CHAPTER ELEVEN
Isla
I saw Mr. Foster checking me out when he walked into the boutique twenty minutes ago.
Checking me out may be too strong of words, or more likely, wishful thinking.
I did notice him staring in my direction. It may have had everything to do with the fact that I didn't have enough time to straighten my hair after my shower. I'm a mess. I overslept this morning and being late isn't something I can afford to do right now.
I can't screw up again. Mr. Foster made that very clear.
"Isla, I need a word."
My head pops up at the harsh clipped sound of Mr. Foster's voice. He's standing in front of the counter, not more than two feet away from where I am. Cicely is next to him, her arms folded across her chest.
I'm in shit. Real shit this time.
"Of course, sir," I say in the most sincere tone I can muster. "Can someone take over for me?"
Cicely looks around the store. "Steph started ten minutes ago. I'll get her to watch the register."
I nod as I stand in place, my eyes focused completely on Mr. Foster. He's wearing a black shirt and suit today. The only contrast is the silver tie around his neck. He's polished, calm and judging by the way he's looking at me, he's not going to be as understanding as he was last time.
Lucky for me, I haven't broken any rules since then; at least, none that I know of.
"We'll do this in the office." He steps away from the counter just as Steph, another sales associate, comes into view. "Follow me."
I do as I'm told. My heels drumming a fast beat against the tiled floor as I fall in step behind him. I don't turn to look but I know instinctively that Cicely is pulling up the rear of this train of doom.
She'd looked panicked when she went to retrieve garments from the fitting rooms earlier. I'd stopped her to ask a question but she'd brushed me off with a shake of her head and a hand in the air to silence me.
I hadn't pushed. I've been working for her long enough to know that when she's on a mission, it's best to get the hell out of her way. I did that by focusing on customers and doing what I was hired to do.
"Close the door, Cicely."
My stomach knots instantly when I hear the brash tone of his voice. Something is definitely wrong. This job is becoming way more trouble than it's worth.
I hear the latch of the door as it's closed. I stand quiet, waiting for him to speak.
"You had intercourse in one of the change rooms this morning." Cicely's anxious voice breaks the silence. "I know it was you."
Mr. Foster cocks a dark brow as his eyes jump to my face. I can't tell what his reaction is. He's silent save for the faint tapping of his shoe against the floor.
"What?" I shake my head from side-to-side as Cicely moves into view. "I didn't. I wouldn’t."
"You did." She reaches towards a wastebasket. "I found a used… there was a used thing in there. I found the package too."
"A used thing? A condom?" I search her face trying to find something there that resembles even a shred of sanity. I've been well within her view all morning. I've been on the sales floor, helping one customer and then another. "I haven't been in the change rooms. It wasn't me. It was someone else."
"Well it wasn't me," she spits the words out. "I checked the rooms before I opened the store the same way I do every morning and there was nothing there. There were no garments leftover from when customers tried things on yesterday and there were no... nothing else was in that room. That means that you took a man in there so you could do stuff with him."
Stuff? Grow the fuck up, Cicely and just spit it out. You think I fucked some random in the change room.
"Mr. Foster," I say his name quietly realizing that I need to appeal directly to him. Cicely has already convicted me of being a shameless slut. "I didn't do this. I know the rules."
His full lips part slightly before he runs the tip of his index finger over his eyebrow. "We've already had this discussion, Isla. You don't always follow all the rules."
I suck in a slow, deep breath as his eyes fall from my face to the top of my dress. "I didn’t break that rule. I wouldn't take a man into a change room with me."
"Do you have any idea who would?" he rasps. "If it wasn't Cicely or you, explain to me who had that access."
I can't. The doors are locked until an employee unlocks them. It's a measure that's in place to deter theft. We know exactly what items go into each room and we have to account for what comes out. We're also not allowed to let men go back there to see their wives or girlfriends trying on the merchandise.