Haze

by Deborah Bladon

  "You heard wrong." I tip my chin in his direction. "I've invited a few employees from our stores. It's a good marketing move. It shows how much we care about the community."

  "Is the cute blonde who was racing out of your office the other night one of those employees?” I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. "She's not invited."

  He looks past me towards the windows at the expansive view of Manhattan. "I was waiting for the elevator. She practically ran me over to get in it before me. What's her name?"

  "Why?" I snap back, too quickly, too tersely.

  "Woah." His hands shoot up in mock surrender. "I'm not chasing her. I'm married, remember?"

  "How can I forget? You remind me at every chance that I'll never find a woman as perfect as the one you married."

  "I've seen the blonde before." His mouth twists into a scowl. "I've tried to figure it out since then. I know her from somewhere."

  "She works at the Liore boutique on Fifth Avenue."

  "I've never set foot in there." He leans forward in the chair. "I must be mistaking her for someone else. There are a lot of cute blondes in New York."

  I swipe my finger across the screen of my tablet, pulling up a series of images of ties from the men's upcoming spring line. He came here to talk business, not to discuss Isla Lane. She may be a beautiful blonde who I'm aching to fuck, but she's an employee. She's off-limits and though the challenge is tempting, the consequences aren't.

  I'm going to find exactly what I want tonight.

  For just a few hours I need a woman who is gorgeous, eager, and whose limits line up with mine.

  ***

  "She's nothing like most of the girls who come here. She's different."

  That's improbable.

  It's also inconsequential.

  I came to the club tonight for one purpose. If that purpose comes in the form of a woman that Sage thinks is one-of-a-kind, so be it. I'm not here to cast judgment. No one who sets foot in this club is. We're all here for the same reasons, to fuck or to be fucked, to control or to acquiesce.

  The only difference between any of us is the thick, glass barrier that separates the seasoned club members from those who are curious. There's also the matter of the confidentiality agreement you sign when you're invited to cross the threshold into the private area of Club Skyn.

  Discretion is paramount and, fortunately, legally required.

  I rub elbows with many of New York City's elite here. Not one of them wants their predilections to follow them into the world outside these walls. I'm no different.

  "You've barely touched your drink, Gabriel." Sage raises her near empty glass to toast. "Here's to you finally jumping back into the fray."

  I nod slightly, my hand firmly clutching the glass of scotch I ordered shortly after I arrived. As soon as Caleb had left my office with instructions in hand for the tie collection, I'd hit the gym to spar with Landon Beckett, an old friend. I was restless and wanted to blow off the pent up energy before I showered.

  Like Caleb, his life has settled into a pattern of predictability with a woman he's passionate about. I doubt he'd understand my need to be here. I doubt most people in my inner circle would.

  I've never cared about that. I've never sought the approval of anyone when it comes to what I do after work, on my own hours. This is my life. These are my needs. This is what I thirst for and tonight I'm here to quench that.

  "She's there." Sage's fingers paint an invisible trail along the glass.

  I move closer, my eyes honing in on the crowded mass on the dance floor directly in front of us. Some of them know that there are others with a clear and uncensored view of what they're doing. Others, those who are new to Skyn, think that it's exactly as advertised, just another club on the Lower East Side of the city. They're oblivious to the fact that the mirrored wall that runs the length of the dance floor becomes something more three nights a week.

  It's on those nights that the large rooms behind the wall come to life with a fully stocked bar, music, and people who all want the same thing. From behind the one way glass we can assess, yearn for, and finally invite someone back to a place where consent is readily given and real names are rarely exchanged.

  For those of us who understand the need for the private rooms equipped with all the tools of both pleasure and pain, we're here for one reason and one reason only.

  "Where?" I lean closer to Sage hopeful that my voice will rise above the increasing volume of the rhythmic beat of the music that fills the entire club.

  She taps her hand against the glass. "That's her. She's wearing a red dress. Her hair is long, it's brown. She's almost as tall as I am."

