Haze
Authors: Deborah Bladon
a novel
New York Times Bestselling Author
Deborah Bladon
When I’m writing or releasing a book, it’s more than just me. I am thankful to have an incredible support system lifting and guiding me to the finish line, each and every single time. Here are a few of those amazing people:
Thank you to my family, for the long nights, the busy days, knowing when I need a break and always ensuring I had a sugary concoction from Starbucks in my hands. You are all my whole life and thank you for supporting my dream.
Thank you to M, for having more faith in me than I had in myself.
Thank you to A.J. for helping me to close my eyes to make a wish. It came true.
Thank you to my Amazon team, I rely on you more than you know.
And the biggest thank you to the readers.
The Bladon Babes
. Without you, none of this is possible. It has been the utmost pleasure writing stories for you and if you’re reading this, thank you for investing in me one more time.
Isla
"How long have you worked here?" His voice is cultured, deep and smooth. It's not uncommon to hear a voice like that in this boutique. I've worked here for six weeks now and at least twice a week a man with too much money and an insatiable need to see young women dressed in expensive lingerie will come waltzing through the doors.
"Welcome to Liore," I say softly as I glance to my left to where he's standing.
I have to look up. He's large, not just in height but in his shoulder's breadth. His eyes are a rich brown, his hair just as dark. His nose is sculptured and his strong jaw only adds to his exceptionally striking features. The suit he's wearing is dark blue, perhaps even black. It's hard to tell under the chandelier lights that decorate this opulent space.
"Isla." His eyes hover over my chest before they settle on my name tag. "It's nice to meet you, Isla."
"It's lovely to meet you…" I pause. It's not only because I've been instructed to grab the name of each customer to give them a personal shopping experience. I want to know his name.
"Gabriel," he offers with a light touch of his hand on mine.
The name is oddly familiar. As I work to place it, I see him peering across the boutique at my boss. "Is there something I can help you find, Gabriel? Are you purchasing something for a girlfriend, or perhaps, your wife?"
His expression shifts slightly. "I have neither."
That's a pity but it's not. This is exactly the type of man I envisioned in my mind's eye when I arrived in Manhattan. I graduated from high school less than two years ago and my dreams of attending Julliard on a scholarship had vanished as quickly as my clean record when I broke one too many rules in high school.
"Is there something in particular that you're looking for?" I catch the faint wave of the hand of one of my co-workers across the aisle. I ignore it because when a customer is ready to buy, the store could be engulfed in flames, and I'm not moving an inch. The commissions here are the highest I've ever earned in retail and the secret to guarantee a big sale is to make the customer feel as though they're the only one in the boutique.
His eyes scan the various bras we have displayed before they move to the lace panties and garters. "If I asked you to try something on for me, Isla, would you do that? Would you take me into one of the change rooms with you?"
I've read the employee handbook. No, I skimmed it briefly while on my way to work that first day weeks ago. The number one rule is to never take a male customer into the rooms. Men who lead you into those quiet spaces are craving more than a private fashion show. I know that. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. That's against company policy."
He studies my face carefully. The dark shadow around my blue eyes looks hideous in the alarming bright light of the morning, but in here it's sensual and alluring. My shoulder length blonde hair is straight today, a sharp contrast to my high cheekbones. I'm here to sell lingerie and the light pink wrap around dress I'm wearing accentuates everything it needs to. He hasn't walked away yet, so he's still primed to buy.
He closes the short distance between us as he steps towards me. "You don't strike me as the type of young woman who follows all the rules."
It's tempting. Not just because of the extra money I'd find in my pocket. "I don't follow rules, Gabriel. If you want a private show, I can come to your office after work."
His brow cocks with the suggestion. "Is that something you offer to customers often?"
I've never offered it before. "I only offer it to the ones who peak my interest."
"I'll give you my card." His hand dips into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
I take it from his long, elegant fingers and look down at it. I don't have time to read the details before my boss, Cicely, is upon us.
