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  "Did your father put you up to this? Is that what this is about?"

  It's an underhanded tactic devised to halt the conversation in its tracks. In the tug-of-war that was, and still is, the dissolution of their marriage, my parents viewed my two brothers and me as the ultimate prize. When we refused to take sides, my mother upped her game. Now, whenever there is a business related matter, she reverts back to blaming my father. He's too busy with his latest twenty-something girlfriend to even realize the company still exists.

  "This is about Dante Castro." I stop for a beat before I continue, carefully considering my words. "He's a talented designer, but we have no place for him. You need to rescind the offer you made him."

  Her jaw tightens at my words. "I'll do nothing of the sort. I already called a friend or two to announce that he's heading the men's division."

  At last count, she'd called contacts at four of the premier fashion magazines. Each had reached out to me within the past two hours for my reaction to the announcement that my mother had secured the virtually unknown talents of a designer whose ability is questionable but whose presence is meant to make my father jealous. I'm not about to hand over the reins of our men's fashion line to someone whose claim to fame is designing t-shirts emblazoned with logos for skateboarding aficionados.

  "You need to call him now." I tap the fingers of my left hand on her knee. "He's not a good fit for us."

  "He's a perfect fit." Her bottom lip juts out in a pout. "Gabriel, I've already made the announcement. How would it look if I didn't give him the job?"

  I push out a quick puff of air from between my lips, tempted to tell her that the position is already filled by one of the most creative designers in the world today. That would fall on her deaf, and now frustrated, ears. "If you can't handle it, Mother, I can. Give me the word and I'll make this disappear before the official announcement sees the light of day."

  "Do it," she says as she smooths her hands over the fabric of her navy blue slacks. "Fix it the way you always do."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Isla

  I nervously fumble with my smartphone as I sit in the reception area at Foster Enterprises. Cicely had stuck to her plan for us to bring each and every lace garter slip that was packed in the box she ripped open, to Mr. Foster's office with us.

  We'd shoved the overstuffed Liore bags into the trunk of a taxi outside the store. I briefly argued the point that the tennis shoes that were already occupying the cramped space smelled like a dead body, but Cicely was too amped up on adrenaline to even acknowledge that I was along for the ride.

  We've sat here for almost thirty minutes now and Cicely has used at least twenty-nine of those to quietly rehearse what sounds like a late night infomercial about the undeniable alluring qualities of the over-priced garter slips we brought along with us.

  If she'd bothered to ask my opinion, which she hasn't, I would have told her to bring one and that if honesty is what Mr. Foster wants, a critique about the quality of the materials and the location of the hooks for fastening would be first on my list.

  "Do you like working at the boutique?"

  My gaze jumps from the addictive game I'm playing on my smartphone to the face of the woman who greeted us when we stepped off the elevator and approached Mr. Foster's office. The space is large and airy. The furnishings are exquisite and the walls are painted light grey.

  The only spot of brightness is the woman behind the desk, Sophia. She has a slight southern drawl that reminds me of my third grade teacher. She's pretty, but in a muted, unassuming, way.

  I glance towards Cicely who is still in full-on preparation mode. I will the doors of Mr. Foster's office to open but they don't. Engaging in idle talk about a job I may no longer have, isn't helping with my increasing anxiety. If I'm fired, I want to know so I can start looking for something else to fill in my time until my future really begins.

  "It's a wonderful place to work," I try to sound as sincere as I can. "Do you like working here?"

  There's a slight pause as her eyes flit across the room towards the closed doors. I see the hesitation in her expression before I hear it in her words. "I'm very lucky that I have this position."

  I should push and ask for more but the details of why there's a hint of disgruntled dissatisfaction in her tone doesn't matter to me. I'll likely be off the Foster Enterprises payroll within the hour and I'll never set eyes on her again.

  I clear my throat with the intention of saying something trivial about the weather and the cool breeze that took over the city this afternoon but I'm stalled when the doors to Mr. Foster's office burst open.

  Cicely and I turn in unison to see a beautiful woman dressed in dark pants and a white blouse walk through the double doors towards us. As she turns back briefly, her rich brown hair brushes her shoulders.

  From where I'm sitting, I can't see the person she reaches for but I know it has to be him. It takes just a few seconds for her to confirm that in a hushed tone. "You've always been my favorite, Gabriel. You will always be my favorite."

  A deep chuckle fills the room as he steps forward, into view, to scoop her hand into his. As he raises it to his lips, he looks down into her face. "Asher is your favorite, Mother. We all know that he is."

  She shakes her head briefly before she reaches up to touch her lips to his cheek.

  "Mr. Foster." Cicely ignores any sense of decency and interrupts the tender moment by jumping to her feet. Her hands run over the skirt of the simple brown dress she's wearing. "We were here early, sir. You said we should be here at four o'clock. We were here by three fifty. I just want you to know that."

  With her words, his eyes leave his mom's face and dart to Cicely and then settle on me, lingering there until his mom taps his chest. "Do I want to know what this is about? What are these two doing with all those Liore shopping bags? Is this some kind of clothing drive? Do they work at a shelter?"

  I push back the urge to laugh at the suggestion that we're collecting expensive lingerie to clothe the city's least fortunate. As much as the comment amuses me, it maddens Cicely. "I'm the manager of the Liore boutique, Ma'am. You're Gianna Foster, aren't you?"

  The hand that Cicely extends hangs in the air for several seconds before Gianna tentatively grabs hold of it with her own. "I'm Gianna Foster. What are you doing here? If you manage the store, you should be there, no?"

