Sinful Too Read Free Page B

“All of that gear can’t be just for you so don’t lie and say it is.”
    “Most of it is for me,” Dooney admitted awkwardly. “Okay, some of it. I was upstairs scouting for some new kicks when this cat named Monty started making deals and busting his tail to lay it out for me. I got mad respect for any dude who works a legit hustle like a rented mule. Everybody’s gotta make ends meet.”
    “You bought all that from Monty? He’d have to sell you one of everything in the store just to make a dent in his debt. This reminds me, you need to go so I can start working on a way to recoup my six bills.” Dior shoved her brother playfully, stepped out of the office, then closed the door behind her. “Go on now. I have to get up front and move some product.”
    He lagged behind when a line of velvet jackets caught his eye. “Hold on, Dior. When are these going on sale? I digs this pinstripe.”
    “Sale? Never,” she hissed impatiently.
    “Never-ever?”
    “And, ever-never. How many times I got to tell you: Giorgio doesn’t do sales. He’s convinced that it sets a bad example. We’d have too many people rolling up and through here waiting on markdowns. In case you haven’t noticed, this is a top-dollar boutique. Those who can afford it, purchase. Those who can’t hate on those who can.” She held up five fingers as a challenge to his well-known miserly ways. Surprisingly, Dooney reached into his pocket and came out with Dior’s rent money after cursing under his breath. He reeled off three bills then waved the money in her face.
    “This ought to do it. Let me try on a forty-six long.”
    “Don’t trip. I do this for a living. Your chest is barely a forty-four.” Dior snatched three hundred dollars from his hand before he had a chance to change his mind. She pocketed it and then started off in the opposite direction. “I should have charged you full price. Stay here and I’ll pull your size from the front display.”
    “I’m coming with you. Let me get my bags. Hey, Dior, I want a receipt!”
    Dior understood the art of selling. She sold her brother, like she had so many other customers. She would interest them in pricey attire then immediately pound their unsuspecting egos by using phrases such as, “It’s nice but
expensive
. And, it costs to look that good.” At times, Dior charmed men into believing a lofty price tag was a direct correlation to gaining her approval, whether they thought private time with her was included with their purchase or not.

Three
    He Wants Some
    A t five thirty that evening, Tangerine called Dior’s cell phone to see what plans, if any, she had for barhopping later that night. “Hey, Tangie,” Dior said hurriedly. “Can I get back at you in a minute? I’m on the grind.”
    “Do your thing. I’ll come by when I sign off the air.”
    “Cool, I’ve got something to tell you. See you then.”
    Dior attended to several customers at once while Suza chatted with two men in their mid-twenties, both seemingly more interested in bagging her than the items they pretended to shop for. Seeing as how she’d made a bank deposit during her break, Suza was quite comfortable flirting casually while Dior racked up one sale after the next. Dior’s business savvy extended far beyond merely suggesting apparel and accessories; she could give a customer the five-second once-over then correctly guess his pants, shirt, jacket, and shoe sizes. She became the top salesperson after having been at the store three months. She also took every opportunity to learn from the tenured professionals who made a substantial living by providing quality customer service. Practically overnight, she’d acquired meaningful tools of the trade. Using her sensuality to close the deal came naturally.
    “Hello, I’m Dior,” she said, extending her polished nails to a large older gentleman who appeared to be lost among the athletic cut Magic Johnson line of business suits. “How are you today?” she added