by LeCoeur, Ami
When I got back to my room, I picked up the dress again, holding it against my body as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror.
"You really do look beautiful tonight, Angela," Antonio’s voice whispered huskily in my mind.
The soft, silky fabric of the dress brushed against my skin as I set it aside, looking at myself in the mirror. I was wearing only a black lace strapless bra and matching panties, and I suddenly found myself imagining Antonio standing behind me, his hands sliding around my waist.
I was surprised at the affect Antonio Mancini already seemed to have on me. It wasn't just because I hadn't dated for over nine months before I'd left college over a year ago. And it wasn't just because he was by far the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. And it wasn't just because of the easy, almost careless way he had of maintaining total control. Oh, it was all those things, for sure. But it was also that deep, haunted look I'd seen in his eyes when he'd looked at me tonight.
"I don’t even know who you really are…," I whispered, trying to bring my wayward imagination under control.
But the relative isolation of taking care of Maria left me far more aroused than I'd expected.
My college boyfriend had turned out to be a two-timing man-whore who not only couldn't be trusted, but was selfish beyond compare. So long as he was satisfied, he didn't care whether I was or not. All the nights I'd cried myself to sleep in frustration when he'd called me frigid because I couldn't come as quickly as he did. Me. Frigid.
Those two years together, before I'd found the jerk in my bed with my roommate's sister, had only served to fuel my distrust of men in general—and of older men in particular. I'd learned a long time ago that I was far from frigid. If I ever found a man who could satisfy me as well as I'd learned to satisfy myself. Well, then, maybe I might give him a chance. Maybe. But in the meantime, well… I still had my own spectacularly vivid imagination, and out of frustration I'd learned not to be shy about taking care of myself.
My body was already responding to the delicious thoughts forming in my mind. I bit my lower lip, sucking in a breath as my hands moved over my hips, imagining they belonged to Antonio. My fingers roamed over my body, sliding over my breasts. My luscious, tender breasts, which had begun to ache with my growing desire. I moaned softly as my fingers brushed over my nipples, hardening beneath the lacy fabric.
I unhooked my bra, imagining Antonio’s lips on my shoulders, his hands reaching around to caress my breasts, gently squeezing the taut nipples.
I stepped backward, lowering myself onto the bed and slipped beneath the sheets. I closed my eyes, picturing him sliding in above me. I imagined gazing up into his hungry, piercing eyes, tracing the lines of his firm chest with my fingertips.
My hands moved from my breasts, inching down to slip beneath my panties to find my eagerly awaiting sex. I gasped as I slid a finger between my lips, shocked to find how wet I was. My fingers began to move, almost of their own accord as my mind conjured images of Antonio hovering above me, murmuring in my ear, telling me over and over how beautiful I was.
I groaned as my fingers worked tiny circles over my clit, slipping them inside myself and feeling the warm, slick juices of my desire. I felt the throbbing ache of my need rising within me and let my fingers move faster, my other hand fondling my breasts. I bit back another moan, as a pulse ran through me, and my mouth opened as I imagined Antonio’s lips descending onto mine. I turned my head, burying my face in my pillow to stifle the scream that was building within me, just as I crested the wave of my climax.
I caught one last fleeting glimpse of my dream man before I opened my eyes, my vision momentary blurred as my body shuddered in the aftermath of my fantasy.
"Who are you, Antonio Mancini?" I whispered into the night. And then the bigger question. “What are you doing to me?”
Chapter Sixteen
"I don’t kiss and tell, Maria," I said with a wink, carefully blowing on my hot cup of coffee.
Maria sat at the table in front of me, digging into a stack of pancakes. "No fair, Sis," she pouted around a mouthful, "you promised to tell me the rest this morning. I won’t let you distract me with my favorite breakfast."
I laughed. "I know. I’m just teasing you. All right. So, Antonio kept me close most of the night, which was so reassuring. I probably would have ended up as an awkward wallflower without his arm around me. I am so not ready to mingle with these people, Maria. Everyone is so elegant and, well, rich!"
