Page 50 of Splintered Desire

I stand just inside the door watching as she scrambles toward us, flipping the lock on the door as she not-so-subtly adjusts her ample cleavage and fluffs her hair before looking me from head to toe, not even trying to hide the disdain on her face.

“What size, Isaac?” She tongue-fucks his name, and I roll my eyes because, yeah, ask him.

Bitch.

Isaac looks back at me, his gaze moving over me, and while the sales associate did the same a moment ago, it doesn’t feel the same.

“Let’s go with ‌two, maybe a few zeros, just to see how they differ.” He sounds so sure of himself, and I flip him the bird when he turns around, making the woman's eyes go wide.

I mean, it’s not like I know what size dress I wear, considering I can’t remember the last time I owned one, but still.

“Ar–are you sure?” It looks like it physically pains this lady to question him, and when Isaac stops in his tracks and whips around, I can see why.

“Get the dresses, or you can leave, and I’ll find someone who can do your job.”

Oh, well.

“Of course, I’m sorry, sir.” She scrambles away, and I don’t even try to bite back my chuckle as I follow Isaac toward the back of the store.

He disappears through a door, and I follow him only to find us in a hallway with three doors spaced evenly down the hall on each side.

Isaac doesn’t hesitate to walk into the first door, and I stop in the doorway to look around first, unwilling to trust him more than I already have.

“Damn.”

It’s a changing room, or at least I think it is; it’s not like one I’ve ever seen.

There are mirrors just about everywhere, a curtain hanging from the ceiling for privacy, and a chair near the door that Isaac drops into.

“Um, no,” I say, moving into the room. “You can sit out there.” I point to the hallway and nearly hit the sales lady, who chooses that moment to round the corner with an arm full of black dresses.

I don’t get the chance to move before I’m being moved. Isaac’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and he tugs me toward him, right between his legs, and out of the way a moment before she would have plowed me over.

To her credit, I don’t think this was an attempt to actually do any real damage; she simply piled her arms too high.

Isaac either doesn’t see it that way or doesn’t give a damn.

“Watch where you're going!” he booms, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist, holding me in place, his gaze locked on mine, holding me captive.

“I’m sorry, sir. I meant no harm. I didn’t see her.” Even without looking, I hear the disgust in her voice when she refers to me.

Green isn’t a good color, especially considering whatever I’m sure she’s picturing is nowhere near the truth.

“You will do well to remember who you're speaking to.” Isaac stands, using his hold on my wrist to spin me around so that my back is pressed to his chest. “Apologize to my sister.”

Her eyes go wide, and I watch her swallow hard.

Is it because I’m a DuPont or because of the way he’s holding me?

Does it matter?

“I’m so sorry, Miss. I meant no harm.” Her eyes cast down to the floor, and she scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her. The sound of the lock engaging snaps me back to reality, and I move away from Isaac as if his touch burns, spinning to face him. His hold on my wrist remains for a moment before he lets it drop, and I see his jaw clench.

“What the fuck was that?” I gesture at the now locked door and try to swallow down my panic.

I don’t like being locked in places if I’m not the one in control of the lock. I like it even less trapped with a DuPont!

“You’re a DuPont. You need to represent the name, and letting some no-name sales clerk with a bad boob job talk to you like she’s better than you isn’t acceptable, Zela.”