Haze(10)

"I realize that," I say, my voice sounding pitchy and breathy. "If I could take it back, I would. It was a mistake, sir. We all make them sometimes."

He turns his head slightly to break my gaze before he takes a step back. "I have to be somewhere this evening. If it wasn't for that, we'd continue this conversation but I need to end it here."

I feel a sense of panic welling up within me. It makes no sense. I should take my bruised pride and leave, never to look back, but I can't. I don't even want to think about going through another series of interviews, in an effort to try and impress a stranger just to get another dead end job. I just want to keep going to Liore and selling lingerie until I get my life sorted. "Mr. Foster, I won't let you down. I'll prove to you that I'm an asset. I won't do what I did today again. You have my word."

He turns, his hands jumping to fasten the top button on his tailored suit jacket. "Very well, Isla. We'll revisit this in a few days. I don't have time right now. You'll see yourself out."

"I can go back to work tomorrow?" My voice betrays me as I sound much more excited than I actually am.

"You'll remain an employee," he begins before he stops himself, his eyes riveted to my lips. "You are an employee, for now. That changes instantly if you cross another line."

I don't say a word. I give him a quick nod, pick up my purse and head straight for the doors.





CHAPTER SIX


Gabriel




"I missed you last night, Gabriel." Her voice is expectant and impatient. "I waited for you until well past midnight."

They're the words of a woman I'll never sleep with again.

I made that mistake, more than three years ago when we met at a club on the Lower East Side. I was alone, nursing a glass of scotch, when she sat next to me.

I was seeking solace there after arriving on the heels of a business deal gone south. I was angry, wanting and when her hand brushed against my thigh, I'd grabbed hold of it and pulled her into me. What began as a kiss between strangers ended with her in a broken heap on my office floor two months later.

I'd taken her to a room at an hourly rate hotel minutes after we met. It was small, disgusting, and afforded me everything I needed to drag her into the pit of desperation I was in at the time. I'd f*cked her roughly, used her, and when it was done, she'd begged for it again.

I'd given in the next night and for countless nights after that, not because my body couldn't resist her. It was the escape that I craved.

Each night was a repeat of the one before with less emotion. Until finally one night with each drive of my cock down her throat I felt the emptiness grow. When I looked down at her face covered in a mixture of sweat, her lipstick, and my release, I saw my own regret.

I'd ended it then; told her that it wasn't her but as the days wore on and her persistence grew, my patience waned. She called, sent hundreds of emails, and text messages and then the day she arrived at my office in nothing but a trench coat, I'd been as brutal as I'd ever been.

I was cold and callous as I told her that she was nothing to me. I'd ordered her out of my office, my life, and the city, if I recall. I wanted her gone and as I grabbed her hand to yank her towards the door, she'd collapsed. She'd fallen onto the floor, weeping and whispering words about love and connection.

I stood there, above her, resolute and unyielding as I pulled her back to her feet, closed the coat around her nude body and had security escort her to the street.

I avoided the club for more than two years after that. I chased my need to satisfy my desires when I traveled. I'd meet women in Rome or London and when the night was done, they were forgotten as easily as the movie I'd watch on the flight there.

Months ago, when I finally ventured back into that same club she sat next to me again when I ordered my drink. I flinched when she touched my leg. I pushed her hand back into her own lap and then I looked at her face and when I did I saw something much different.

She'd been married, divorced, and engaged again during the years we didn’t speak. She was there with her fiancé, a high profile banker from Wall Street who she met at a concert. I shook his hand, excused myself and realized that her desperate behavior years before had nothing to do with me after all. It was the drive within her to find someone to cherish her and she had.

"How's Clinton?" I ask only because if her fiancé is no longer in the picture, she has no place near me. "When's the wedding?"

"Your invitation is in the mail." She doesn't hesitate as she takes a seat next to me at the table. "Will you bring a plus one?"

If the intention of the question is anything more than the obvious, I'm not aware. We've come a long way and although I'd never include her in my circle of friends, she's no longer my enemy. There are parts of me that she's seen that I need to protect and the best way for me to do that now, is to be cordial. "Unfortunately, my schedule is full, Sage, but I'll send a gift. Where are you registered?"

She ignores the question in favor of ordering a drink when the waiter approaches. "Why weren't you at the club? I assumed you'd be there."

I push my lunch aside, my appetite suddenly vanishing. "Did my assistant tell you I'd be here?"

Her green eyes scan the posh interior of Axel NY before they settle back on me. "I dropped by your office to catch up. She told me you were doing some business over lunch but, alas, here you are alone."