  I scan the dance floor. I spot the woman Sage is pointing to almost immediately. Her dress, a scarlet red, hugs her frame. She's tall, lithe and has the body of a dancer. She's timid, her eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, all the while avoiding anyone.

  "She's eager to meet you. I told her about you."

  Those details would have been sparse at best. Sage, like anyone with an invitation to this area of the club, values her privacy. She's not going to willingly risk her reputation as the face of one of the country's most successful skin care lines.

  Since the episode in my office years ago, she's been discreet. I don’t trust her fully. I never will but I recognize her need to be in the public eye. Her brand is what motivates her to keep her own secrets, as well as mine, hidden.

  "What's her name?" I ask, as I turn back to look at the brunette. I don't expect an answer grounded in truth. I don't care what her real name is. I'll call her whatever she wants me to tonight because when I walk out of this club, I know that the driving need I feel right now will be quieted. I also know that by the time I feel the urge again, I'll be in Italy on business, or Germany, or somewhere, anywhere, far away from here.

  "It's…"

  Sage's voice is drowned out. It's not the music, or the boisterous sound of the voices next to us that overtakes me. It's my breathing. It's my own labored breathing.

  I still as my eyes wander from the woman Sage pointed out to another, across the floor from her. Although her back is turned to me, the attraction is instant and intense.

  I spot her legs first. They're not long, but they're toned. They disappear beneath a thin piece of black silk which only serves to cover the curves of a flawlessly shaped ass. The back of the halter dress she's wearing is non-existent revealing a smooth, delicately angled back.

  As she turns slightly, the ponytail her hair is pulled into sways with the movement and the silver hoop earring in her left ear bounces against her neck. Even beneath the muted lighting above the dance floor there's no mistaking the outline of her full breasts beneath the fabric of the dress. She's supple, sensual and even though I've yet to see her face, she's undeniably, the most beautiful woman in the room.

  "Gabriel." I feel Sage's hand on my shoulder. "Did you hear me? I said her name is Jovie."

  "Not her." I stare at the woman in the short black dress. "I don't want Jovie. She's not the one."

  "She is the one." Her voice is insistent. "I've spoken to her. We had a drink the other night. She's perfect."

  "No. I found the one I want."

  "Who?" Her tone is clipped and severe.

  I feel my cock harden as the woman I can't take my eyes off of starts to move to the music. The fabric of her dress brushes against her ass tempting anyone within view. I see the blatant hungry glances of the men around her. I watch as they move closer, circling her like the untamed animals they are.

  Not one of them is going to touch that body, taste it, or satisfy it the way I will.

  I motion towards one of the club managers who are here to facilitate the needs of the people in this room. Their job is to go out and test the waters. They speak to the club patrons who have caught the eye of a private member. If the interest is mutual, they take them to a lounge, instruct them on protocol and handle all the necessary paperwork that ensures what happens here, sta
ys here.

  I adjust the buckle of my belt before my hand lightly grazes over the front of my pants. I'm so hard that there's a bite of pain. This is exactly what I need. She's what I need.

  "Is there someone you'd like to meet?"

  The older man who approaches me doesn't use my name even though we've lunched together within the realm of my business. "The one in the short black dress, silver heels, hoop earrings."

  He glances past me towards the wall of glass, his hand rising in the air. "That one, sir?"

  I turn back towards the dance floor and as my eyes hone in on her again, my hand fists. She's facing me directly now, her neck tilted slightly to the left as she talks to a blonde haired man I've seen back here, behind the shroud of glass. He's a regular and as she looks up into his eyes, my stomach recoils.

  It's then that I see her stumble against him and as she glances towards where I'm standing, hidden behind the glass wall, there's no mistaking the glossy look in her blue eyes.

  "Is that the one, sir? It's the blonde?"

  "Get yourself another drink." I turn towards Sage. "I need a moment."

