She waved a hand in the air between us. “Sean Donovan is a swinging dick,” she said, rolling her eyes. She nodded at my boobs, which were pushing against the material of my t-shirt. “You go in with the right business card and the right blouse, you flash a little cleavage, and you might get an interview. Heck, you might get laid. Is that the idea?”
I bit my lip. It sounded crazy when she said it. I said, “Yes, that’s the idea. I mean, not the getting laid part, but the rest. Do you think it’ll work?”
“You’ll never know unless you try,” she said, turning to her computer and resting her fingers on the keys. “So, Playboy or Maxim?”
“Playboy, I think.”
I watched her Google the words “Playboy logo”.
The screen filled with images of the famous bunny head. She selected one of the images and pasted it into the business card template she had called up in her graphics program.
Next, she clicked a link to get the address of the Playboy offices in New York City, then added that to the template.
“What’s your cell number?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“Why?”
“For the card,” she said, tapping a finger to the screen. “You don’t want me to put the real Playboy office number on there. What if he tries to call Playboy to check you out and discovers that you don’t really work there?”
“You’re really good at this,” I said. I gave her my cell number and she typed it into the template. I smiled at the screen. It looked like an actual Playboy business card.
“Okay, next, what name do you want on the card?”
I frowned at her. “What name?”
“You can’t use Kate Asher,” she scoffed. “What if he Googles you and discovers that you work for SIO? Besides, you need something sexy, like a real Playboy Playmate’s name.”
“I’m not posing as a Playboy Playmate,” I said.
“Don’t fool yourself,” she said, glancing at my boobs again. “He’s not going to give a serious journalist the time of day, but if he thinks you’re a former Playmate trying to score points with her boss by doing a story on him… Hell, he’ll probably try to fuck you even before you start trying to interview him.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, scratching my chin. “How about Katie Holmes? Holmes was my mom’s maiden name.”
“Katie Holmes? Like the actress, Katie Holmes.”
“Might make for a great conversation starter,” I said.
“I love it,” she said, chuckling. Her fingers went across the keys. “Katie Holmes, Journalist, Playboy Magazine.”
We both sat back to admire her handy work.
It looked like the real thing.
“Can you print a few cards for me?” I asked.
“Of course, Katie Holmes, hang on a second.”
She rolled her chair over to the printer station and opened a drawer to bring out a sheet of pre-cut card stock. She loaded the card stock into the printer and rolled back to the computer. “Is eight enough or will you need more?”
“With any luck, I’ll only need one,” I said.
“Luck and those tits will go a long way,” she said with a grin.
“Will you stop looking at my tits,” I said, playfully slapping her arm. The printer cranked out the sheet of cards and she rolled over and back to retrieve it.
“For what I’m doing for you, I should get to see those tits,” she said, separating the cards to make a neat stack. She held out the cards to me and raised one eyebrow. “Or at least touch them for a minute. Those are natural, right?”
“Yes, they are, thank you very much.” I took the stack of perfectly-forged business cards and put my hands on my hips. I stuck out my boobs and sighed.