The Sex Quotient
Harlequin Blaze
July 2006
Series: It's All About Attitude
ISBN: 0-373-79270-0

Subject/Victim: Griffin Reed

Theory: Sensual pleasure makes people stupid. Stupid people don't get promotions. Therefore must have sex with Griffin to keep competitive edge…

Procedure: Lots of satisfaction for Griffin. Contain self in order to keep brainpower optimal.

Macy Thomaston has just learned the most important scientific discovery ever — intense sexual pleasure leads to a temporary dip in IQ. Surely there's a way to leverage this against Griffin Reed, her palm-sweatingly hot coworker…and the thorn in her professional side.

Macy just needs to blow Griffin's mind — literally — and get her promotion without a single teeny release for herself. And she's really hoping Griffin is lousy in bed.… Otherwise this whole experiment could completely backfire!

More About The Book

Dear Reader,

While there may not be an actual scientific study proving that sex makes us dumber, it's hard not to notice that the phenomenon occurs in a general and immeasurable way in our lives. But when I got the idea for a study giving hard evidence about the dumbing-down effects of sex for our heroine to use to her advantage, I knew I had to pursue the story.

And what better place for her to throw caution aside and rob the hero of a few IQ points than Las Vegas? It is, after all, the place that markets itself as a playground for doing all the naughty things we otherwise would not do. But that saying "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" never works out as it's supposed to, does it?

I hope you enjoy The Sex Quotient. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story. You can reach me at jamie@jamiesobrato.com.

Sincerely,

Jamie Sobrato

Excerpt

"My study proves it — sex makes us dumb."

Macy Thomaston leaned in close to make sure her friend could hear her over the noise in the downtown San Francisco bar. "You needed to spend the past three years of your life researching to figure that out?"

Lauren Parish shook her head. "Not dumb like you're thinking. What I mean is, we literally lose IQ points every time we have an orgasm."

Macy stared at her friend, a sense of outrage rising in her chest. "When you became a medical researcher, I thought you were going to discover cures for serious illnesses, not ruin my sex life."

Lauren, who, up until a few seconds ago, had been one of Macy's favorite people in the world, dismissed her concern with a shrug. "Knowledge is power."

Macy glanced around the Irish pub at the disappointing selection of single men. "Maybe that's what's wrong with all the men I've dated lately. Too much sex."

"Seriously," Lauren said. "It's all about biochemistry." She pushed some papers across the table. "Read the concluding paragraph."

Macy flipped through the pages of the study Lauren had just finished drafting until she came to the end. And there it was, laid out in medical jargon, soon to be published in the Journal of American Medicine — that biochemicals released during orgasm have a temporary dumbing-down effect on the human brain. Weakened recall skills, sluggish thought processes, even a brief drop in IQ had been noted among the research subjects.

"I can't believe you've proven this," Macy said as a waitress brushed past, dropping a green flyer of the bar's weekly events on the table.

"So what do you think?"

"I think you're going to piss off the world," Macy said, her mind whirring with the possibilities.

"Of course, but what do you really think? Does it freak you out a little? Make you want to change your behavior at all?"

"I don't know. I'm just stunned."

Lauren sipped her beer. "I, for one, will be a lot more careful about the timing of my sexual encounters. I mean, think about it — "

"You've got a big job interview or an important meeting Monday morning, so that means no hot sex Saturday night," Macy said, her bewilderment growing.

Would this mean the end of casual sex as she knew it?

"Exactly. And since the effects last up to four days, any important mental challenge in the early part of the work week could ruin entire weekends of potential sex."

"Unless it's bad sex, right?"

Lauren laughed. "That seems to be the case. The stronger the orgasm, the more noticeable the effects. And study subjects who had no orgasm at all experienced no negative reactions."

Around them, blue-collar regulars at the bar mixed with the growing crowd of yuppies who'd recently discovered O'Shaunnessy's and declared it authentic and therefore a cool place to be seen. Authentic was certainly one way to describe the grungy hardwood floors, the slightly sticky tables and the malt scent that filled the air. The bartenders had Irish accents, and the waitresses wore skin-tight jeans.

Macy, still in her pale yellow wool summer suit, and Lauren, in her standard black pants and black top, with her long brown hair gleaming in the dim light, were guilty of being from the searching-for-authenticity side of the crowd.

"Oh God," Macy said, the reality of the findings settling in her brain. "We can have sex before the big meeting, but we can't come."

"Not if you want to be at your best, you shouldn't."

"This is so depressing. Why'd you even have to do this stupid study, anyway?" Macy asked.

"Because it will make my career?"

"You should find a new career — something outside of medical research — before you discover that chocolate is the singular cause of cellulite or something equally horrifying."

"Try to look on the bright side. Now that you know the truth about sex, you can use it to your advantage."

"Right, so when I need to become dumb and forgetful, I just have to go get laid. That's so helpful to know."

"No, when you need your boyfriend to become dumb and forgetful, you just need to screw his brains out."

"I'll be sure to use the information for my own evil purposes next chance I get."

"Seriously, you should! The results of the study won't hit mainstream media for at least another few months."

Macy sighed. "Too bad I don't have a boyfriend," she said without really meaning it. Being a career girl of the overachieving variety meant she'd been too busy for a boyfriend lately, and she didn't need a guy hanging around just to tell her she worked too hard, anyway.

"There are probably a hundred men here tonight who'd be happy to remedy that problem."