  She nods absentmindedly as she walks off in the direction of the bar.

  I level my eyes on the manager. "You have a problem."

  He chuckles nervously. "I have a problem?"

  "That woman is underage."

  "That's impossible." He moves closer to the glass until his nose is hovering next to it. "We have a stringent policy regarding proper identification. It would have been checked at the door."

  "It's possible," I hiss. "In fact, it's reality. That woman is twenty-years-old. She's also clearly intoxicated."

  "I'm not sure how this happened." He pulls a smartphone from his pocket. "I'll have security remove her."

  "You'll have a female manager quietly lead her out before she escorts her home."

  "We don't have enough staff…"

  "It's not a request." I glance back to where Isla is standing, her arms now around the neck of the man she's talking to. "Take care of it now or I'll call Julian to handle it."

  The mention of the club's owner is enough to light a fire under the manager. As he walks away I turn back towards the dance floor. I bring the glass in my hand to my lips, take a heavy drink and curse under my breath as I wonder what the fuck Isla Lane is doing in this club.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Isla

  "You'll need to come with me."

  I ignore her at first, not because I'm rude. At least, I try not to be rude. I don’t pay any attention to her because I'm sure she's talking to the woman next to me who has been flashing her tits at some guy parked on a bar stool.

  I see a lot of breasts in my line of work. On any given day I'd venture to guess that I see at least four or five pairs when I'm helping customers try on bras.

  I don’t compare them to mine because I know mine are spectacular. I'm not conceited. It's just that every guy I've ever fucked has said the same thing.

  Well, I mean they've said other things, like I'm good at oral or I'm too loud when I come but for the most part, they've liked my breasts. I like them too.

  "Excuse me." I feel a light tap on my shoulder with the words.

  The tone is too high to be Barry's. Besides he's staring at me and he hasn’t said anything for at least two minutes. I think he asked me something. Did he ask me something?

  I feel sick. Like so sick right now.

  "I'd like you to come with me." I hear the voice again. It's definitely a woman.

  I look to my left and I see her there. She's dressed all in black. Even her dark hair is pulled back into a bun. She's the exact opposite of fun. She's no fun. I wonder if she's related to Cicely.

  I think I might vomit.

  "She's not going anywhere with you. I'm taking this one to the back with me," Barry, the blonde haired dentist I met earlier, says really loudly. He says it so loudly that my head hurts.

  "There's a problem, sir." The grumpy lady is pulling on my arm. "I'm going to have to escort her from the club."

  "That's not happening." Barry grabs hold of my waist. "We are going to the back. I've invited her and she accepted."

  Technically I haven't exactly RSVP'd yet. He did invite me when he was kissing my neck and drooling in my ear. I was leaning more towards not going. He's not my type and I haven't flossed today so we're not a good match. I know how much dentists hate it when you don't floss. My grandmother always said that if you can't say something nice, try and say something nice…no wait, if you can't say something nice, say something not nice? No…it was…

  "You're a good dancer." I tap my hand on his chest. "I like dancing with you."

  "What's the problem?" Barry ignores my compliment. "I don't understand what the problem is."

  "There's an issue with her identification." The woman gestures towards my clutch purse.

  "What issue?" Barry's voice is even louder now. I definitely have a headache.

  "Shh." I bring my finger to my lips. "You're so loud."

  The woman in the dark clothes leans close to us both. "We have reason to believe she used fake identification to get into the club."

  Well, shit. I am so fucking busted right now.

  I pull my clutch closer. That fake ID cost me a lot and I need it at least for the next ten days until I'm actually twenty-one. I don't want this woman to take it away from me. What if I decide I need a drink after work one day?

  Who am I kidding? After tonight, I'm never drinking again.

  "Her ID is legit," Barry says.

  "Don't say legit." I grimace as I look up into his face and shake my head from side-to-side. "It's not cool, Barry. You're like over that hill, you know what I mean?"

