Bare Necessities. Marie Donovan

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      BARE NECESSITIES

      Marie Donovan

      To my sweetie pie. I’m glad you’re better.

      And to the staff of Children’s Memorial Hospital.

       The work you do is the greatest love of all.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Epilogue

      1

      “HOW DO MY NIPPLES LOOK?” Sugar Jones craned her head around to check in the trifold mirror, her long blond extensions getting in the way.

      Bridget Weiss brushed them aside. “Just a sec, I’ll tell you when I’m done in the back.” She finished pinning the silver bra band around Sugar’s perfectly tanned, perfectly toned rib cage. A rib cage that carried a brand-new set of G-cup breasts, courtesy of a pricey suburban plastic surgeon and paid for by the slack-jawed patrons at Frisky’s Gentlemen’s Club, not a club that any real gentleman would belong to.

      Sugar shifted from one foot to the other and circled the carpeted pedestal, her butt cheeks flexing in the costume’s matching silver thong. Bridget bet she could bounce a quarter off those buns. The exotic dancer frowned at her reflection. “I don’t think the doc got them quite even.”

      Bridget stared at the silver-spandex-clad breasts, as dispassionate as a pastry chef making sure her cake was frosted evenly. Sure enough, the left nipple was maybe a half inch higher than the right. At least they weren’t off-center, like some other clients of hers. One girl had gone to a cheaper doc and wound up with a pair so asymmetrical, Bridget had found herself tilting her head in a futile attempt to see them as a balanced set.

      But padding or a good pasty hid a multitude of sins. Even before starting fashion-design school here in Chicago last fall, Bridget had learned all the bra-design tricks in the book, plus a few more. “Let me pin up the left strap just a smidge.”

      She quickly made the alteration and Sugar smiled. “Much better. Now that I’m healed from my surgery, I’m going to be a feature dancer—finally a Frisky’s Kitten!” She bounced up and down in her excitement.

      Bridget backed away, not wanting to get biffed in the face by Sugar’s frighteningly firm breasts. “A Frisky’s Kitten, huh? That’s quite impressive.” She sincerely meant it. The stripper—rather, exotic dancer—business was as cutthroat a business as any of the high-pressure Chicago law firms or commodities trading partnerships that supplied most of Frisky’s patrons.

      Adam popped to mind, and just as firmly, Bridget tried to pop him out again. No such luck. She pursed her lips in aggravation. Adam Hale could do what he wanted, and if he wanted to lose a few brain cells and a lot of cash in Frisky’s after a long day trading pork belly futures at the Mercantile Exchange, it was his business.

      “Impressive and lucrative.” Sugar closed one blue eye in a big wink. “According to the projections in my business plan, my implants will pay for themselves within eight to ten weeks.”

      “Business plan? Like spreadsheets and things?” What did Sugar do, calculate how many lap dances per night she needed to average? Bridget’s business plan consisted of scraping together enough money to pay the large rent on her small apartment and grocery bill. Whoever thought you couldn’t buy groceries for ten bucks a week just wasn’t eating enough ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches.

      “Spreadsheets, trend forecasts in the adult entertainment industry, the whole nine yards. I wrote my plan as a final project for my marketing class. I got an A-plus on it, too.”

      Bridget nodded. She couldn’t imagine Sugar getting anything less.

      “And my accountant thinks I might be able to write my implants off as a deduction on my tax return.”

      Wow, she needed a business plan and Sugar’s accountant, as well. She had a hard time getting up the nerve to deduct basic things like fabric and thread. And heavy-duty silver spandex was not cheap. “Okay, I can have the bra ready for you the day after tomorrow. And I’ll keep the pattern for your new measurements on file so you can call and order new bras whenever you need them.”

      “Great! I go through a ton of bras. Sometimes the customers grab them and won’t give them back, or they land in a puddle of beer,” Sugar complained. She unclipped the band and slung the bra to Bridget with practiced ease. “Oops! Thought I was at the club for a second.”

      Bridget didn’t bat an eye as she folded the bra and set it next to her industrial sewing machine. Three months ago, the sight of another woman’s breasts had made her blush hard enough to make her dizzy. Now even the extremely large pair a foot away from her face was simply another day at the office.

      Sugar was shimmying out of the silver thong and into her civilian underwear, a plain black thong and ugly white cotton bra. She caught Bridget’s surprised expression. “You know, I’m happy with my implants and all, but it’s almost impossible to find sexy bras this size with good support. The straps are cutting into my shoulders and my back aches by day’s end.” Her glossy lips pouted.

      “Tell me about it. That was how I got into designing lingerie.” Bridget rolled her shoulders, stiff after bending over her sewing machine before Sugar’s arrival. “I never found anything that fit me.”

      “I was wondering.” Sugar gave her an appraising look. “No offense, but you don’t seem like someone with a background in adult entertainment.”

      “No offense taken.” Bridget wasn’t the type to inspire men to stuff money in her garter. With her light brown hair and pale skin freckled from too many summers hauling hay on the family dairy farm in Wisconsin, men were more likely to dismiss her as the younger-sister type. Like Adam.

      “So no implants for you? And you must be at least a D-cup.”

      “Double-D actually and all natural, for better or worse.” It had mostly been worse.

      “Lucky! Do you know how much dough these set me back?” Sugar plucked at the plain white cotton bra.

      Dough that she would make in less than three months of part-time work. Suddenly, Bridget was sick of ramen noodles and discount-store shampoo. She wasn’t going to take off her clothes for money, but she could make more of an effort to build her business. “A great bra is essential for supporting large breasts or else they start to sag.”

      “Sag?” A look of horror crossed Sugar’s face. “No one told me implants sag.”

      “Ah, but what about the skin holding them up?” Bridget nodded significantly. Especially skin that was already stressed by tanning booths and sprays.

      Sugar put a protective hand over her bosom. “I never thought of that.”

      “Tell you what. I’ll make you a nice, supportive, everyday bra and matching thong on spec. Your money back if it’s not the most comfortable bra you’ve had. And you can keep the thong.” She couldn’t exactly resell a used thong.

      Sugar paused from pulling on her white V-necked T-shirt. “A risk-free offer.” She grinned. “I like it.”

      “Good.” Bridget smiled. “What color would you like?”

      “Ivory lace. And cut lower in the front