The O Coach Read online

  I don’t even want to guess what he currently thinks of me.

  “That is so strange,” Tracy says, interrupting my thoughts. “Most women orgasm during sex. They might not do it every time, but women at least come sometimes. If we didn’t, surely we wouldn’t bother having sex. I sure wouldn’t.…”

  “I thought I was really screwed up,” I tell her. “But I’ve been doing some research and maybe I’m not as messed up as I thought.”

  I spin my laptop around on the desk so Tracy can read the info displayed on the screen. She sets the to-go container of pizza on the floor and leans on the desk, engrossed in the information. She lets out a low whistle.

  “Holy cow. I had no idea.” She flashes her quicksilver grin. “Looks like I have great taste in guys.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s one way of looking at it. The thing is, I’d be happy to say it’s the guys I’ve been with that are at fault, but that seems a little far-fetched, doesn’t it? On some level, the problem must be me, right?”

  “Well…” Tracy draws the word out. “If that’s the case, it looks like this site has the solution.”

  “What are you talking about?” I snatch at the laptop, changing its position so we can look at it at the same time.”

  Tracy taps a long fingernail against a small block of text near the bottom of the screen that I hadn’t noticed before. “It says here that the creators of this No O page provide one-on-one counseling sessions.”

  “One-on-one counseling sessions,” I repeat, finding the idea equally intriguing and off-putting. “Wonder how those work.” I look up, meeting Tracy’s eyes. “Do you think it’s even legal? I mean, it’s kind of like taking money for sex, isn’t it?”

  Tracy shrugs. “So is porn, but that’s legal. I’m almost tempted to send them an email just to find out how it works.”

  I refuse to say it out loud, but she’s not the only one. And what harm could sending one little email do? I have a friend who has all sorts of mad computer skills. Surely they could set things up for me so that my email couldn’t be traced, and …

  “Hey, Erin.” Tracy says, jerking me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  She taps the computer again, this time choosing a spot that’s even lower than the block of text about the counseling sessions. It’s the little clock on my toolbar.

  “In about two minutes, all the execs and partners involved with Many Miles Auto Parts are going to be logging onto their computers, ready to hear all about the great new marketing plan you’ve put together for them.”

  “Shit!” I’ve been so wrapped up in the disappointing nature of my sex life, I completely forgot about the conference call.

  I jerk the laptop toward me and start hurriedly hitting icons. The No O website disappears, replaced with the marketing studies and other data I’ve put together for the auto chain that hired me and my advertising firm.

  Taking a deep breath, I chase all thoughts of my depressing sex life out of my mind, replacing them with the information and ideas I hope will appeal to the pleasant, burly men that I need to impress.

  Luckily, I perform far better in the boardroom than I do in the bedroom.

  Chapter Two

  Erin

  “As you can see, eighty-three percent of the participants in the focus group responded a great deal more favorably to this marketing approach than the others we presented to them.” I beam at my computer screen, where twelve intent male faces stare back at me.

  The faces belong to the members of the Many Miles Auto Parts board of directors. In addition to the twelve visible faces, Tracy is also watching my presentation from her office, ready to pipe in if her opinion or insight is needed. Supposedly, there are also three silent partners watching my presentation, though I have no real way of knowing whether that’s true, since the tele-conference program I’m using doesn’t let me know about anonymous viewers.

  Normally, this stage, where I pitch the marketing plan I’ve put together for my client, makes me sick with worry, but not today. This marks the fourth time Many Miles Auto Parts has come to me for help with their marketing and we’ve always worked well together. By this point, I’m confident that I know what they’re looking for.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Burkley.” A round-faced man with deep set eyes, a few acne scars, light hair, and a nice smile speaks up. Al McNaughton. He’s always the one that has the most questions. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’d still like to see what other ideas you’ve cooked up. If you don’t mind?”

  “Of course.” I beam at him. “I’m happy to show you that information.” After all, it was part of the fee I charged. I love it when my clients chime in; not only does it make the time go faster, but also lets me know exactly what aspects of the presentation I need to focus on in order to land the account. “Just give me a second or two to bring up the information.” I extend one hand toward my laptop and strike a few keys. With the other, I open my computer files that contain information about the other two ideas Tracy and I pitched to the focus group.

  When the data flashes up on my screen, I hit an icon so that I can see the guys while they read through the plan, the same way I always do when presenting reports. I like being able to gauge their reactions so that I can adjust my pitch accordingly.

  “As you can see,” I say, “the concept of this projected marketing program was to focus on customer service, something I expected to be well received, but when the concept was put before representatives of your target market, I discovered that they responded better to the approach that focuses on quality of the parts your company sells and the efficiency with which you install them.”

  I steal a quick glance at my computer. The visible members of my audience stare at their own computer monitors with varying expressions of shock and amusement. Strange.

  “The one thing I did notice is that even though women make up a smaller portion of your target market, the ones that participated in the focus group did respond more favorably to the customer service geared marketing program.”

