Thirty years ago I’d suggested he name his digital assistant Ivanka, after the pop star. Every time Tyler spoke her name, it reminded me what I’d like to do to her. With her. Whatever.
“Affirmative,” she replied in that delicious sultry voice.
Tyler pulled his shirt off and threw it in the hamper.
The closet was barely big enough to stand in, but it had the basics. A variety of clothes, from neatly folded polo shirts in blue and green to a sharp-pressed custom-tailored suit in dark blue. A dozen ties so powerful that they almost fought for dominance. At the back, a little glass shelf held a tube of odorless deodorant and a spray bottle of cologne that had a fancy French name but I thought of as Leather and Sage and You Want Me Now.
“Ivanka. Give me the precis on Minnie White and Novalo
