Order Stiletto Sisterhood as a print book now wherever books are sold. https://w.tt/3KnCqZ9

- 

Priyanka Seth was always the girl with a plan. Arriving at a life-changing job interview—sans panties—was not part of it. 

Slumped on the edge of the bed, Priya resisted the urge to drop her head in her hands and scream. She'd awoken barely five minutes ago, face first in a pillow—too soft to be from her own bed—and her skull splitting to the irritating noise of her phone's alarm merciless in its demand to rouse her from a tequila induced haze. Groggily, she'd reached for the vibrating offender on the nightstand and blinked against the glare of the screen, too bright in the blacked-out suite.

The time read 7:00 am on a Sunday, not all that alarming for an early riser—but it was the flashing alert underneath had her jerking upright with a frantic squeal and tumbling ass first out of bed.

MNS Interview: TODAY – 8am

Snatches of last night came back in halting increments. She'd decided to go out alone to drown her sorrows at a new, trendy bar. Drowning her sorrows meant a line of tequila shots as far as her bank account would carry her, or when she got too damn drunk to feel so brutally betrayed anymore. Whichever came first.

Somewhere in there she obviously met a guy, and there was a glimmer about an email, which a quick search in her inbox confirmed, sent out after midnight by Ms. Nagao's Executive Assistant, notifying Priya that her 10 am Monday morning interview was being shifted to Sunday at 8 am, and could she confirm?

Like a total f*cking moron—she had.

Scheisse. 

Now here she was stranded in a hotel room which she was willing to bet was in the middle of Manhattan, and put her close to the firm but too damn far to make it home to shower and slip into her pristine, tailored suit. The one that cost an obscene two thousand dollars and three months to make that she'd planned to wear just for this pinnacle moment.

Far as she could tell she was alone with nothing other than a room service trolley with covered dishes of food and a pot of coffee, warmed by a little electrical plate. Compliments of her mystery man, she mused—as there was no way she could pretend she'd shacked up in a ritzy hotel alone. And though he may have dodged her in the early morning, he'd at least been kind enough to leave her with a fully loaded breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes and several slices of toast, freshly squeeze citrus juices and a freshly brewed espresso that would bring a tear of joy to a true Italians eye.

Not that she had time to savor much of anything.

While diverting her efforts between ironing out her clothes from last night, Priya inhaled as many carbs as possible and scarfed down rolled up pancakes as well as several slices of toast.

She found her skirt by the foot of the bed, she'd slept in her blouse and bra, both shoes were tucked near the door with her purse on top. Everything was accounted for. Save one: her panties. A pair of hot pink boy shorts with a lacy scalloped edge—hard to miss and even harder to lose.

And yet, in a suite of 700 square feet she'd done just that. 

Blitzing through the shower, Priya finger brushed her teeth with the complimentary bottle of toothpaste, yanked on her clothes, wrapped her long damp hair in a tight bun, and assessed the final results in the mirror.

F*ck. Me.  

She looked like a bloated, hung over, hot mess. God, she'd killed for some mascara to at least brighten up her bloodshot eyes. A tube of lipstick. Something! If Caitriona were here, she'd dub the train-wreck ensemble: Tequila-Hoe-Chic. #NailedIt!

A frantic, internal voice begged Priya to pick up the phone...and do what? Reschedule? That simple act of stupidity would accomplish nothing but kiss her entire future goodbye. No one cancelled with Ms. Nagao. Ever. If you made an appointment, scheduled a meeting—you kept it. Period.

And the only thing worse than botching a meeting? Being late for one. An eight a.m. start meant Priya had to get there for seven forty-five. Which was in fifteen-f*cking-minutes.

caught a cab loitering outside the hotel's front doors, after returning the room key (and arguing briefly with some bitch at the reception desk). And because she could think of no greater time than to call on her Sisters for emotional support, she'd blasted out a message to all of them.

Priya: Wake up!

Priya: I need you guys!

Priya: Rule number 31: Never leave a Sister in distress. This Sister is in some serious muthafreaking distress! PICK UP!

