Haze (The Fosters of New York 2)

"Isla, I asked you a question." She taps me on the shoulder. "I want to know about you and Mr. Foster."

I pivot on my heel to face her. I hadn't noticed that bright red headband she's wearing before now. It actually matches her dress perfectly. It does nothing to deter from the large fabric bow that is perched on her left shoulder.

"What is it? I'm really busy right now, Cicely."

"Are you and Mr. Foster doing things? You are having sex with him, aren't you?"

So far just really spectacular oral sex, thank you. Well, technically, thank you to Mr. Foster for that.

"My personal life isn't your business." I perch my hands on my waist. "What I do after work isn't your concern, Cicely."

"Did you do it in the office just now? If you did, that's my business."

"I've never had sex in this building." I wave my hand in the air. "Have you?"

"Once."

My mouth literally falls open. I feel it and I do nothing to stop it. "You've had sex in the boutique?"

"It was after hours." She points at a table covered in lace panties. "It was over there, against that table."

I rest my fingertips against my forehead. How did I get involved in this conversation and beyond that, is there a way to get that mental image out of my mind?

"Don't run to Mr. Foster and tell him that." She points her finger at me. "I'll deny it and you'll look like a fool."

My lips twist wryly. "I won't tell a soul, Cicely. Your secret is safe with me."

I mean it. I'm not even sure I could form the words to tell anyone, let alone Gabriel, about Cicely's sex life.

***

"Isla, did you ever make it to Skyn?"

I close the door of the change room with a small push of my shoulder. I feel instant relief once I hear the latch catch.

"I went there once," I admit. "I can't say it was the best experience I've ever had."

She adjusts the lace bra she's trying on. "I like the way this fits. Does it come in different colors?"

I nod slowly. "Black, violet, I think there's also a red option, but I'll need to double check that we have it in stock."

"You don't carry collars, do you?"

She's not the first customer to ask me that. She is, however, the first, and only customer, I've had who has ever talked about Skyn, that club I went to a few weeks ago in Lower Manhattan.

"I'm sorry, Tiffany, we don't."

That's the name she likes to be called. I'm not sure if it's part of her fantasy life, but it's not the name on her credit card or on her driver's license, which she had to show me to verify her identity when she opened an account with us.

If I had to wager a guess, I'd say she's at least fifteen years older than me. The first time she came in, she asked me to help her try on dozens of different bras. During the hour I spent with her she rambled on about her penchant for being tied up. It had sparked my interest immediately and when she talked about the men she'd met at Skyn, I made the mistake of asking her where the club was.

"I know a place I can get one." She gestures to her back in an effort to get me to u

nclasp the bra. "Do you want to come with me after work one day? It might be fun."

There's no actual protocol that states that we can't hang out with customers, especially the ones who have the same interests we do. It's not as though I can tell Cassia about what I like in bed. I tried once, two or three years ago, when I asked if she would like it if her boyfriend spanked her.

Her reaction was telling, not just the words she used but her body language. She'd laughed uncontrollably before announcing that she'd kick any guy who tried to do that to her right in his groin.