”
“At Subway?” Michael clarified.
“Yes. At Subway. And the two other retail jobs I’ve had since graduating high school.” I smiled
broadly. “I can handle difficult people without an issue, I promise you.”
He nodded and closed the manila folder, then gestured with it. “I wish I had you with me at brunch
this morning. If you end up working here, you’ll learn all about one particular donor.”
Michael was gesturing with the folder, but the way he extended it toward me made me think he was
handing it back. So without thinking, I reached out and took hold of it, and pulled. He grunted as the
edge of the folder slid across his palm.
“Sorry, I thought—oh no,” I said. “You’re bleeding!”
 “It’s only a papercu—oh wow,” he said as he looked down at his hand. A line of red had formed
and was beginning to trickle down his fingers. Panic flared up in me like lava from a volcano.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
“What’s that folder made of, razor blades?” he hissed while cradling his palm in his other hand.
Blood was now dripping onto the conference room table.
Allison jumped up and ran to the door. “I’ll get some paper towels.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said in a rush. I stood up, but didn’t know what to do. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m a bleeder.”
“Everyone is a bleeder,” I blurted out. “That’s how blood works!”
Michael blinked at me. “Are you seriously yelling at me after you sliced my hand open?”
“Shit. Sorry for cursing. And sorry for yelling.” I grabbed my purse and began rummaging around.
“I have Band-Aids in here somewhere. I cut my hand on the folder earlier.”
“So you knew you were bringing a dangerous weapon to the interview.”
My eyes were probably as wide as they could open as I stared at him in shock.
“Relax,” he said. “I was joking.”
“I’m sorry.” I found the box of Band-Aids and hurried around the side of the table. “Here, let me
help.”
“You really don’t need to do that.”
I peeled off the protective wrapping and grabbed his hand. I was running on panicked instinct at
this point. I pressed the Band-Aid horizontally across the gash. “That’s not enough. You’ll need
another.”
“Ginny…”
“Two should be plenty, but maybe a third…”
“Ms. Hanover,” he snapped in a voice that commanded attention. “This is not helping.”
I looked down at his hand. The blood covering his palm kept the first Band-Aid from sticking, so it
was just sliding around on his skin. I lowered my second Band-Aid helplessly.
Allison returned with a stack of birthday napkins. “We’re out of paper towels, but we still had
some of these in the break room from Lisa’s birthday!”
Another man shoved in behind her. Unlike everyone else in the office, he wasn’t dressed casually—
he wore slacks, a dress shirt, and a vest over that. He barked a laugh at the scene in front of him.
“Allison said the interviewee cut open your hand, but I thought she was joking. Bold move,
drawing blood in a job interview. Holy fuck.”
“Language!” Allison scowled at him.
“Right, because that’s what matters right now, and not all of this.” He gestured broadly at the man
dripping blood all over the table.
Michael glared at him. “Thanks, August. Did you come to rubberneck, or to help?”
“Rubbernecking, please and thank you!” The man—August—ran a hand through his dark hair and
then crossed his arms. “Man, you’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”
Another random document with
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 ERICA imbricata.

CHARACTER SPECIFICUS.

Erica, antheris muticis, exsertis; corollis urceolatis; calycibus duplicatis,

viscosis, imbricatis, coloratis, corollam sub-æquantibus; foliis ternis,
lævibus, truncatis, linearibus.

DESCRIPTIO.

Caulis fruticosus, erectus, spithamæus; rami et ramuli frequentissimi,

foliosi, erecti.
Folia terna, linearia, recta, truncata, plana, lævia, petiolis brevissimis
adpressis.
Flores in ramulis terminales, sub-terni, umbellati, cernui; pedunculis
longitudine calycis.
Calyx. Perianthium duplicatum, adpressum, imbricatum: foliolis ovatis,
viscosis, incarnatis.
Corolla urceolata, apice incarnata, laciniis obtusis, minutis, erectis.
Stamina. Filamenta octo capillaria, incurvata. Antheræ muticæ, exsertæ.
Pistillum. Germen subrotundum. Stylus filiformis, longitudine
staminum. Stigma tetragonum.
Habitat ad Caput Bonæ Spei.
Floret a mense Julii in Octobrem.

REFERENTIA.

1. Calyx et Corolla.
2. Corolla et Stamina.
3. Calyx lente auctus.
4. Stamina a Pistillo diducta, antherâ unâ lente auctâ.
 5. Stylus et Stigma, lente aucta.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Heath, with beardless tips without the blossoms, which are pitcher-shaped;
cup double, clammy, tiled, coloured, and almost the length of the blossoms;
leaves grow by threes, even, appearing cut off at the point, and linear.

DESCRIPTION.