If citing the Code like a preacher would a passage in the bible made her a touch melodramatic, so be it. It was their own unfortunate luck that no one had the forethought to add 'no early morning wake-up calls' to the list. After hitting send, slumped in the back seat, she decided to comb through her purse for any other snippets of clues to fill the missing gaps and holes of her hazy memory.

She found a receipt from the bar for almost three hundred—(holy fuzzknuckles!)—dollars! Some spare change, her lipstick cap but no lipstick (dammit—she loved that shade!)

Thankfully there were no random numbers or drunken texts on her phone. Social media checked out all clear with no Facebook posts or Tweets—thank god!

But there was a video...

Scheisse. She closed her eyes. Please tell me I didn't break Rule 13 b): No sexting, naked pictures, or homemade sex videos.

Hands shaking, Priya turned down the volume low enough so only she could hear it over the radio, hit play and gasped at the noises erupting could only be described as carnal.

It was all heavy panting, and hot gasps. Her voice slid out in fervent moans and the answering accompaniment of a man's laugh was smooth and wicked, as he whispered something—something that got swallowed up in what she could tell had been the start of a killer orgasm before the video stopped and ended with a partial of a man's face.

Vague and blurry as her memory.

She only had a fleeting mental image: A flash of quick hands and a hot mouth. But that was about it. The rest of the video hadn't been clear, either, but she'd got a good look at a control panel and bright lights whipping up the side as the elevator rose, overlooking the city.  

Half a block later her phone chirped in her hand and in her haste, Priya almost lobbed the damn thing out the window she'd opened for fresh air.

Six: Oh for the love of god...

Six: What are you doing there?

Grateful to have someone to talk to, Priya typed out her response as quick as her shaking fingers would allow. 

Priya: I woke up alone in a suite at the Waldorf with no trace of guy or said panties. And when I tried to extract information from the from desk, I dealt with uber-bitch who basically slut-shamed me with her eyes while reciting hotel policy about not sharing confidential guest information with anyone including —and I fuck you not—their night-time consorts

And because just thinking about it now brought on a blaze of anger, Priya closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths while doing her best to ignore the shifting gaze of the cab driver who probably thought she was losing her damn mind.

Six: Bitch. I hope you drop kicked her with your loubies 

Priya laughed brightly at Six's snarky reply. She hadn't thought it possible that she could laugh at a time like this, but that was the beauty and power of the Sisterhood, they knew each other, understood each other so well. There was no one she loved more, trusted more than her Sisters and even though Six was furthest away of all of them, Priya knew at any time she could reach out and connect with all of her Sisters—no matter what.

Distance, time zones, life—nothing could sever their bond or dilute their commitment.

Priya: Her miserable existence is karma enough. I find it hard to kick someone in the teeth when they're already so low on the totem pole. But anyways, back to my dilemma

Six: Right. Sorry

Priya: As I said, I'm in a cab, wearing a cute vintage Valentino

Six: Bitch! Where did you get a vintage Valentino? A-line?

Priya: Yes, a-line, but Jesus, focus woman! I'm in a cab—with no panties!!!

Seriously? Aggrieved, Priya rolled her eyes. Of all the Sisters, she would have expected that kind of remark from Caitriona, Ms. Fashionista, but having said that, she could hardly fault Six for a moment of fangirling, and stroked the flouncing material that only covered her to mid-thigh. 

It was, after all, Valentino.

Six: So, go home and get a pair...?

Priya: No time. I'm on route to 'the Firm'. Interview was bumped up to 8am. Today.

Six sent a picture of Obama laughing.

Priya: I fail to see how this is so hilarious.

Six sent another picture, this time of a child laughing.

Priya stared at her phone. Blinked, long and slow...

Priya: ok - fuck you very much, I'm going to go now

Six: Aw come on it's too good. Why did you go out and get hammered last night if they bumped your interview?

Priya: I got an email last night around 12:36, by then I was already too far gone. At least I set my alarm...