  My comment is greeted by complete silence. Not a good sign.

  A tight knot of dread forms in my stomach, but I press on. “While I was researching your target market, I stumbled upon some stats that indicate that women are taking a more active interest in vehicle care and maintenance, including DIY repairs. Based on this, I’d like to explore the possibility—”

  The door to my office swings open so fast and so hard it bounces off the wall and starts swinging closed, nearly smacking Tracy in the face as she races though the doorway. Her red face and wild eyes knock my train of thought off track.

  She’s carrying her own laptop in her arms.

  The knot in my stomach tightens.

  “Yes—” Despite my best efforts to remain calm, the word is a full octave higher than my normal tone.

  Tracy skids to a stop by my desk and spins her laptop around, showing me the glowing screen. “This is what you’re showing them,” she hisses.

  Instead of the detailed and very professional marketing report that’s supposed to be on the screen, I take in the explicit web content and detailed photos of the No O website.

  “Shit!”

  Chapter Three

  Garret

  “Shit!”

  While appropriate for the situation, the sound of Erin Burkley swearing is strange. She’s always so polished, her speech so professional. Her sudden use of the word is nearly as surprising and unexpected as finding myself staring at the No O website, a website my late wife and I created about five years ago.

  Funny how events can deviate from the expected so quickly.

  As one of Many Miles Auto Part’s silent partners, I’m always invited to participate in their video conferences, but I rarely do. I only invested in the company to help a friend, and since he and the others have done a great job turning the chain into a huge success, I rarely feel the need to add my own two cents.

  My favorite thing about being a silent partner in b
usinesses is being able to sit back, leaving the daily headaches connected to the running of the business to others while I simply collect a quarterly profit check.

  I changed my mind when I learned that Erin was personally handling the campaign pitch.

  Not only has Erin’s marketing and advertising firm handled some of the marketing for other business ventures I’m involved with, we live in the same apartment building. Her on the fifteenth floor while I have the penthouse suite. We’ve met, in passing, a few times, and while I don’t know her well, I’ve always found her pleasant and funny. Plus, with her big ice-blue eyes, rich chestnut hair, wide cheekbones, and generous curves, she’s easy to look at.

  Curious to see how she’s going to handle the development, I lean back in my chair and rest my linked hands on my flat stomach. I always enjoy watching Erin and this should be quite a performance.

  Erin’s face turns a stunning shade of tomato red. Her eyes go so big and round they remind me of the characters in the cartoons I still like watching on lazy Saturday mornings. It’s not a look that many women can pull off, but somehow Erin manages to make acute embarrassment adorable.

  She leans forward and fumbles with her computer’s keyboard. A second later the No O information is replaced by a spreadsheet.

  “I’m so sorry,” Erin says, her face turning an even brighter shade of red. Her hands flutter by her sides. The muffled sound of someone laughing off screen drifts through my computer’s speakers. Erin shoots the off-screen person a venomous glare. She might be embarrassed right now, but that hasn’t dampened her firecracker personality. “Um, I don’t know how that happened. Must have pushed the wrong button.”

  She takes a deep breath, drawing my attention to the way her breasts press against the soft white shirt she’s wearing under a black blazer. Her eyes dart around the room for a few seconds before returning to look directly at her webcam.

  “The owners of the No O website are interested in boosting their brand and they’ve hired my company. Before this conference call, I was working on that. I must have hit the wrong button on my laptop. I’m truly sorry if my mistake made any of you uncomfortable.”

  “I enjoyed it,” Al McNaughton chimes in, his deep voice shaking with laughter. “Let me know when you need volunteers for your focus group. I’m ready and willing to volunteer.”

  As more of the Many Miles Auto Parts team add their two cents, I zone them out and study Erin’s face.

  She did a good job creating a cover story. Her voice was steady, her story plausible, and somehow her blush helped her sell it. If I wasn’t the sole owner of No O, I’d have believed her. But I am. Not only have I not hired Erin to promote the website, but I keep thinking that I should shut it down.

  But…

  I can think of just one reason why someone like Erin Burkley would be looking at No O. And if I’m right, it’s a shame. A woman like Erin deserves to find happiness in every aspect of her life.

  I hesitate for a moment before reaching for my ancient, beat-up flip phone.

  A large part of me knows I should just walk away, metaphorically, and pretend I didn’t know that Erin has a problem.

  But the other part of me, the part that often seems to get me into trouble, simply can’t resist helping a damsel in distress.

  Chapter Four

  Erin

  I drop my head onto my desktop and whoop with laughter. “Of all the things I imagined going wrong with that particular conference call, the very last thing I thought would take place was me getting caught in the middle of a sex scandal.”

  “I thought you handled that rather well,” Tracy says, her giggles mingling with mine.

  I try to rein in my laughter enough so that I can breathe. “Sure. Now one of our oldest and most loyal clients thinks that I’m the kind of person who spends all their spare time looking at sex websites. I hate to think what they’re thinking right now.”

