Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? Read Online Free Page A

wouldn’t cause any trouble. He’s already on probation.”
    Dillon shrugged. He didn’t think he should volunteer that he’d been the one to suggest the switch. But now he was glad that he’d done it. For Ms. Mouse’s sake as well as his own.
    â€œDon’t worry. She doesn’t look like the demanding type. It’ll give you time to get into the swing of things, and my guess is you’ll get snatched up by one of the other women before long. Just don’t let it take away from your appointed goddess. We’re paid to work; any perks are on your own time, unless it’s with your own trainee.” He turned to the rest of the newbies. “And I don’t need to remind you gentlemen that there will be no stepping out of line unless asked.”
    They all nodded.
    â€œAnd for you new guys. Don’t be surprised if some of the ladies refer to you as slaves. It’s just a little in-joke. You will at all times refer to yourselves as attendants.”
    More nods.
    This is sick, thought Dillon. Probably broke a slew of state and federal trafficking laws. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was uncovering a murder conspiracy.
    Â 
    Andy heard the knock on the door and looked at her watch. Ten to five. She groaned. Please don’t let it be Body Beautiful. He was just too tempting. And if he kept escorting her everywhere, she would have a hard time keeping a blank look on her face and her hands off his butt.
    Three women stood on the other side of the screen door: the tall, skinny redhead, Jeannie, who’d sat next to her on the bus, a round, shorter woman with pink cheeks and a blue perm, and a distinguished seventy-something with aquiline features and a swept-up French twist. They were dressed in long chitons and smelled of afternoon cocktails. They probably carried Gilbey’s in their suitcases, not rappelling rope.
    Andy opened the door and got a brief look at their smiles, before their faces went blank and their mouths dropped open.
    Okay. So she’d put on a long-sleeved white shirt under her toga. Muscular biceps and visible nipples were not exactly the look she was going for, so she’d resorted to camouflage. Her hair was pulled back even tighter than before, and an extra layer of pale makeup covered her face and lips.
    Andy slipped her glasses on and stepped onto the porch.
    â€œDear,” the distinguished-looking woman said in a New England accent. “I’m Evelyn Monroe; this is Loubelle Smothers.” She gestured to the plump lady. “And I believe you’ve met Jeannie Jenkins. We thought you might like to walk with us to the orientation.”
    â€œSure, thanks,” said Andy, flattered that they had thought of her.
    Evelyn tucked Andy’s arm in hers, and they all started down the hill. “You’re going to love the program. And you’ll feel more comfortable once you meet everybody.”
    â€œThey’re all just as sweet as they can be,” seconded Loubelle in a soft southern accent.
    â€œEspecially the slaves.” Jeannie laughed. “I tell ya, honey, not even Texas grows ’em like this. My Demetri is good enough to eat.”
    Andy tripped over the hem of her toga. “Slaves?”
    Evelyn grasped her elbow. “It’s what everybody calls the attendants,” she said. “But not in front of the staff.”
    The path became steeper, and their talk turned to silence, then to huffing, as they maneuvered their way down through the woods. They crossed the expanse of grass to the main building and joined other groups of chiffon-clad women climbing the entrance steps.
    It looked like a cattle call for a Ben Hur remake. Every age, shape, and size, all swathed in flowing white.
    The lobby buzzed with conversation. A woman with a clipboard and a purple sash stretched diagonally across her toga, à la Miss America, was directing women to different lines.
    â€œWhat does the purple