"That’s so sweet that he didn’t make you feel out of place."
I nodded, guilty over the web of lies I was weaving, but I didn’t have the heart to dampen Maria’s enjoyment with my vague worries. Or, with what I thought might be the truth. I took a sip of coffee to cover my frown and pressed on with my fairy tale. "Well, he did leave me for a few minutes though, so he could meet with a colleague. I took the time to freshen up my make-up. You wouldn’t believe the washroom, Maria! It was like its own little apartment inside. It was so big!"
Maria’s eyes widened. "What—gilded toilets?" She teased.
"Not quite," I said, "but I’m sure something in there might have been made of gold. There was a whole sitting area and I met some of the women. I don’t know if I’m going to join them at the tennis club just yet, but they weren’t as snobby as I expected them to be. Anyway, we left just after that—home by midnight, just like you ordered."
"No pumpkins," she grinned, "but about that kiss and tell business...?"
Luckily my phone rang just as I opened my mouth to speak. I wasn’t quite sure what I would have told her. Or just how far I was willing to take this particular fantasy.
"Good morning, Miss Tilson" came the velvety voice on the other end of the phone. "I trust you slept well?"
"Um, yes," I replied, a little disconcerted that he had called while I was weaving "our" fairytale for Maria. Almost as though he had caught me in the lie. What was it about this man that made me feel like an awkward schoolgirl?
"Good," came the soft chuckle, as if he could read my mind. "Can you be ready in an hour?"
"No problem," I said, waiting for my instructions.
"Good," he repeated. "Thompson will pick you up. When you get here, report to Priscilla Pearson, my floor manager in Lingerie."
Before I could say "All right, I’ll be ready," he had hung up.
"Duty calls," I said to Maria as I rose out of my chair and picked up my dirty dishes, "but for the record, Antonio has really luscious lips."
Chapter Seventeen
"Hm." was the only thing Priscilla said, raising one eyebrow in calculated appraisal as I introduced myself. This store has a lot of raised eyebrows, I thought. I wonder if it's a requirement? I almost giggled, part nervousness and part imagining how I would look doing the same thing to a customer.
"Turn around," she demanded, and I was reminded even more of my previous experience in Mancini's office. She actually uttered a "tsk, tsk" as she eyed me up and down with her disapproving gaze. At least she’d paused to shake my hand. But clearly, this was not a woman who placed social skills high on her priority list. "This will never do. I cannot have a protégé dressing like this. Come." She spun around deftly on her six-inch heels and clicked off at a pace as fast as her speech.
I hurried to keep up. "Nice to meet you, too," I muttered under my breath, glancing around at the stylish outfits on the racks and mannequins. The woman was right, of course. My black pleated skirt and simple pink blouse might have worked in the suburbs, but this was the big city. And this store, as I’d learned, boasted some of the hottest designs from the greatest runways around the world.
Priscilla stopped abruptly at a rack of chocolate colored dresses. "These," she uttered under her breath as she skimmed through the rack.
I eyed her own attire, trying to assess what I was missing. She was wearing a gray pencil skirt that reached just below her knees. Her sleeveless silver blouse revealed perfectly toned, honey brown arms. Her dark hair was pulled to one side, fallin
g over her shoulder. The collar of the blouse dipped in soft folds to one side, and an elegant triple string of pearls rested around her neck.
"Here," she said, pulling out a dress and handing it to me. "The fitting rooms are over there. I’ll call down to the shoe department to get you something to match."
"Thanks," I said, heading in the direction she’d pointed.
The fitting rooms, it turned out, weren’t quite as big as the fancy washrooms at the gallery, but I could probably have lived comfortably in them nonetheless. I stripped off my blouse and skirt and slipped the dress over my head, then gasped when I saw the result. The only thing spoiling the elegant effect was that the scooping neckline plunged deep enough to reveal my very utilitarian bra.