  About the only good thing about the situation is that there’s very little chance I’ll ever run into any of the board members face to face. Even though the Many Miles Auto Parts has several branches scattered across the country and is currently in a state of growth, the company is based in Southern California. To the best of my knowledge, very few of the board members ever make it to my hometown of Tucson, Arizona. Thank God! Facing them through a computer screen after what just happened was bad enough. There’s no way I could handle a face-to-face encounter.

  “Personally, I think it’s a good thing.” Tracy studies her manicure.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, it makes you seem more exciting, a lot less buttoned up.” Tracy turns her attention away from her nails, redirecting it at me. “And isn’t exciting exactly the adjective that you want to pop into people’s minds when they think about this marketing firm? Exciting means we’re open to trying new things, that they won’t get the same generic material and ideas that other firms provide.”

  I angle my head enough to glare at her with one eye as I continue to chuckle. “You do realize that it’s possible that there’s such a thing as too much excitement.”

  “Nonsense,” Tracy snorts.

  Struggling to compose myself, I sit up and shove my long, dishwasher blond hair behind my ears. “I’m going to remind you of this conversation when, instead of nice respectable things like law firms, auto parts chains, and dentist offices, our entire client base is made up of pimps, porn kings, and sex toy companies.”

  “You say that like it would be a bad thing, but considering how much the sex industry is worth, I’d be happy to handle those accounts. Besides, they deserve high quality marketing as much as dentists and doctors do. Right? And don’t forget, we’re doing that pro-bono deal for that charity even that the adult store is hosting.”

  “Right.” I’d completely forgotten about that project. It lends credence to the explanation I provided the board. If I’d been quicker, I might have even been able to come up with a way to get the board members to throw a little money to the cause the shop was raising money for. Talk about a missed opportunity. “I suppose this is nothing more than a funny little mishap. I just wish it hadn’t happened to me.”

  Tracy throws herself down into the chair across from my desk and grins. “I don’t. This year, I’m going to be the one that has a great story to tell when I go to conferences. I can’t wait to tell them how my partner got embroiled in a sex scandal.”

  “Don’t you dare tell them the real reason I was looking at that website.” I point a warning finger at her. “You’re my partner so I can’t threaten to fire you, but rest assured, if a single word of why this happened leaks out, I will do everything in my power to ensure that your life becomes a living hell.”

  “Cross my heart, I’ll stick to the ‘researching a new client’ client story.” Tracy mimes drawing an X over her chest. “I still can’t believe that you’re having a problem. What do you do, fake it each and every time you have sex?”

  Before I can compose an answer, my cell phone, the one that I only use for personal things, the one that only a few people have the number to, alerts an incoming text message.

  I open the app and stare at the phone for so long that Tracy leans forward, concerned. “What is it? Did your dad—”

  I hold up the phone for her to see the words printed across the screen.

  I can help.

  -Mr. No O

  I stare at the screen, my heart pounding in my throat.

  “What is it?” Tracy leans closer, braces her elbows on my desktop and tries to get a good look at my phone.

  “Not really sure.” I nudge it toward her. “Creepy is the only word that comes to mind.”

  Tracy spins the phone around and reads the text. “Yeah … but also …” She stops talking, letting the unfinished thought hang in the air.

  “Out with it,” I snap, not in the mood for Tracy’s dramatic nature.

  “Well, it’s also kind of intriguing.”

  “Intriguing?” I repeat,
my voice jumping a full octave. “This is my private phone. Maybe a dozen people have the number. So how the hell did this guy—,” I wave my hand wildly over the phone, “—not only get my phone number, but also know that I’ve been looking at the No O website? This reeks of spying and probably more. And you think that’s intriguing?”

  “Not when you put it that way,” Tracy says sarcastically while she shoots me a placid look.

  “What other way is there?” By nature, I’m pretty calm and laid back. In both my professional and personal life, I’ve learned to roll with the punches, but the longer I think about the text, the more my anxiety levels ramp up.

  “Well …” Tracy nudges the phone back across the desk top toward me. “It could be one of the Many Miles board members. If the procedural shows currently airing on TV are to be believed, there are about a million different ways one of those guys could have used the teleconference to hack your computer and gain access to your personal cell phone. As I understand it, all they’d need are some basic computer skills and a few pieces of hacking equipment.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better,” I say.

  “I didn’t say I was trying to make you feel better, did I?” Tracy says. She slides a glance toward my phone, giving me the impression that she’d love another peek at it. “I’ve got to admit that I’m fascinated by the No O website. There’s exercises and suggestions I haven’t even imagined. I can’t wait to try them out. And if this guy is really the brains behind the project, well then, it seems like he might be just the guy to help you with your little problem. Don’t you think?”

  I chew on my lower lip and think about her words. I’ve always taken a great deal of pride in how I’m completely honest with myself, no matter what problem I’m dealing with, and there is a tiny sliver portion of me that is curious about the kind of help this Mr. No O is offering.