Six: Ew. Who send out emails after midnight? And who requests an interview on a Sunday morning?

Sighing, she shook her head. Who indeed?

Priya: I'd call her Satan, but that would only make her more perfect.

Six: Did you at least search the suite before jumping in a cab?

Priya: Of course! I looked everywhere. Only explanation? Bastard took 'em

Six: Ew

Priya: He's a thief. A panty thief and I don't even know his name. If it wasn't for pic I wouldn't even know what he looked like. Not really...

Priya: There's a video. But it's not clear. I accidentally recorded us in what I think is an elevator 

Six: First—you need to lay off the tequila blackouts. Think of the brain cells? Second—you had a pic all this time and didn't send it immediately?Show me! Now

"Ms, we're a block away from your destination," the cabbie said. "Were do ya want me to drop ya?"

"Left hand corner would be great," she answered, not tearing her eyes from her phone as she rifled through her photo album and pulled up the screen captured image.

Priya: There's more, but the rest is strictly for my private selfie stash. Wish I could remember the sex cuz the video is insane. So he must've been great. Fucking tequila. 

Six: She's a cruel bitch to all of us and yet gotta love her style 

Priya: LOL too true.

Priya: Ok, I've got to go. Pray there are no strong winds or else I'll be flashing my ass to half the city

Six: Lol love you skank. Next time keep to the Code and be gone before sunrise. Maybe you'd still have your panties.

Priya: LOL fuck you. Call you later.

Six: Ciao GI Jane. See what I did there? GI...cuz u r Commando...

Priya snorted a laugh just as the cab jerked to a halt. He whipped around in the front seat and tapped a blunt knuckle against the partition glass. "That'll be eleven-fifty."

Tucking her phone away in her purse, she rummaged around for her wallet and paid the fare on her credit card, keeping her fingers crossed that it would clear and almost passed out in elation when it did. Though her parents made sure to send a quarterly stipend to cover her living expenses, Priya had pushed her accounts near to the brink and had at least another two weeks to go before the next instalment, not that she planned to take any more money from her parents.

She was about to become a working woman, earning her own paycheck, which meant the she'd pay a portion of the rent for the townhouse in Chelsea. As she was the only one living there now, it was only fair and made total sense. Last year her mom and dad had decided to retire in Zurich and had given her the choice to come with them but she'd turned them down.

New York was where her heart beat fastest. She loved the rush of the city, the ruthless beauty of it. She'd been fortunate enough to have had the ability to travel the world with her parents, and often had, bouncing from Toronto to Paris, to London and parts of Spain, but nowhere had ever felt quite like home the way New York did.  

Slotting away her wallet, Priya grimaced and grumbled as she struggled to slide and steer herself across the back seat so she could get out with as much dignity as possible, and suddenly felt a lick of sympathy for all those scandalized socialites who'd been caught with a lens up their skirts while exiting a car because short of gluing her thighs together this was bloody hard.

And was fairly confident, despite all her efforts—that she'd flashed a good portion of her ass to the driver on the way out. 

If his toothy grin and brow wiggle as he sped off was anything to go by.

**AN**

Ahhhh, the dreaded Tequila black out. Those of you who've had them can understand, and those who haven't? Give it time. You're still young. Tequila will get ya eventually.

Show of hands for those who've had a crazy night compliments of Booze?

A) Let's do a poll: pick your poison--tequila, vodka, rum, whiskey or other? I'm a tequila girl like Priya. 😅

B) Tell me your stories!

What's the craziest, most hilarious and yet insane think you've done while drunk? And in case your name is Ms. Never-Been-There-Or-Done-That *cough*liar*cough* share something you've heard, seen or were an unwilling participant to.

...Oh, you want to know mine?

Tee hee. I asked first. *evil grin* 😈

Also - an additional Note: The Sisterhood does not support underage drinking!

Be responsible! Be safe! Be SMART!

Booze will always be there, trust me. Just like Boys. There's no rush and your liver will thank you for it.