Haze(6)

She caught me off guard when I walked into the boutique earlier today. I'd noticed her well before I approached her. I'd stood just inside the door watching her move as she rearranged a display. My intention to speak with Cicely had disappeared the moment I saw Isla.

She'd readjusted each piece of lingerie, her hands delicate as they took care to line the panties on the table symmetrically. Every few seconds, she'd raise her head to scan the area near where she stood. I recognized that as a natural desire to find her next customer. She was primed to hunt. Even though she appeared busy with her task at hand, her goal wasn't to present our product in the best light she could, it was to make another sale.

My body reacted when she'd turned to the side and I caught my first glimpse of her profile. The generous curves of her body beneath the dress were inviting. She's breathtaking, petite, and, I imagine, incredible to f*ck. She's also at least a decade younger than me.

When she looked into my eyes and offered to come to my office, my cock stiffened. I was hard as nails until Cicely touched my shoulder and reminded me where I was.

Business is business and pleasure has no place there. I keep them separated out of need. I've never touched a woman who works for me. It would breed a sort of complication I don't have the time or the inclination to deal with.

"I'm impressed with the samples, Mr. Foster," Cicely begins what I know, from experience, will be a long winded accounting of every aspect of what looks like the lace and mesh garter slips I had her order several weeks ago. The woman is good at her job but she's wound too tight. "I can go over the highlights for you now."

Or you can get the hell out so I can take Isla over my knee.

I shake my head chasing the thought away while I keep my eyes honed in on Cicely. "In your opinion are they on par with the rest of Liore's offerings?"

"Oh, absolutely, sir," she chirps happily. "I think our customers are going to love them."

"I disagree," Isla interjects softly. "I don't like them at all."

I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth but I halt it as I turn to face her. "You disagree?"

A small sigh escapes as her tongue flies over her bottom lip, moistening it. "I wouldn't wear one."

Immediately I'm assaulted with the mental image of her body covered in nothing but a sheer slip. I push it aside knowing that within hours I'll likely be buried so deep within a woman I'll meet at the club tonight, that Isla will never cross my mind again. I can easily chase away the desire I'm feeling. I've done it with others when I've felt a pull I knew I'd have to resist.

"Isla," Cicely's voice breaks into the fray. "You can't say that."

"I'm not going to bullshit him," she spits back. "Those slips don’t deserve space in the boutique. Did you even bother to look at them closely?"

"Mr. Foster, don't mind her. Isla is new." Cicely walks past me towards the sofa. "She's young. She's only twenty. She doesn’t understand the business the way we do."

It's been said that you can't judge a book by its cover. For the most part, I believe the words hold value in many cases, but not all. As Isla rises from the chair, I'm captivated by the subtle sway of her hips as she walks across the room to follow Cicely.

She moves with a grace that most women, even those double or triple her age, never possess. She's sensual, composed, and within the focused glare of her stormy blue eyes is clear determination.

"What are you wearing under your dress?" She stops mere inches behind Cicely, her hands darting to her hips.

I move closer, intrigued by the challenge in her tone. Cicely whips around on her heel, her arms jumping to cross over her chest. She's at least four inches taller than Isla but their body language leaves little doubt about who is the prey. "Why would you ask me something like that? It's none of your business."

I'm standing next to them now, soaking in the view of them both. Isla is self-assured and calm, raking her eyes over Cicely's plain frame. Her lips part slightly before she tilts her head to the left, eyeing her manager's strappy heels. "You're not wearing Liore lingerie, are you?"

Cicely's hands impulsively jump to the waist of her dress, tugging on the thin brown leather belt. "You're out of line, Isla. My underwear isn't relevant."

"Is it Liore or not?" Isla moves her foot slightly, which reveals a glimpse of her toned, tanned leg.

"I'm not answering that." Cicely's gaze falls to the floor. "I don't have to answer that."

"You just answered it," Isla says softly before she moves to walk around Cicely. "I knew it when I first met you."

"Knew what? You don't know anything about me."

"You're wrong." Isla picks up one of the garter slips, holding it in the air between them. "I know that you buy your panties at a department store. I'd guess they're white cotton. You get them in a package of three or four and while you're there you take a bra off the rack without trying it on. You're a 32B, aren't you?"

Cicely's hand grazes across her chest. "Yes, but…"

"How can you judge these if you've never worn one?" Isla holds the slip in front of her. "The lace is brittle and rough. It's going to scratch."