"Um, Priscilla?" I said, stepping out of the fitting room to find her heading towards me with a thick gold necklace dangling from her fingers. "I don’t think this dress will work…"
"Oh dear," she said, putting a hand to her mouth. "No, not at all. Let me find you something more appropriate."
There was no one else anywhere close-by in the store, but I kept a hand over my chest, trying to tame the ample display of my cleavage. Priscilla returned a moment later. I had expected her to bring me another dress. Instead, she was accompanied by another woman who held out a hanger that bore a lace garment made from so little material, it might as well have been invisible.
I blushed.
"This is Nevia," Priscilla said. "She’ll help you with your under garments. I'll arrange for a suitable wardrobe for you. Consider this your uniform. Our customers expect the employees to look the part."
"But I—"
"The cost of the uniforms will be deducted from your wages," Priscilla added, as if reading my thoughts. "You’ll need to report to HR once you’re dressed. They'll make the arrangements and explain our policies.
I turned to Nevia. The statuesque young woman with the bright blue eyes bobbed her head at me and smiled warmly. "She only has the store's best interests at heart. Once you get used to her, she’s actually quite nice. Would you like some help with this?" she asked, holding up the gossamer lingerie. "It can be pretty tricky at first."
I felt odd standing in the changing room with a complete stranger. I eyed the little bra and panty set, trying to figure it out and failing.
"Yeah, I think I’m going to need some help."
Nevia chuckled. "Welcome to the fashion industry."
Chapter Eighteen
I was already getting used to walking in these ridiculously high heels, and I had to admit, I liked the way I looked in the dress. In fact, I couldn't help sneaking glances at myself as I made my way to the HR office. The bra Nevia gave me turned out to be more like fancy tape that held my breasts in place without the need for pesky straps and hooks. Definitely not anything I’d ever worn—much less heard of before.
"You must be Angela," said a slightly plump woman with short, strawberry red curls. "I'm Melinda. Come on in!"
Melinda ushered me into her office, which was filled with a forest of leafy plants. I sat down at her desk, noticing a picture of her holding a little girl who was the spitting image of her mother.
"That’s my Fiona," Melinda gushed with obvious pride. "I can’t wait until she’s old enough to work here. I suppose she has a long way to go, though."
I smiled. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting when I arrived here this morning, and even though I found Priscilla a little scary at first, I was enjoying the experience so far. Everyone else had been friendly and welcoming, and not at all stuck up, as I'd secretly feared. I certainly felt much better about myself and my ability to fit in than I had at last night’s charity event.
"Oh my," Melinda smiled at me. "You must be quite good."
"I’m sorry?" She couldn’t have been looking at my resume. That wasn’t impressive at all.
"Mr. Mancini has indicated that you’ll be a third level associate, which means a paycheck that’s only a little less than the floor manager. That only happens in extraordinary situations."
"Oh, I didn’t—"
"Just don’t mention it to Priscilla," Melinda whispered, giving me a conspiratorial wink.
"Of course not. But I—"
"Oh I’m just joking," Melinda laughed. "I mean, your salary really shouldn’t be water cooler conversation, but I’m just teasing about Priscilla. She can come across as a difficult and disapproving woman, but she’s really a big old softie. She just likes efficiency, you know? Do your job well, and she’ll have no reason to badger you."
"All right," I said slowly. "I definitely don’t want anyone upset with me."
Melinda pulled a document off of the printer beside her and slid it across the table to me, along with a silver pen. "Here’s your contract. Please do read it over and sign at the bottom. I’m going to get myself some tea. Would you like some?"
I picked up the paper, reading through the employment stipulations, my eyes drawn back to the four year requirement. Then I gasped when I reached the salary.
"Are you sure this is correct…" I looked up from the papers. The number on the agreement was almost 50% more than he had originally offered me.
"Mr. Mancini never makes mistakes," Melinda said from the door way. "And, that’s before commissions."