I turn to look at her but she's staring at Gabriel. Her hand leaps to his shoulder.
"Mr. Foster," she says slowly. "I see that you've met our newest girl. Isla, you're explaining everything we offer to Mr. Foster, yes?"
I look down at the card of Mr. Gabriel Foster, the CEO of Foster Enterprises and the man who owns this boutique.
"Isla has been very cordial." He glides the tip of his index finger along my wrist. "She's coming by my office today. I'll expect you at four, Isla."
"At four," I repeat back. "I'll be there at four, sir."
His eyes skim slowly over my body before they stop on my face. "Don't be late and bring those samples we spoke of."
I freeze as his hand runs up my arm before he brushes past me towards the front of the shop.
***
"You didn't answer my question earlier." Cicely throws me an agitated look as she walks into the stockroom, her long dark curls bouncing against her back with each step she takes. "I need you to explain exactly what's going on."
I need her to back off.
Once Gabriel Foster left, my boss had turned her attention solely to me. She can't be more than twenty-eight-years-old, but her strict, no-nonsense approach to managing the store ages her considerably. She scolded me like a child when I was precisely four minutes late to a shift last week and she's constantly schooling me on how to upsell every customer.
I don't need her condescending attitude. I do my job well. I proved that in spades just ten minutes ago when my last customer left here with over eighteen hundred dollars of merchandise tucked into a signature pale peach shopping bag with the Liore logo emblazoned across it. Considering the fact that she came in looking for one pair of black panties, I'd call that a huge success.
"What question is that?" I ask without looking up from the cardboard box I'm currently unpacking.
Today is delivery day at the boutique which means every sales associate on duty has to put in an hour in the back sorting through the new merchandise to ready it before it can be displayed on the sales floor. I hate this part of my job because it means commissions that should be mine are instead being pocketed by one of my co-workers.
"The question about what is going on between you and Mr. Foster." She reaches into the box to yank out a short, yellow, satin robe. "You need to steam these before you hang them up."
I glance over to where the upright steamer is resting. I'd plugged it into the electrical socket immediately after I opened the box and saw how wrinkled everything was. I know how important impeccable presentation is to the Liore brand. "I'll take care of that, Cicely."
"Answer my question. What was Mr. Foster talking about? Why are you going to his office with samples?"
I make a frustrated noise under my breath. Confessing to her that I propositioned the owner of the company we both work for will cut my shift short, and it will essentially mean the end of my job. Cicely is definitely a
'by the book'
type. It's just one of the many ways we are polar opposites. I take a step towards the steamer with a robe in my hand, hoping she'll jump off her current train of thought and launch into a long-winded tutorial about how to use it properly, even though she's already demonstrated that to me a handful of times since I started working here.
"It's about the shipment of lace garter slips that arrived last week, isn't it?" The robe in her hand drops back into the box as she lets it fall from her grasp. "That must be why he was here today. I was personally supposed to verify the quality of that order and report back to him. It completely slipped my mind."
I half-shrug my shoulder as I watch her scurry across the floor to an unopened box. This is the most flustered I've seen her and I have to admit, it's a good look for her.
"Drop all of that." Her hands both wave in the air in my direction. "We need to get these ready so we can take them to his office at four o'clock."
"We?" I cling tightly to the robe in my fist. "I think Mr. Foster just wanted to see me. He didn't say anything about you."
Any semblance of vulnerability leaves her expression as her perfectly tweezed dark brows rise. "Have you forgotten that you work for me, Isla Lane? You don't know the first thing about these samples. They're one of the new products that Mr. Foster just approved. I'll go with you. You'll watch and learn."
I don't say another word as I toss the robe I'm holding back into the box and walk across the room towards her. As frustrating as Cicely is and as much as I detest having her breathing over my shoulder on a daily basis, having her in this meeting may be my saving grace. I just might be able to salvage my job, if I play my cards right.
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