Stem shrubby, upright, a span high; the larger and smaller branches are
numerous, covered with leaves, and upright.
Leaves grow by threes, straight out, appearing cut off at the point, flat,
even, and having their footstalks pressed to the branches.
Flowers grow in bunches, generally three together, at the ends of the
smaller branches, hanging downward; footstalks the length of the cup.
Empalement. Cup double, pressed to the blossom, tiled: the leaves are
egg-shaped, clammy, and flesh-coloured.
Blossom pitcher-shaped, flesh-coloured at the mouth, which has its
segments blunt, small, and upright.
Chives. Eight hair-like threads, bent inwards. Tips beardless, and without
the blossom.
Pointal. Seed-bud nearly round. Shaft thread-shaped, the length of the
chives. Summit four-cornered.
Native of the Cape of Good Hope.
Flowers from July till October.

REFERENCE.

1. The Empalement and Blossom.

2. The Blossom and Chives.
3. The Empalement magnified.
4. The Chives detached from the Pointal, one tip magnified.
5. The Shaft and its Summit, magnified.
 ERICA incarnata.

CHARACTER SPECIFICUS.

Erica, antheris cristatis, subinclusis; corollis subovatis, carneis; pedunculis

longissimis, coloratis; foliis quaternis.

DESCRIPTIO.

Caulis suberectus, pedalis ramosissimus, rami, et ramuli, flexuosi,

divaricato patente.
Folia quaterna, obtusa, linearia, glabra, subtus sulcata; petiolis
brevissimis, adpressis.
Flores terminales, racemum densé formantes; pedunculi longissimi,
purpurei, bracteis tribus instructi.
Calyx. Perianthium tetraphyllum, foliolis ovatis, carinatis, acuminatis.
Corolla subovata, cernua, carnea, ore contracto, lævissime quadrisido,
laciniis erectis.
Stamina. Filamenta octo capillaria, receptaculo inserta. Antheræ cristatæ,
sub-inclusæ.
Pistillum. Germen subrotundum. Stylus filiformis, exsertus. Stigma
tetragonum.
Habitat ad Caput Bonæ Spei.
Floret a mensi Julii, in Octobrem.

REFERENTIA.

1. Calyx, et Corolla.
2. Calyx lente auctus.
3. Stamina, et Pistillum.
4. Stamina a Pistillo diducta; anthera una lente aucta.
 5. Stylus, et Stigma, lente aucta.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Heath, with crested tips, nearly within the blossoms, which are almost egg-
shaped, and flesh-coloured; the foot-stalks are very long, and coloured; the
leaves grow by fours.

DESCRIPTION.

Stem nearly upright, a foot high, and very much branched; the larger and
smaller branches grow zigzag, and spread outward.
Leaves grow by fours, are blunt, linear, smooth, and furrowed
underneath; with short foot-stalks pressed to the branches.
The Flowers grow at the end of the smaller branches, forming a close
bunch; the foot-stalks are very long, and purple, having three floral leaves.
Empalement. Cup four-leaved, which are egg-shaped, keeled, and
pointed.
Blossom nearly egg-shaped, bending downward, and flesh-coloured, the
mouth contracted, but slightly cut into four upright segments.
Chives. Eight hair-like threads, fixed into the receptacle. Tips crested,
nearly within the blossom.
Pointal. Seed-vessel nearly round. Shaft thread-shaped, and without the
blossom. Summit four-cornered.
Native of the Cape of Good Hope.
Flowers from July, till October.

REFERENCE.

1. The Empalement, and Blossom.

2. The Empalement magnified.
3. The Chives, and Pointal.
4. The Chives detached from the Pointal; one tip magnified.
5. The Shaft, and its Summit, magnified.
 ERICA jasminiflora.

CHARACTER SPECIFICUS.

Erica, antheris basi bicornibus, inclusis; stylo exserto; corollis ampullaceis,

sesquipollicaribus, laciniis cordatis, patentibus; floribus subternis; foliis
ternis, trigonis, subulatis, patenti-erectis.

DESCRIPTIO.

Caulis filiformis, erectus; rami simplicissimi, filiformes, longi, patenti.

Folia terna, trigona, acuta, subulata, margine serrata, basi adpressa,
apicem versus patula, sexfariam imbricata.
Flores terminales, sub-terni, horizontales, umbellati; pedunculi purpurei,
bracteis tribus, ovatis, coloratis, instructi.
Calyx. Perianthium tetraphyllum, foliolis ovatis, viscosis, purpureis.
Corolla viscosa, sesquipollicaris, summa cylindracea, ad basin inflata,
ore arctata; laciniis expansis, sub-ovatis, maximis.
Stamina. Filamenta octo capillaria; antheræ basi bicornes, apice
acuminatæ, inclusæ.
Pistillum. Germen ovatum, sulcatum. Stylus filiformis, exsertus. Stigma
tetragonum.
Habitat ad Caput Bonæ Spei.
Floret a mensi Julii, in Novembrem.

REFERENTIA.