Chapter Nineteen
The week flew by, as I did my best to keep up with Priscilla’s demands and instructions. She wasn’t a patient woman, but as the other employees kept telling me, she actually wasn’t a hard ass either. Assuming you stayed on her good side.
"I'm sorry, what are these for? They're not very flattering," I said, examining the black and white photographs Priscilla handed me. The images of a pair of models wearing the latest line from one of our top designers were grainy and shot from an unimaginative angle.
"I know," Priscilla sighed. "The photographer we normally use to profile our latest collections was unavailable. We most certainly will not use this photographer again."
"But what were the photos for?" I asked.
"Promotional material we wanted to publish on our website."
"The lighting is all wrong," I said.
Priscilla’s brow arched. "And you know this because….?"
I looked up, shyly, "Oh I'm a photographer."
"Really?”
"Well… I mean… really I… just dabble. Mostly. I’ve done a few weddings and things like that. I don’t have a studio or anything, and everything I know comes from photography magazines and online. But I've loved taking photos ever since high school."
"Anyone can learn how to take pictures from reading books and websites, Angela." Priscilla took the pictures back and unceremoniously ripped them in half. "It takes a good eye and a creative mind to turn photographs into art. It's obvious you have a good eye, you would never have learned so much so quickly. Does that translate to your photographs, too?"
"Well, I do consider photography an art form, like any other visual expression. It's not just something I do to make money. I’d love to do more with it, but it can be an expensive hobby, even with so much going digital now."
Priscilla looked at me for a long moment. I could see the wheels turning behind her dark eyes. "Bring me your portfolio sometime," she said at last. "I'd love to see it."
"My portfolio?"
"You do have one?" she asked, raising that brow of hers again.
"Well, I do, but like I said, I just take photos for weddings and a few local events. I’ve never worked in a real studio and I wouldn’t have any idea what to do with your collection."
"Angela," Priscilla said, shaking her head with an impatient sigh, "you have been here for a week and have already impressed me with your eagerness to learn and to fit in. If you have a talent that you already study and practice, I would like to see it. I am not suggesting you become the staff photographer. I haven't even seen your work.”
I looked at my shoes, feeling somewhat chastised.
"We do have an in-house studio here, and obviously, funding the equipm
ent is not a concern. At some time—perhaps in the future—it might be advantageous to bring at least some of the photography back in-house. But that would not be my decision to make, anyway."
"Ok. I—I’ll bring in some of my work for you to see," I said. But the butterflies in my stomach urged me to ignore her request. I seemed to be fitting in okay so far, and I didn't want to jeopardize that.
"Angela Tilson line two please," came a soft voice over the intercom.
"Excuse me," I said to Priscilla, who dismissed me with a nod. She had stressed that personal calls during working hours were frowned upon, and that cellphones were forbidden entirely on the sales floor. Not that there was anywhere on my "uniform" to keep a cellphone.
Priscilla knew about Maria though, and that she might need me in an emergency. Normally, I called to check on her only during my breaks. Getting a call while I was on the floor made me a little worried that something might have happened, so I hurried to the back office.
"Hello Angela," said Antonio.
My shoulders sagged with relief to know that it wasn’t Maria calling with an emergency. But, my relief was quickly replaced with apprehension, hearing the silky sound of Antonio’s voice after almost a week of not seeing him at all.
"Hello," I said, trying to speak casually in spite of my racing heart. "How are you?"
"I am well, thank you," he replied. "I need to see you."
My stomach twisted in anticipation and dread. It took me a moment before words finally came out. "When?"
"I’m waiting out front in the limo," he said. "Just tell Priscilla you need to leave early and that she’ll need to put together an outfit for you for tonight's dinner. She can have it sent over."
"All right," I said. Another event? I wondered what this one was.
I found Priscilla in the shoe department and repeated Antonio’s message.
She tilted her head, one brow arched. I had come to recognize this as a reflection of appraisal on her part. It might mean, "I’m very impressed," or it might mean, "oh my, how can we fix this?" Since the message had come from her boss, I chose to believe it meant that I was earning her approval.
