Page 31 of Stroked Hard
The minute Paisley shuts the door, we both look at each other in horror. “What the fuck just happened?” I ask in shock.
Paisley tries to shake the images out of her head. “I think Pocket just showed us her pussy.”
“Was that necessary?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“I thought so.” We walk in silence toward the elevator, both trying to figure out why we were exposed to Pocket’s mini pouch. Seconds tick by until I say, “Were her nipples weird?”
“I’m trying to figure out what I saw. I’m so confused. I think her pussy waved at me and her nipples . . . was that hair?”
“Is that what that was?” I ask, trying to erase the image from my eyes but can’t quite seem to picture anything else. “Thanks to her red hair, it almost seemed like she had two mini red clown wigs decorating her nipples. I didn’t know they could be so hairy.”
“They were unusually hairy,” Paisley agrees.
“Like, ungodly hairy.”
“Like, I kind of want to go back and cornrow the nipple hair encasing her nipple.
“Did you even see a nipple? I don’t recall a nub.”
Paisley laughs. “I honestly couldn’t even focus on anything else besides her waving flaps. I swear a light breeze could make those damn things wave around. I’ve never seen such an awkward body before.”
I agree completely. Pocket had a very strange body. I guess the body fits the personality.
“I kind of feel bad, like maybe I should help her.”
Paisley grabs my arm. “If she wanted help, she would ask for it. She’s not opposed to asking for things. She had me take a picture of her with Bellini in the background. It was so strange.”
“God, I bet she has a million of those pictures hanging on the walls in her house.” I shiver from just the thought.
“I’m just glad we left when we did. Who knows what she would ask us to do?”
“Probably video her so she can send it to Bellini.”
“Five bucks says she has a secret blog about herself,” Paisley says.
I shake my head. “No use in taking that bet, we both know she does.”
And why do I actually want to subscribe to it? Now I’m the freaking weirdo.
***
Coffee, three cups, it’s the only reason why I’m still awake. Within twenty-four hours, I find myself once again in the airport waiting for my plane to board. I’ve spent the last hour going over the packaging for my lip-stain line. Packaging in my opinion can make or break a product. It’s like the cover of a book: people like to say they don’t judge a book by its cover but they are liars. The cover is what draws you in first, just like packaging.
For instance,Benefitmakeup has the vintage pop-art feel. Every time I go by one of their booths or counters, I’m instantly drawn to their products because the packaging is so attention grabbing. That’s what I want. I want people to see my packaging from across the store and just have to see it up close.
But after staring at multiple boxes and mock-ups, my eyes feel crossed and my brain is fuzzier than ever. I can’t look at them anymore.
The time on my phone says we still have another two hours before we board which is so damn depressing. I just want to be home. Why couldn’t I have a boss kind enough to share her private jet with her trusted employees? Instead I’m stuck with Regina George, who forces her employees to take tomato-juice baths because they couldn’t help but sweat in front of her.
She pays my bills; her signature on my paycheck is making my dreams come true. That’s what I keep telling myself. Plus, thanks to all the celebrities I come across at shows, I’ve made a great deal of connections so when I finally decide to launch my lip-stain line, I have some connections I can call upon. At least I hope I do.
God, I’m bored.
Usually I would have heard from Hollis already. He texts me every day. This is the first day he has yet to text me. I hate to admit it, but I’ve grown to expect his ridiculous texts. What does that say about me?
Ugh, I don’t even want to answer that question because I know I won’t like what I find out.
