Haze(18)

My only solace through all the upheaval was the violin my grandmother had given me. She taught me how to play and with each invitation I received to appear on local television programs or radio stations, my mother's greed grew. Eventually, she was booking me to play at weddings, birthdays and even funerals.

I was the adorable blond haired girl with the big blue eyes and the talent of her grandmother. Nothing more than a novelty, drawing the attention of celebrities and royalty who thought it cute to throw the spotlight on a small child who could play classical music alongside many of the best musicians in the world.

As my bank account ballooned, my school work suffered and when I had to repeat seventh grade because the tutor my mother hired only existed on paper as a tax write-off, my grandmother stepped in.

She retired early, hired attorneys and accountants and when the dust settled and my trust accounts were searched, it was obvious to everyone that my mother's large house and her expensive car weren't paid for from her manager's salary. She'd stolen from me; money, time, my childhood.

I moved in with my grandmother then and after school each day, she'd insist I'd finish my homework first and then we'd play our violins, side-by-side, her helping me perfect my techniques. Those are the moments I'll treasure forever.

"You'll think about auditioning, Isla. Promise me you will." Cassia's hands rest on my shoulders.

"I'll think about it. I promise."





CHAPTER TEN


Gabriel




"If I need to get my attorney involved in this, I will."

It's meant to sound as threatening as it does. It's also proven to be an effective way to deal with the hordes of individuals who believe they can produce imitation, substandard products, and sell them with fake Arilia or Berdine labels attached to them.

"No, please, no sir." The small, seemingly meek looking, man stares up at me. "I didn't know. I'll give them all to you. You can take them now."

That would solve all of his problems. Unfortunately, it would only prolong the inevitable. If I gather up the dozens of men's dress shirts and the handful of women's blouses he has on display, it will only put a dent in his business for at most a day, or two.

These portable carts, hawking imitation merchandise, are as much a part of the landscape of the streets of Manhattan as those selling hotdogs and pretzels. The only difference is that the food vendors are earning an honest living.

He can play coy all he wants but I've seen this happen time and time again.

"I'll send someone down to deal with this within the hour." I turn on my heel ignoring his pleading offerings to keep the police out of it.

I will.

All I need is the threat of a lawsuit delivered in the form of one of the company's staff of attorneys to ensure that nothing bearing any of the Foster fashion brands lands on this cart again.

I make a quick call to the head of the legal department of Foster Enterprises, apprising her of the situation, including the location of the cart which ironically is set up less than a block from my office.

As I end the call, I hear the unmistakable chime of a bell signaling a new test message.

I look down at the screen of my phone, read the message and curse under my breath.

What the f*ck is this?

I walked to a local bodega to get a cup of coffee to clear my head. I needed fresh air and a break from a day that has been filled with nothing but mundane problems that feel like a waste of my time.

Now, another issue is pressing and since my driver is at least fifteen minutes away, I do the only thing I can think of. I toss the paper cup in the trash, wave my hand in the air and flag down the first passing taxi to take me to the Liore boutique.

***

It's the most erotic instance of déjà vu I've ever experienced.

As I walk through the door of the boutique my eyes instantly gravitate toward Isla. She's near the back of the space with a female customer.

Her hair is different today. It's wavy, as if she let it dry on its own before she ran her fingers through the golden locks. Her dress is pale blue, fitted and framed in lace. She looks innocent and angelic. She looks nothing like she did three nights ago at Skyn when she was escorted from the club.

I'd left the private room and had stood in the shadows listening to her speak with the female manager who had been sent to accompany her home. She was sweet, sexy, and irresistible as she tried to wrestle her clutch purse away from an * that had no right to be near her.

I'd watched in both horror and fascination as her clutch opened revealing everything she'd tucked inside it before she'd arrived at the club.

The condoms and money were expected. The handcuffs caught me off guard.

I haven't touched a pair since college when I'd used them on a woman I met at a club similar to Skyn. She was sure it was what she wanted but when she'd heard the click of the metal closing around her wrists and I parted her legs to f*ck her, she'd panicked.

I fumbled with the key as I unlocked her, trying to comfort her but the slap across my face had stilled everything.

She'd left my dorm room in a huff with the handcuffs still attached to one of the posts of my bed frame. I'd tossed them in the trash along with her number.

I prefer softer restraints. Fabrics that have enough give to allow a woman to feel comfortable, yet enough strength to hold her exactly where I want her to be.