It was the first orgasm Shelley Schwartz ever faked. She swore she'd never do it, but she was late for a career-saving meeting at Schwartz and Associates and her options were limited. If she'd faked it five minutes sooner, she might have earned her father's approval, won the account, and bested her rival and the company golden boy, Ross Morgan. Calm, cool, and always collected, Ross is the perfect person to take over the ad agency her father founded-and the perfect opposite of Shelley, who's distracted by her mother's relentless matchmaking and her big sister's marital meltdown.
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October 24, 2005
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Excerpt from Hostile Makeover by Wendy Wax
For the first time in her thirty-three-year-old life, Shelley Schwartz faked an orgasm. On principle she was opposed to this idea and had, in debates with her friends, been very smug about always hanging in there even if the payoff was more like a blip on the Richter scale than a full-scale movement of the earth.
A woman should never be cruel or unsympathetic in bed, she'd argued, but pretending that something she didn't like might actually lead to an orgasm had potentially dangerous ramifications; how could a woman go into paroxysms of ecstasy over something one day and then fail to get off on it the next It was Pavlovian training at its most dysfunctional ' and most men didn't need any help or encouragement in failing to satisfy.
But today she'd gotten stuck between a rock and a hard place. Well, actually it had been a mattress and Trey Davenport's superbly sculpted chest.
Faking it had turned out to be her only viable option.
Because although her body had been pinned beneath Trey's very studly one, her mind had been trained on her two-thirty meeting ' the one at which she intended to show her father and everyone else at the advertising agency that she was not the cream puff they believed her to be. The meeting she'd spent months preparing for, and which she was now racing to at the speed of sound.
Shelley coasted through a four-way stop then mashed down the accelerator, still trying to figure out how an innocent lunch had turned into such a sexual Waterloo.
She'd invited Trey to the Ritz for his birthday, certain they'd have plenty of time for a celebratory lunch before her meeting. Things had been going swimmingly until he dangled the room key in front of her.
She'd felt the smile freeze on her lips, but Trey was a truly sweet and very hunky guy and it was his birthday; she simply couldn't tell him she'd rather go back to the office and pitch a feminine hygiene account. "This is my chance to be taken seriously at work" wasn't going to cut it with a man who'd just turned thirty-five, consumed most of a bottle of Cristal, and was looking at her like she was the icing on his cake.