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She shoots Sophia a wicked grin and a little wink.
There’s a comfortable chair outside the fitting room intended for people like me, who are either playing the part of the benevolent wallet or the supportive friend. Or the control freak, I suppose. I’m comfortable with the former and the latter, but supportive friend is certainly not the relationship I intend to develop with Sophia.
She disappears into the dressing room with the first suit. Demi follows a few moments later when Sophia indicates that she’s decently covered, and they spend a minute or two marking and pinning the suit.
Sophia steps out a moment later perfectly framed in a lightweight cream-colored skirt suit with a pale pink top which brings out the red in her hair. She looks competent, capable, professional… and completely delicious.
Her eyes are alight, and she’s hiding a smile. Hmm. If fast cars and fine clothes soften those hardened walls of hers, she and I will get along swimmingly.
I circle her, making thoughtful noises about the clothes themselves while secretly basking in just how decadent she looks in them. The soft fabric traces the outline of her ass and hips in a way that is simultaneously suggestive and pure, offering up carnal thoughts and admonishing you for thinking them all at once.
“It’s good,” I tell her. “Let’s see the next ensemble.”
It goes on like that for a while. Demi included a few startling and daring cuts and patterns in the mix. A couple of them work, but most of them don’t. Sophia is such an enigma all on her own, with those shifting gray-green eyes and red-brown hair, and those expressions that flit across her face like butterflies, transforming before I can fully read them. Adding bold patterns or eclectic designs won’t give clarity to who she is. If anything, such garb would only provide a layer of mystique for her to further hide behind. And I prefer her without that armor.
There’s always the option of working in the nude, but I wouldn’t get anything done. And I’m not that sort of boss to demand it, no matter how enticing it may be.
They work their way through the suits to the dresses. The final one is a soft thing in midnight blue which flows from her right shoulder to her left ankle, leaving her left arm and right leg bare. It glitters subtly where it catches the light, over the top of her breasts and hips, at the gentle curve of her belly and down her thigh. The open back falls almost obscenely low, barely clinging to the curve of her ass. The sight of her bare, golden skin contrasting against the royal fabric makes my throat go temporarily dry. I look her over slowly, my fingers itching to reach out and graze her skin as I examine the garment.
“It’ll do,” I tell them, dragging my gaze away from Sophia. “Demi, which of these suits requires the least amount of alteration? She’ll need something to wear to work today.”
Demi pulls a light, summery green thing off the rack of clothing.
“No pins required at all,” she says. “I guess thereissomething you can wear off the rack.”
“Excellent. Are we ready to settle up?”
“In a moment,” Demi replies mysteriously. “Sophia and I just need to dip into the back room for a sec. No boys allowed, I’m afraid.”
She smirks as Sophia blushes, and the two of them disappear through the little saloon-style half doors at the back of the shop. I settle into the chair to wait and keep myself occupied imagining what sorts of lacy, frilly, laced-up underthings Sophia could be procuring back there.
They don’t take nearly as long as I anticipated. Demi is carrying several boxes, their contents hidden from me, but the secretive little smile on Sophia’s face tells me everything I need to know. What Iwantto know… well, that’s a different story entirely.
I meet them at the register, and I pretend not to notice the shock on Sophia’s face when Demi reads me the total. I instruct the woman to put it on my tab and to have Sophia’s things delivered to her apartment once the alterations are complete. I allow Sophia to give Demi the address, since revealing that I already know it might be a push too far.
It’s nearly ten a.m. by the time we leave the shop and head back out to my Mercedes. She sighs heavily as she settles into the passenger seat.
“To the office?” she asks, hope lingering in her tone as I start the car and pull back out into traffic.
“Patience. There are still a few things you need which Demi does not provide.”
When Sophia shoots me a confused expression with a raised brow, I make it a point to glance toward the floorboard to indicate that I mean shoes.
She gives me a nervous look, then shakes her head.
“Okay.Whatis going on? I assume your ‘onboarding bonuses’ aren’t usually this hefty.” Her voice fades as she rubs the hem of her skirt between her fingers, feeling the luxurious fabric. “So why all of this? It’s like you’re paying me for violating your space and attempting to commit a crime. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. But I’ve thought and thought about it, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why you’re doing it.”
I could tell her that I’m paying her for exposing a security breach in my office, or for showing me how easy it would be for someone to steal that particular item from my lounge. And thatispartially true. Until her attempted theft, I didn’t consider the artifact to be in any particular danger. I didn’t consider that there could be people, human or otherwise, who would want to get their hands on it.
I don’t think it’s likely that the person who sent her knew what they were sending her after. That piece has showed up in the background of a lot of PR photos. I think it’s far more likely that they were having her steal it as a sort of trial run. Had she been successful, I fully expect they would have blackmailed her into doing worse.
Not that her fate would have bothered me one way or another, but in hiring her, I changed the game. She’s close to me, as the dealers intended—but on my terms.
“Money is a tool. It isn’t the goal, it’s only the means,” I explain coolly. “Tell me, after I gave you the onboarding bonus, why didn’t you take the money and run?”
She frowns and shifts awkwardly in her seat. “Because the money saved my sister, and because you included enough to cover the transition between jobs, which was an unexpected courtesy.” Then, there’s a flash of annoyance and challenge to her expression. “And because you quit my job for me, so I didn’t have anything to go back to even if I did decide to dip out.”
I flash her a devilish smile. “You see? Money is representative. It can convey safety, courtesy, and a threat all at once. You’re working for me in order to make up for what you attempted to do. My paying you is simply clearing the obstacles for you to make good on your debt to me.”