Macy was occasionally caught off guard by the fact that men found her attractive. Even after ten years of being thin, blond and decidedly coquettish, within her lurked the kid who'd had to wear the chubby sizes from the Sears kids' department.

"I just need the sex, not the guy. But now you've ruined even that for me. Could you remind me why we're friends again?"

"Because I always embarrass myself when I get drunk, and you like to watch the spectacle."

That much was true. And at the rate Lauren was going tonight, she'd be creating a spectacle in another twenty minutes or so.

"How good are you at faking it?"

Macy looked at Lauren, for a moment confused about whether she meant faking orgasms or faking any sort of enthusiasm for the bar scene tonight. "It's not something I do often, but I can call upon my acting skills if I have to," she said.

Around them, the crowd was getting rowdier by the drink. Wednesday was Ladies' Night, and people were celebrating the middle of the week as if they meant it.

"We're at O'Shaunnessy's — AKA the Big O — and that means there's a fake-orgasm contest starting in a half hour," Lauren said in a tone that would have been more appropriate for offering Macy a fudge brownie sundae, and now she knew to what sort of faking her friend referred.

"I'm supposed to be tempted by that because?"

"Because you should enter. Given the results of my study, I'd say we're all going to have to hone our acting skills sooner or later."

"Um…no."

"C'mon, it'll be fun. I'll enter too — it's the perfect way to celebrate my having finished the study."

"Now that I'd like to see. I could definitely get cheered up by you faking it in front of all these guys."

"I bet my fake orgasm's way better than your fake orgasm."

Macy resisted a smile. She had to hand it to Lauren — she knew how to cheer a girl up. And after a miserable day like today, Macy seriously needed cheering.

She eyed the dance floor, where one of the bar employees was setting up a small platform and a microphone. "I'm pretty sure I haven't had enough to drink to fake an orgasm into a microphone in front of several hundred people."

Lauren shooed away her protest. "You'll be great."

Macy hadn't been great today when she'd needed to be. Then again, it wasn't her style to feel sorry for herself, or to let a guy like Griffin Reed get the best of her. She'd think of a way to get him back for making her look like an idiot in front of everyone at Bronson and Wade. But first, she needed to unwind, to stop thinking about the world of advertising for a while.

"I'm going to sign us up. I'll be right back."

"No!" Macy said, to no avail.

As her friend disappeared, she found herself sitting alone with her drink at the bar, suddenly an easy target for the barflies. And she was far from in the mood to field pick-up lines.

Her inner chubby girl wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with a pepperoni pizza. Macy might be thin now — in the best shape of her life actually, thanks to living far away from her food-equals-love mother and sticking with a torturous workout regimen — and she might be blond, thanks to the skill of her beloved hair stylist, but surface changes could only go so far past skin-deep.

The ingenue act she'd mastered to go with her polished look was just that — an act designed to distract the world from the fact that Macy wasn't nearly as sure of herself as everyone expected her to be.

Working in advertising, she knew the importance of packaging, the irresistible lure of a glossy, attractive appearance. And she knew how to project that shiny happy appearance to the world, even when she was feeling anything but. However, when Griffin Reed was involved, sometimes she faltered.

Today had been a case in point. Instead of standing up to Griffin when he'd made her look as though she possessed the creativity of a cucumber during a brainstorming session with their entire creative team, she'd simply let him have all the glory. And if that's how little spine she possessed, she deserved the humiliation she got.

She and Griffin were competing for the same promotion to creative director, and she wanted it at least as badly as he did. Yet she let her faltering confidence sabotage her when it counted most. Lack of confidence kept her from taking risks, and in the world of advertising, willingness to take risks meant the difference between success and failure.

She had to buckle up and show everyone that she had what it took to lead the creative team. What she might sometimes lack in confidence, she made up for in her ability to think outside the box. She could, and would, take the risks needed.

She'd been the leader of the art department for two years now, and while she liked her job, she didn't feel challenged enough. She wanted to feel as though she was living up to her full potential. She wanted to shape the entire vision on their projects, not just one aspect of it. She knew she had what it took — her ideas were often the most visionary in the office — but everyone considered Griffin a shoo-in for the promotion.

He was the head of the copywriting department, and he'd been at Bronson and Wade three years longer than Macy. He had enough confidence for ten people, and that made him look more capable than he actually was. Sure, he did his job well, but he wasn't nearly as talented as Macy.

But everyone loved Griffin. He was an all-star American-jock kind of guy, and everywhere he went people flocked around him, just as in high school, where guys like him had gotten all the attention and ignored girls like her.

She stared into the crowd until Lauren emerged from it. When she caught Macy's expression, her friend offered a weak smile.

"You've got twenty minutes to liquor up before the orgasm fest begins," Lauren said as she sat down.

"You've mistaken me for a girl who likes to be in the spotlight."

"Don't kid yourself, you love attention. How you act when you're drunk tells the truth."

Macy grimaced, then polished off her vodka tonic. "I'm having an overweight moment."

Lauren made a show of looking around her barstool. "I'm sorry, I don't see a couch here."

"A what?"

"You must have mistaken me for your shrink, but sorry, babe, you need to get over the trauma of not fitting into your prom dress a decade ago."

Macy bit her lip to keep from laughing. No doubt, Lauren knew how to keep it real. "Point taken."

"I don't care how many cookies your mother fed you, you look fabulous now, and you need to act the part of the babe you are."

"I thought you were a proponent of faking it in bed — not in life."

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