Chapter 3

Ten minutes later, Zahra wasn’t repositioning Jasmin’s bra straps, she was slipping them all the way off.

Layla could have seen the results of her actions. She could have followed the pair through the front door, even if they’d closed it, and they wouldn’t know, but she didn’t want to intrude – not to that extent. Still, she had a feeling that she’d be picking up at least the hunting fee, and likely the Valentine bonus.

Diane was re-folding and hanging dresses that customers had left in the changing room. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted for the day to pick up speed so she could get to the club. Her friend Mel had started seeing a guy, and she wanted to introduce Diane to his friend. She hadn’t had sex in weeks, and she knew tonight was going to end her dry spell.

She would have asked Adele if she could take off early. Of course, her manager would say no, because she was a hardass, but she would have tried, if it could have brought the evening forward. But even if she left early, she’d only waste the extra time fretting about what to wear.

She felt a… breeze? Not even a breeze, just a movement of air, but there was no one around to cause a disturbance. Adele was tagging bras a few feet away. They were skimpy, lacy things that the store never carried in quantity. Maybe the air movement was Adele fanning herself after handling sexy merchandise. Diane grinned to herself. Her staid, uptight boss would never be flustered by a garment.

Diane was looking up at her manager working, when a spike of feeling ran through her. She didn’t know what the feeling was, but there was a nagging sense that something had changed. Or that she had forgotten something, but would never remember it because it hadn’t existed in the first place.

She glanced again at her boss. It was a shame she was so strict. In profile, she was, well, kinda hot. And Diane didn’t even go for women. She could almost make an exception for Adele, though. She must be mid- to late-thirties, over a decade Diane’s senior, but her skin was as smooth as Diane’s, her makeup and dress elegant in a way Diane couldn’t attempt, and her figure amazing.

Maybe even the bossiness could be a positive. She could imagine Adele in black, tapping a riding crop on her palm, gesturing at Diane as she demanded that Diane satisfy her.

Diane realized that her belly was tingling. God, she was wet!

Adele had turned to look at Diane. Had she sensed her thought? Adele’s fingers were tracing the patterns on the bra in her hands. She seemed to realize what she was doing. She frowned down at the bra, then looked up at Diane, as if considering how it would look on her.

Well, nothing ventured…

Diane sauntered up to the older woman. How was she even doing this? She lifted the bra and held it to herself. “What do you think?” she asked.

Adele eyed her critically. “I think it would work.”

“Do you think I should try it on?”

“Hmm, we’re not supposed to be wearing the merchandise. But if you want to…” She dug through a stack of panties. They were matching separates. “You could see how the set looks.”

“Do you want to see the results?”

“I’d be interested to know if they work for you. Why don’t you come through to the back? We should take a few minutes to discuss schedules.”

Layla liked shopping here. She might need to check back in a few weeks to find out if there had been any staff changes.

Vicky knew that Denell hated her meeting Monique, his ex-wife. The truth was, Vicky and Monique had become good friends during the eight-year marriage, and Denell was an ass. He fucked around and found out. Literally. Why would he cheat on a woman like this?

She raised her glass. “To an equitable division of assets!”

Monique snorted and raised her glass. They both knew how badly Denell had screwed himself there. He’d tried to hide one of the investment properties he owned. One of them he’d tried to list as being owned by Vicky. She’d found out, and contacted her attorney. She loved her brother, but he’d brought the outcome on himself, especially attempting to involve her without her consent, and she wasn’t about to take the fall for his deception.

There were no kids. Monique worked, but now she had a small financial cushion. Enough that she could take some risks with her career. And maybe the next time she found a partner, she’d go the mom route. Vicky was child-free by choice, but her friend had always wanted kids, it was just that Denell hadn’t considered them a priority.

Her boob suddenly developed an itch. She scratched it, noticing Monique’s eyes track her movement for a second before moving away. She should tease Monique about her gaze drifting down from her eyes, but the way she’d glanced away seemed almost embarrassed, and she didn’t want to upset her friend.

And if anyone’s body should be attracting looks, it was Monique’s. She was thirty-three, the same as Vicky, but was smoking. Her skin was a rich, warm chocolate, where Vicky and her brother were both a less intense brown. She’d always thought Monique one of the most striking women she’d ever met.

Vicky considered herself attractive enough, and never had trouble finding partners, at least for the short term, and that had been all she’d needed, while her friend hadn’t reentered the dating pool completely after Denell. That wasn’t surprising, after a breakup, but if she wanted kids she should think about finding someone now.

“How come you didn’t turn out to be an asshole?” Monique asked. It wasn’t the first time.

“Upbringing, I think,” Vicky said, as she always did. “Dad had expectations of Denell, and he lost track of life.”

“It’s just that you remind me a lot of him,” Monique said.

“I do?” This wasn’t a turn this conversation had taken before.

“Yeah, like, Denell without the attitude. Without the drive to succeed for himself, whoever he hurts in the process. Without the wandering eye.”

“Believe me, my eyes wander,” Vicky said.

“I bet you never let it get further than looking when you’re with someone,” Monique argued. “I could have lived with him looking at other women. I got this,” she said, waving both hands to indicate her body. “He was never gonna find better, but he put me on the back burner and scorched his stupid fingers on the burner that was barely warm. But he was always a beautiful man. If he wanted a woman, he could usually have her.”

