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“So glad I could amuse you,” I tell her.
Her laughter ebbs, and she wipes a hand under her eyes. “Amuse? Yes, definitely that.”
A minute passes as we just stare at each other, smiling.
“I’m pleased you like the ensemble, Ms. King. So glad to have gotten the sizing right.”
I start, having forgotten Susan is still in the room, standing some distance behind the couch I’m on. From the look on Campbell’s face, so had she.
“Oh, uh, yes. Everything fits fine.” Campbell turns toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, arranged so the customer can see every angle of herself. As can the people on the couch. A fact I am very much loving at the moment.
Back to ignoring me, Campbell engages Susan in a conversation about the latest fashion, while I sit back and enjoy the view. Whoever invented pencil skirts should be given a commendation. Every librarian fantasy I ever had is busy streaming through my mind as I watch her twist and turn in the mirror.
“It really is lovely on you. But please, do try on the other garments I hung in your dressing room. I know the Diane Von Furstenberg dress would look amazing. The blue one with the asymmetric hem? It just came in, and the coloring would be fabulous on you.”
“I don’t know…” Campbell’s glance meets mine in the mirror.
“By all means, please try on all that Susan brought you.” I lean back further into the plush couch. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? To do a bit of recon, as you said.”
She looks longingly toward the dressing room, where the rest of the clothes hang. “Well, yes. But I wasn’t going to spend the entire day in the women’s luxury department. I should really get a feel for the rest of Moore’s as well.”
“We have plenty of time for that,” I reply. The way she’s already inching toward the door, I know I don’t have to push much.
“Well, maybe just one more outfit…” she says, scurrying back to her dressing room.
Susan and I share a smile. It seems our new marketing guru is a bit of a clotheshorse.
I can work with that.
* * *
I cannot work with this.
For an hour I’ve been suspended between pleasure and discomfort, watching Campbell model clothes. Clothes that look so good on her curves that my dick can only sit up and take notice. Thank god for the throw pillow I placed on my lap to hide my situation.
Closing my eyes wouldn’t have helped either. She hums Elvis tunes in the silence. I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. I’ve been too intrigued to call her on it, afraid she’d stop. And don’t even get me started on the pleasure of just listening to her talk. With her sweet Southern accent inciting fantasies of her talking dirty to me with that sexy twang.
And we’ve talked. A lot.
At the beginning, we stuck mostly to business—sales projections, media campaigns. Her interest delved further than just marketing, though, asking questions about the store’s buyers, in-house restaurant management, and more. She picked up the new information with a nod and a smile, quick to make connections and extrapolate the information into further-reaching marketing analysis.
In short, Campbell King is smart as fuck.
And damn if that isn’t twice as hot as her ass in that pencil skirt.
I’m not sure I’ve ever enjoyed my time in the store more. Even when Susan interrupted with embarrassing stories about me as a kid getting into trouble amidst the clothing racks. Including one when my little sister pants me in front of a cute, college-age sales associate when I was seventeen.
Campbell’s laugh went straight to my dick.
Between the conversation, Campbell’s body modeling the latest fashions, and the sound of her laugh doing things to my insides, by the time she carefully selects a few items for purchase, I’m desperate for distraction.
“Lunch?” I ask as Susan wraps Campbell’s new clothes in tissue and gently places them in our signature black and gold bags.
“You needn’t bother. I hadn’t meant to take up your whole day.”
“No bother at all.”
Her teeth bite into her lower lip. I try not to think inappropriate thoughts. Key word: try.