  Yes, Mrs. Foster, she should. Instead, she's on a crusade to defend ugly ass garter slips and I'm along for the ride.

  "I come bearing samples of one of our new items." She swings both her arms so wildly in the air that she stumbles backwards, her heel tapping the edge of one of the bags causing it to fall over spilling most of its contents on the polished floor.

  Gianna grimaces as she drops Cicely's hand to point towards the garter slips that are now in full view. "Look what you've done."

  Before Cicely has a chance to turn to pick up the slips, I'm on my knees, pushing them back into the bag. I would have been happy to stay where I was but if I'm going to hold onto this job, I need to make at least one good impression on Gabriel Foster. This may be my only chance.

  The room falls silent except for the sound of shoes against the marble floor. I catch a glimpse of a black wingtip oxford just as it comes into view. There's little time for me to react before I sense him crouching next to me. I suck in a deep breath hoping that he won't fire me in front of all these women while I'm on all fours with a handful of lingerie.

  "Allow me to help." His breath races across my cheek as he leans in to scoop up the lingering pieces.

  I only nod softly in agreement as my breath catches when his hand brushes against mine. The touch, matched with the scent of his exquisite cologne, and the sound of his voice, makes me feel momentarily light-headed. I close my eyes hoping to ward off the sensation and the temptation to lean against him.

  "You have your hands full, son." Gianna's voice pulls Gabriel back to his feet. "I'm leaving. I'll call you tomorrow."

 
"Tomorrow," he repeats. "I'll take care of that issue we discussed before the end of the day."

  Just as I stand I catch Gianna, with her coat and purse in hand, rounding the corner towards the elevator.

  "Mr. Foster." Cicely stands in front of Gabriel. "I'm prepared to go over the samples with you."

  "Samples?" His hands jump to the silver necktie he's wearing. He straightens it, keeping his eyes trained on my face. "These are the samples that were delivered last week?"

  "These are the ones." She scoops two of the bags into her hands as she brushes past him on her way into his office.

  I follow her lead because right now, Cicely owns this meeting with her misplaced sense of why we are even in the Foster Enterprises building. Mr. Foster doesn't seem fazed that we arrived together with this much of his product in hand. Maybe I did misjudge what happened back at the boutique.

  I pick up the remaining two bags and take a step towards his office. Any relief I may have felt is wiped away in a single second as I feel his hand catch hold of my elbow. His breath races over my cheek when he leans down and close, his voice low enough that only I can make out the words. "I wanted you here alone, Isla. I thought I made that clear."

  Fuck. Just, fuck.

  I don't turn to look at him when I feel his hand drop away. I pull in a deep breath, walk into his office and wait for his next move.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gabriel

  "I apologize for the delay," I say as I close my office doors behind me. "A matter came up that couldn't be ignored."

  Cicely, the boutique manager, nods vigorously in understanding even though it's now near five o'clock. After my mother left, I'd retreated to one of the empty boardrooms to make the inevitable call changing the course of Dante Castro's career. I half-expected more push on his end but he'd taken the news with calm resignation.

  I anticipated at least a question or two about why the offer was being pulled but there was none of that. His voice had lowered as he told me he understood and with that the call ended.

  I'd spent the next thirty minutes connecting with the magazine contacts to correct what I called, 'a simple oversight on the part of one of our internal managers.'

  I see no need to embarrass my mother. If I can't find a workaround to save her from humiliation, I'll craft one. It's all part of helming both the business, and my family. It certainly helped when I offered each contact backstage access to our showing during fashion week here in New York.

  "Should I begin now?" Cicely springs from her chair. "I arranged the garter slips on the sofa by color."

  I look toward the large black sofa that I sat on not more than an hour ago with my mother. Draped over the back cushions and armrests are pieces of lingerie.

  "I prepared a presentation." Cicely glances down at her smartphone. "I have my notes open. I'm ready whenever you are, sir."

  Unlike Cicely, Isla is sitting quietly, her legs crossed at the knee as her right foot bobs up and down. Her hands are resting in her lap, discreetly holding the front of the skirt of her pink dress in place.

  When I'd entered the room, Cicely's head was the only one that turned. Isla's shoulders had tensed briefly before they relaxed once her manager spoke.

  I made no mention of Cicely coming to my office when I was at the boutique earlier. I'm not sure what Isla did to convince her boss to tag along but it's impressive. I admire creativity and tenacity. It changes absolutely nothing though.

  Isla's proposition was all I needed to extend the invitation. Regardless of who is doing the offering, sexual favors for customers is grounds for dismissal. She may be a new hire but there's no room for excuse. Any employee who doesn't follow company guidelines is expendable; even if that person has a face that can stop traffic and a body that can bring a man to his knees.

  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 fuck. 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."

  I tuck my hands into the front pockets of my pants, intrigued by the exchange taking place right in front of me. I know I should step in and save Cicely from the lesson in lingerie but I'm too immersed in watching Isla to interfere.

  "The fasteners are awkward and hard to reach." Isla flips the garment over. "You'd have to ask someone to help you put it on. That defeats the purpose."

  "What purpose?" Cicely asks with what sounds like innocent ease.

  Isla dips her chin as a sly smile flows over her lips. "A lot of our customer base comes in to the boutique to buy something for a special occasion."

  Cicely shrugs her shoulder. "I don't get it."

  "When I put on something like this," Isla begins as holds the garter slip against the front of her dress. "The last time I put on something like this, I did it myself so the first time my boyfriend saw it was at the end of our date, at the exact moment I wanted him to."