“Beautiful?” Vicky questioned. “I guess, maybe. Maybe I don’t see it ’cause he’s my brother.”

“But you, you’re just as beautiful,” she said. “If I’d met you before Denell, well, I think I hooked up with the wrong sibling.”

“Wait, you’re… what? Monique?”

“Always thought you were the better choice,” Monique said. “But I was with Denell, and I don’t let my wandering eye push me in the wrong direction.”

“Wow,” Vicky said. Truth was, she’d had flings with women before, and would totally have gone for Monique, if she hadn’t been in a relationship. With family.

“I’m telling you,” Monique said. She took a drink of her cocktail, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And he did not have your amazing titties. I’d much rather munch on them than this salad.”

“Holy God, Monique,” Vicky said. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Well, I’m not with him,” Monique continued, “and I think it’s been long enough, so if you ever feel like being fucked so hard your brain pops out of your skull, I’m there for it. Just sayin’.”

“You doing anything this afternoon?” Vicky asked. “Let me get the check.”

As Layla approached a footbridge she had an unexpectedly strong emotional impression. She looked around to see if she could identify its source.

Coming down the steps was a young woman. She had large glasses, long dark hair, a heavy coat and a blue beanie. She was staring at another woman on the sidewalk. The woman had blonde hair emerging from a bobble hat, but being behind her, Layla couldn’t see more. They’d clearly both had a jolt of connection. She wouldn’t call it lust. There was attraction there, for both parties, but there was more, too. Could it be love at first sight?

The brunette on the steps sighed and resumed walking, looking away. They were going to ignore what they’d both felt, because it would be socially awkward for two strangers to start talking in the middle of the street.

Layla couldn’t allow that to happen. For the first time that day, she recognized a need to do her job, rather than meet a quota. They needed a jolt of encouragement to overcome the awkward situation. She darted forward, and shot the brunette.

The blonde was close to the stairs. Layla sprinted past her, then spun to face her on the eighth step. The arrow sped true, and the blonde stopped, with a frown, then, making a decision, began to turn around.

Layla punched the air. She’d done something right. She wanted to wait around to see what happened. However, she’d run up the stairs without checking the foot traffic. Dodging pedestrians to get back down without bumping anyone was awkward. The steps were narrow, with nowhere for her to hide on the edge.

As she made it to the sidewalk, she heard feet pounding down the steps. She was in the only gap, so whoever was hurtling down landed on the back of her foot, scratching her heel and causing her to stumble.

An arctic blast hit her. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Oh my God, was Carmen right all along? Layla grabbed at her chest, feeling the fabric of the uniform. Then, connecting the chill with the collision, she turned to see her slipper a few feet away.

Dodging back, she grabbed the slipper as she sensed the eyes of everyone in this part of Chicago turning to the near naked girl in the almost transparent chiton. She slammed her foot into the slipper, shivering and completely visible, as exclamations started.

Before any of the bystanders could form a conclusion, Layla had faded from view. Her hands were ghostly, and if she dropped the trick to see herself, she could see that she had vanished completely.

There was massive puzzlement around her, and a couple of people swung their arms through empty space, trying to touch the invisible girl who wasn’t there, but she wasn’t there. She was avoiding their questing hands.

The crowd would figure out how to explain the sighting away, eventually. There were probably stranger sights in the Windy City everyday.

Among the milling pedestrians, the beanie was approaching the bobble hat. Looking around herself constantly, Layla approached the pair. It wouldn’t be good to collide with anyone at this point.

“Did you see what I just saw?” one of the girls asked. Layla was focusing on avoiding another collision, but she thought the speaker had been beanie girl.

“If I did, I think we’re both hallucinating,” replied the blonde. Seeing her from the front, Layla could now estimate low twenties for both women.

“That’s what I was thinking,” said beanie-brunette. “If you saw what I saw, then neither of us can have seen it, because it would have to be real, and it couldn’t have been real. Right?”

“Strange, though,” said the blonde. “I mean, what the hell? But… umm… maybe we could compare notes? Can I buy you a coffee?”

The smile on brunette-beanie’s face was huge, as she brushed hair back from her face.

Layla dodged to the relative safety of the front of a building. That had been pretty cool, in spite of the near disaster. Not only had she strengthened the connection they’d tried to ignore, but she’d provided the shared topic they needed to avoid awkwardness.

She wanted a drink for herself, but there was no way she could get one. Not even water. Still, a bar would be a place to seek more targets, and they were about to become busy. She trotted along the sidewalk to the area she’d worked this morning, near the restaurant where she’d accidentally shot the waitress. There was a bar nearby that had a steady stream of office workers.

She recognized one of the patrons. Not by appearance, but by her empathic connection. It was the middle-aged man who was going to cheat with his subordinate, and she was there, too. Layla’s heart sank. The woman was making a mistake, and being pressured into it. That wasn’t supposed to happen in the modern world.

There was a woman on the other side of the cheater. Layla felt that she was his current paramour. He must have brought her under duress to show her that he was moving on. She was giving both the man and her replacement hostile looks.

Maybe Layla could right a wrong here. She took up position and shot both women, each shaft perfectly positioned, spiking its target’s left breast.

The replacement mistress leaned forward to ask the old mistress a question, and instead of biting her head off, old mistress was polite and slightly flirty. They continued their conversation around the man, who became increasingly annoyed, yet didn’t seem even to notice the women’s flirting.