Haze(30)

I've been sitting in this chair, tending to emails on my phone, while waiting. I shared the table briefly with a designer we'd done business with three years ago and then twice with women who took it upon themselves to join me.

I'd made it clear, quickly, that I was saving my time, and attention, for someone else.

Any other night, I might have bought one, or both, a drink. I'd listen to them tell me about their lives and the shortcomings with the men they've been with before. Then, I'd pay the tab, escort them to a hotel and within minutes, I'd be f*cking every last ounce of stress in my body away.

Not tonight. Tonight is only for Isla.

"You're not late." I grab her upper arms as I lean in to kiss her cheek. "You look beautiful tonight."

The pressure of my grip brings a small moan to the surface. Her lips part as she looks up and into my face. "You look nice too."

Compliments, like that, are part of my life. I accept them, gratefully, but I never absorb them. New York City is filled with handsome, successful men. I know that.

Hearing the words from Isla is different. It's understandable since she's incredibly different.

"How was your dinner?" I ask as I pull on the back of a chair next to where I was seated.

She lowers herself into it with a nod of her head in appreciation. "It was delicious. They took me to a restaurant in Greenwich Village. It was so good."

I sit down again, but not before moving my chair closer to her. "What was the name of the place?"

Her eyes slide over my thighs before she looks up and at me." I'm not sure. We all went together in a taxi. I have pictures of my dinner though."

She reaches to where she'd placed her clutch on the table. The motion pulls the front of her dress taut, the fullness of her breasts visible beyond the low cut neckline.

I take a drink. I may need another.

"It was really good." She scrolls through the images on her phone. I catch glimpses of her next to a dark haired woman her age, a pigeon eating breadcrumbs from a sidewalk and then, a plate of pasta.

She pushes the phone towards me. "I took a few. You can see what I mean. It tastes as divine it looks."

Her exuberance is contagious. I can't help but smile when I watch her speak.

I drop my eyes from her face to her phone, resting on the table in front of me. I stare at the screen and the bowl of pasta she deemed worthy enough to capture it in a badly lit photograph.

"There are two more pictures." She leans closer, her hand brushing against mine. "Just swipe."

I do as told, running my finger over the screen.

"That's not it." She reaches forward to grab the phone but I'm too quick. I scoop her hand in mine to stop it.

I dip my chin towards the screen and the image of Isla in a blue dress. It's obvious she took the picture in a mirror. "This is one of our designs. You look stunning in this, Isla."

Her lips move slightly as her eyes search mine. "I just wanted to try it on. I went to Arilia one day before work."

"I had no idea the dress could look like this." I pick up the phone, tilting it slightly to the left to gain more light from the overhead fixture. "You belong in this dress."

She reaches forward to gently take the phone from my grasp. "The dresses in the Arilia store are all beautiful. The designers are really talented."

I don't press the issue when I see the server approaching. I wait as he asks her what she'd like to drink.

She smooths her hand over her hair, pushing the soft blond locks behind her left ear. "I think I should stick to a sparkling water. I'm trying to avoid alcohol right now."

"You are?" I ask with a grin. "This is your twenty-first birthday. You don't want a drink to celebrate?"

"No," she says assuredly. "I can't. I promised myself I wouldn't drink tonight. I want to remember every moment of my first birthday in Manhattan. Sometimes when I drink things get foggy."

I glance down at my watch. "There are still forty-five minutes of your birthday left. I'd like to make those memorable. "

Her lips curve. "What do have in mind?"

I pull myself up from the chair as I stand and extend my hand towards her. "Come with me, Isla. I'll make this a day you'll never forget."





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Isla




"You wouldn't stand close to the edge." I tap his chest lightly. "Does the world know that Gabriel Foster is scared of heights?"

He laughs deeply, the sound bouncing against the steel walls of the elevator. "I'm not scared of heights, Isla. I was watching you enjoy the view."

"Is that your story?" I giggle. "I can play along for the press if they ask."

His brows shoot up. "You would do that for me, Ms. Lane? You won't tell the media hounds that I took you up to the roof of the Foster Enterprises building so you could see the stars while I stood far away from the edge, trembling in my boots?"

"They're not boots." I point to his feet. "They're fancy Foster shoes."

"Fancy Foster shoes?" His hand jumps to my chin before he runs his fingertip over my bottom lip. "That just may be the hashtag we use on social media when we launch the new men's shoe collection."