  The woman talking to us stifles a laugh.

  "Give me that ID." Barry grabs hold of my clutch so quickly that I don't have time to react. A lot of that has to do with the two, wait, it was three vodkas and sodas I've had since I got here.

  "I want it back." I try to yank the bag back into my hands. "That's mine."

  "Sir, you need to step back." A man dressed in a dark suit is standing next to us now. I recognize his bald head. I saw it when I first came into the club. He was greeting some people at the door.

  "He took my bag," I whine. "Tell him to give it back."

  I pull harder on the clutch but Barry's got it in a death grip. He's shaking his head and gritting his teeth. "I'll show you that her ID is real. She's at least twenty-five. Look at her."

  I pull harder. "You think I'm twenty-five? Really? I look twenty-five to you?"

  "At least." Barry pushes the bald headed man aside as he tugs on my clutch. "Just tell them the ID is real so we can go to the back."

  "No." I shake my head as I let the clutch go. "It's not real. I'm only twenty. I won't be twenty-one for another ten days."

  I don't see Barry's expression as he falls on his ass. My eyes are glued to my clutch and as it flies out of his grasp and through the air, I say a silent prayer that the broken clasp will hold tight.

  It doesn't.

  All I can do is cover my eyes as the contents of my clutch spill out and into the view of virtually everyone in the room who has stopped to stare at the commotion we caused. I hear the faints gasps and giggles as my phone, the six condoms, two ten dollar bills and the fake ID tumble to the floor right next to the brand new shiny handcuffs I brought with me.

  ***

  "You look like shit, Isla."

  If I'd bothered to look in a mirror today, I'd probably see it for myself. I've avoided it on purpose. In fact, this is the first time I've been up all day and I only got as far as the sofa.

  I'd fallen into my bed right after I was dropped off. The woman from the club had not only walked me to the curb, she'd climbed into the front seat of a dark sedan that stopped on the street after she'd ushered me into the back.

  I had given my address when asked, never questioning why I wasn't tossed from the club to fend for myself. It wasn't until I woke this morning that
I realized that she had also helped me into the building and stayed with me until I closed my apartment door after thanking her for everything.

  "I had too much to drink last night." I take a sip from the water bottle I've been holding in my hand for the past thirty minutes. "Do you have any aspirin?"

  "I have something that will help." Cassia marches across the living room towards where she dropped her purse when she got home five minutes ago. "Did you have a date? Where did you go that you got so loaded?"

  I went to a kinky club because I like to be handcuffed and spanked until my ass is on fire, Cass. What did you do last night?

  "No date," I confess. "I haven't met anyone since I've been in New York."

  Her brows perk up as she fishes a bottle of ibuprofen from out of her purse. "You haven't met anyone? I guess that makes sense. You work in a lingerie store. It must be all women, all the time."

  It's not. At least half the customers are men either looking for something for their woman or men looking for someone to give them a free fashion show. "You wouldn’t believe how many men come into Liore wanting to get off in the change rooms."

  "You're kidding." Her voice explodes into the space, reverberating through my still sore brain. I swear even my eyelashes hurt today. I open the bottle and pop two pills into my mouth, using the last of the water to wash them down.

  "I'm serious," I say quietly, hoping she'll take the hint and temper her tone. "It's happened to me a few times."

  "You don't ever actually do it, do you? Tell me you don't."

  I should be offended by the question but I can't be. Cassia knows me better than anyone. She was the one who laughed alongside me when I got caught in the art supply closet in high school with the captain of the debate team. We were only kissing but it was enough for yet another warning in my file.

  "I don't," I say honestly. "It's against company policy. I wouldn't risk it."

  "I'm surprised by how much you like this job." She walks into the kitchen. "I know it's just temporary but you're killing it there."

  I am killing it. I got paid yesterday and with all the commissions I've earned, my check was the biggest it's ever been. If I didn't have any other direction for my life, I might stay at Liore for a year or two.