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vibrators, nipple teasers or love potions while in her office; Adventurous Accessories had private rooms for that kind of thing, and as project lead, she had her own suite. But still . . .
    “I can do that,” he said, nodding. “Just wanted to let you know Pinky didn’t pass the trial run.”
    Amy’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”
    “Can I sit?” He pointed to one of the two leather chairs facing her desk.
    “Of course.” Dang, was he a “Mother, may-I?” guy about everything? Lord knows, if she ever did want a man in her bedroom, she wouldn’t want him asking questions throughout the process. She’d heard of the type.
    Do you like this? How do you like that?
    Try it and see what the woman likes, Bozo.
    But Amy didn’t have to worry about those occurrences, the ones her friends described whenever they went barhopping and talked about bedhopping. She used the toys, got the job done and didn’t have to worry about how she looked in the morning. It was a foolproof system, and she liked it.
    Moreover, she liked her newest toy more than any other. Listening to Wallace’s claim, she was floored. She had one of the Pinky demos at home and had even offered it to her sister because it was so good at hitting the mark every time.
    It failed?
    “How many test subjects?” she asked, grabbing a pen and paper.
    “Thirty.”
    Amy frowned. That number was large enough to get a general idea. “And what was the percentage?”
    He cleared his throat and pulled a folded paper out of his shirt pocket. “Twenty percent positive response.”
    Six women out of thirty? That was it? But it had found her bull’s-eye every time. Multiple times, in fact.
    “I . . . have a theory,” Wallace said, “but I’m not sure if it’s one you want to hear.”
    “I’m listening,” she said, her brow furrowed. “Any theory that could potentially help our company and our products is one I want to know,” Amy clarified, though she cringed inside. Did she really want to hear anything negative about Pinky? It was her creation, the one that would catapult her to fame in the sex toy industry. And it only worked 20 percent of the time?
    What was up with that?
    “Well, it’s been my personal experience,” he said, his face tinting a tad from peach to pale pink, “that some women require manual stimulation as well.”
    Amy blinked. “This is manual stimulation, Wallace. It’s a toy. A do-it-yourself for the woman who doesn’t need, or want, a sexual partner.”
    Another clearing of his throat, a finger crooked in his shirt collar, and his hue altered from pink to red. “What I meant was, some women may not be able to simply use a toy. Some may require a toy
and
a partner.”
    “Why?” Amy asked, stunned by his so-called-theory. Had he tested it? And if so, on how many subjects?
    He straightened in his chair and his color shifted closer to normal. “Adventurous Accessories does promote its products as enhancements to a couple’s lovemaking. Maybe Pinky is more of an enhancement to the act, rather than the sole instigator.”
    “But my entire concept was for something that stimulates the G-spot without a partner,” she said, not embarrassed one iota talking about sex. She’d grown up in the same house with Wanda Campbell, after all.
    “I know. That’s why this was so difficult to bring to your attention. But, in truth, if you market it as a solo act, and then it doesn’t live up to the claim, Adventurous Accessories will take the heat for it.” He inhaled deeply, exhaled loudly, as though immensely relieved to have made his point.
    Amy considered the possibility and knew he was right. Dang it.
    “Okay. Change the marketing angle. But include a teaser that it can keep you happy while your partner’s away too,” she added, determined to suit women who were like her as well.
    Women like her. Which was . . . what? Toy savvy? Men haters? No, she didn’t hate men. She just didn’t need one.
    Self-sufficient. Yeah, that was