DESCRIPTION

Leslie Stetler just started a new job selling adult novelties through in-home demonstration parties. She's off to a great start, great enough to attract the attention of company sales legend Rick Miller. When their private training session gets out of hand, both Leslie's reputation and sales record suddenly teeter on the brink of disaster. She'll need every feminine wile to figure out a way for the student to beat the master at his own game, where passion is the true prize...

EXCERPT

“This, Ladies, is the Vibralux 3000, the vibrator for the next millennium.”

 I flipped the switch, and every woman’s jaw dropped as the device buzzed to life.  The plastic white shaft shivered and hummed, and the tip rotated clockwise with an impressive display of power and flexibility that promised it would reach every spot they could think of.

“Now the company rules prohibit my telling you exact stories about or uses for this product, but I can tell you this, it is the only toy on this table that I have never, ever had anyone return.”

 I left out the detail that I’d only been doing this for two months and still had items on back order from my very first sales party, so returns hadn’t even come up yet.  This was the highest-priced item on the table, though, and I needed the commission dollars.

 Every one of the women in the room either leaned forward in her seat or crossed her legs.

Cha-ching.

I sell sex toys for a living.  You’d think this would make me infinitely qualified on all sorts of different experiences and techniques, and a certifiable guy magnet, but no.  

Before you go thinking I am some super-cheesy skank, I do not run some hole-in-the-wall unidentified-goop-on-the-floor porn shop.  I conduct tasteful, intimate, in-home demonstration parties.  Think of me as your Naughty Tupperware Lady.  I can show you how to scratch itches you didn’t even know you had with tools you didn’t even know existed.

In my two short months, I’d risen to Number Three in the Region, and if I worked this party just right, I would rise to Number Two.  The only hurdle remaining between me, the top spot, and a new sports car was alleged sales god Rick Miller.

Of course, Rick Miller had no clue he stood between my beat-up 15-year-old Chevrolet hatchback that was on its second engine and third clutch and a new coupe that had automatic transmission, a moon roof, and a throaty V-6.

Not that I’d ever met my hurdle between sales greatness and mediocrity.  Until the next night. . .

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