1. Folium unum, lente auctum.

2. Calyx, lente auctus.
3. Calyx, et Corolla.
4. Stamina, et Pistillum.
 5. Stamina a Pistillo diducta, anthera una, lente aucta.
6. Stylus et Stigma lente aucta.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Heath with tips two horned at the base and within the blossom, the shaft
without; blossoms flask-shaped, an inch and a half long, the segments heart-
shaped and spreading; flowers growing by threes mostly; leaves grow by
threes, are three-sided, awl-shaped, upright and spreading.

DESCRIPTION.

Stem thread-shaped and upright; the branches are quite simple, thread
shaped, long, and spreading.
Leaves grow by threes, are three-sided, sharp, awl-shaped, sawed at the
edge, pressed to the stem at the base, spreading towards the end, and forming
six angles.
Flowers terminate the branches generally by threes, grow horizontal,
and in bunches; the foot-stalks are purple, having three oval, coloured floral
leaves.
Empalement. Cup of four leaves, which are egg-shaped, clammy, and
purple.
Blossom, clammy, an inch and a half long, the upper part cylindrical,
swelled at the base, and pinched in at the mouth; the segments spreading,
nearly egg-shaped and very large.
Chives. Eight hair-like threads. Tips two horned at the base, tapered to
the points and within the blossom.
Pointal. Seed-bud egg-shaped and furrowed. Shaft thread-shaped and
without the blossom. Summit four-cornered.
Native of the Cape of Good Hope.
Flowers from July, till November.

REFERENCE.
1. A Leaf, magnified.
2. The Empalement, magnified.
3. The Empalement, and Blossom.
4. The Chives, and Pointal.
5. The Chives detached from the Pointal, one tip magnified.
6. The Shaft and its Summit magnified.
 ERICA lateralis.

CHARACTER SPECIFICUS.

Erica antheris cristatis, inclulis; corolla purpurea, urceolato-campanulata, ad

basin plana; pedunculis longissimis; floribus umbellatis, ternminalibus,
fecundis, cernuis; foliis quaternis, obtusis, glaberrimis.

DESCRIPTIO.

Caulis fruticosus, erectus, pedalis; rami sub-simplices, virgati, filiformes.

Folia quaterna, linearia, obtusa, sub-trigona, crassiuscula, brevissime
petiolata, petiolis adpressis.
Flores ad apices ramorum ramulorumque umbellati, cernui, secundi,
purpurei; pedunculi florum triplo longitudine colorati, bracteis tribus minutis
instructi.
Calyx. Perianthium tetraphyllum, foliolis minutis, adpressis, ciliatis,
subulatis.
Corolla sub-campanulata ad basin plana, purpurea; laciniis limbi
obtusis, suberectis.
Stamina. Filamenta octo, capillaria, apice incurvata. Antheras cristatæ,
atro-purpureæ, inclusæ.
Pistillum. Germen turbinatum, sulcatum, ad basin glandulosum. Stylus
staminibus longior, exsertus. Stigma tetragonum, virescens.
Habitat ad Caput Bonæ Spei.
Floret a mense Augusti, in Decembrem.

REFERENTIA.

1. Calyx et Corolla.
2. Calyx, auctus.
 3. Corolla.
4. Stamina, et Pistillum.
5. Stamina a Pistillo diducta, anthera una lente aucta.
6. Pistillum, lente auctum.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Heath with crested tips, within the blossom; which is purple, between bell
and pitcher-shaped, flat at the base; foot-stalks very long; flowers grow in
umbels at the end of the branches, point all one way and hang down; leaves
grow by fours, are blunt and very smooth.

DESCRIPTION.

Stem shrubby, upright, grows a foot high; branches nearly simple, twiggy
and thread-shaped.
Leaves grow by fours, linear, blunt, almost three-sided, thickish, very
short foot-stalks, which are pressed to the stem.
Flowers grow in umbels, at the end of the larger and smaller branches,
nodding, all pointing one way, and are purple; foot-stalks thrice the length of
the flowers, coloured, and three small floral leaves upon them.
Empalement. Cup four-leaved, leaflets small, pressed to the blossom,
fringed and awl-shaped.
Blossom approaching to bell-shape; the lower part flat, and purple; the
segments of the border are blunt and rather upright
Chives. Eight hair-like threads, turned inwards at the upper part. Tips
crested, deep purple, and within the blossom.
Pointal. Seed-bud turban-shaped, furrowed, glandular at the base. Shaft
longer than the chives, without the blossom. Summit four-cornered and
greenish.
Native of the Cape of Good Hope.
Flowers from August, till December.

REFERENCE.
1. The Empalement, and Blossom.
2. The Empalement, magnified.
3. The Blossom.
4. The Chives, and Pointal.
5. The Chives detached from the Pointal, one Tip magnified.
6. The Pointal, magnified.