We’ve been mystery-shopped.

Being the subject of a mystery shop evaluation is like standing naked in front of your future in-laws with your credit report taped all over your body and lie-detector tests from all your exes being read over an intercom. In the middle of church.

While standing in a pool of sharks.

Or maybe it just seems that bad. I’m not sure. But I do know there’s no way I can read this much pink without more coffee.

And some Xanax-flavored creamer.

A C? I’m that kid who never earned a C in her life. Failure starts with C!

Okay, so, technically it starts with F, and right now, another word that starts with F is coming out of my mouth as I read this secret shopper evaluation that is longer than my college senior honors thesis.

I live for O.

Don’t misunderstand. You’ve heard of O, right?

We’ve been written up in every lifestyle publication from A to Z. Boston trendsetter Jessica Coffin Instagrams about us regularly—although I’m never quite sure whether she’s being sincere or snarky, and sometimes I suspect she’s on retainer. This is from yesterday’s feed from Jessica: Standing O.

O is a twenty-first century club for sophisticated women. A fourth space for women of a discerning taste.

Home is the first space. Work is the second space. Third spaces are locations like coffee shops and malls.

O is the fourth space. The space where you can arrive. Rest. Relax. Indulge. Be someone you can’t be in the other three spaces.

Based on our membership rates, we’re onto something. Our investors are, shall we say, pleased.

O does have a public presence, thanks to our retail environments. In Boston, Chicago, San Francisco, and soon in New Orleans, sophisticated consumers can spend hours—and hundreds of dollars—browsing our selection of “elegant accessories for intimate pleasure.”

That’s right—sex toys. That’s what the masses call them. Except at O, we cater to a clientele that doesn’t want to be one of the hoi polloi. They want to be unique. In the know. Enlightened and cosmopolitan on the surface.

But a wildcat down…below.

Which makes a Grade C unacceptable. No one wants to be average.

Especially down below.

“‘Trying too hard’?” I read aloud, my words coming out like a bark, my fingernails curling and biting into my palms. “How dare they!”

The last time we were mystery shopped, the review began with superlatives that turned my ego into a hot air balloon.

This new eval? More like a Patriots football.

I read on for a very long time, forcing my face to relax.

Every O has its levels. We begin with apparel. Think of it as gift-wrapping—who doesn’t love to unwrap a beautiful package? Gently tugging off the ribbon, sliding a fingernail underneath the glossy paper, slowly lifting the lid and spreading open the rustling layers of tissue paper to reveal the delicious surprise beneath. We offer both lingerie and street-wear boutiques.

“The clothing seems a bit out of date and not accessible to the average woman,” I whisper-read, wondering who wrote that? There was that word again. Average. We don’t cater to the average woman! Our boutiques carry every size fathomable, and designers from Milan you’ve never heard of (but will next season) have exclusive pre-season visits with us to make decisions about their lines. We don’t follow trends.

We set them.

But it’s not just about merchandise. O is a destination. All our retail spaces include stylish bookstore cafés, where our clientele can sip espresso with a twist of lemon peel from tiny cups while reading masterpieces of erotic literature. Famous authors spend nearly a year on our bookstore signing wait lists to get a crack at access to our members (and their purchasing power and buzz).

O’s clients enjoy meeting a friend here after work for a sparkling glass of prosecco, and sparkling conversation about who gets to use that new toy on whom tonight, without the annoying meat-market feel of a bar.

And if you happen to want a little meat? We have another bar on site for that, except this meat doesn’t hit on you.

It serves you.

That white china cup of black coffee descends onto my desk as if delivered from a crane. I look up, and up, at a wall of flesh that makes my morning just a little more tolerable.

“Oh, Henry, thank you. I really need this.”

“I can see that. You look a little frazzled. And it’s only nine o’clock.” He lowers himself into a white upholstered armchair facing my desk, his brow wrinkled with concern, as I blink. I’ve been mired in all the ways O disappointed a mystery shopping team for the past two hours. No wonder I’m exhausted.

Henry Holliday is seriously seven feet tall. He is my ‘work husband.’ Ginger hair, green eyes, and the muscular physique that his somewhat unique job requires. Henry is a master masseur in the O Club spa, and fills in occasionally as a performer for private parties. Dancing is in his body and soul. And it pays the tuition for his brain: Henry is working on his master’s degree in public health at Harvard.

In a roundabout way, working at O is a form of public service.

See what I mean? At O, you’re here to be served.

From the moment you step into an O property, you enter a different world. A world of serenity, where your senses are first lulled, then stimulated.

A world designed by me.

Chloe Browne.

Who has just been given her first C.

Chapter 2

Chloe

“We’ve been mystery-shopped. I found the report on my desk this morning. Anterdec is watching us closely—I guess that’s what comes after a ten-million-dollar investment,” I explain to Henry as he watches me intently. I’d invite him to get his own cup, but I know Henry hates coffee, which makes him part cyborg.

He tenses visibly. It’s a sight. Henry has more muscles than the average person.

There’s that damn word again.

Average.

“And? Anything I should know? What did they say about the spa? You know I need this job, Chloe. It pays well and fits my class schedule.”

“Not sure yet, it’s over a hundred pages long, but so far it seems fairly neutral.”

He sucks in his breath as if scandalized.

Neutral. Average.

The overachiever’s biggest fear.

“I know.” I shake my head sadly. “Do you have any idea who it could have been? I filled in giving some of the tours last month, but no one seemed like they were evaluating us. Everyone I saw honestly seemed to be enjoying themselves. And enjoying you.” I smile.