Assets Acquisitions The Silk Blueprint

Working at the boutique on 14th Street felt like being stuck inside a giant, fancy box. The place always smelled like expensive leather and those sandalwood candles that cost more than my weekly groceries. I was basically the store's high priestess, standing there like a living mannequin just to make three-hundred-dollar hoodies look like something people actually needed to buy!

By 4:00 PM, the D.C. heat was really beating down on the huge front windows, but I was feeling a different kind of burn inside. That grey ribbed bodysuit I'd picked out this morning was starting to feel like a second skin, and let's just say it was getting pretty damp in all the hidden spots. Every single time I reached up for a stack of jeans on the top shelf, the fabric would strain like crazy over my chest. I swear, that charcoal material was just seconds away from giving up! I could definitely feel the tourists staring at my cleavage—I have the kind of heavy, expansive breasts that just don't know how to stay hidden—but I just kept my "don't touch" professional face on.

I spent most of the day moving through the store with a calculated posture designed to keep all the attention right where I wanted it. Believe me, even just standing there is a total performance! When I leaned over the display cases, I knew exactly how that thin bodysuit was pulling tight, making my breasts look even fuller and more obscene as they pressed against the ribbing. Every breath I took made them heave and swell, threatening to spill right over the low-cut neckline. It was my way of staying entertained—reminding myself that even if I was just folding cotton, I was still the most distracting thing in the room!

The store was finally quiet when this guy walked in.

He didn't just walk in, though; he really took over the room. He looked young, maybe mid-twenties, and he had that "quiet wealth" look down—you know, the kind where you don't need a huge logo to show off. His navy suit was tailored so perfectly to his athletic frame that it looked like he was born in it. He was seriously handsome, with dark eyes that didn't just look at me—they really took me in.

"People told me this was the only store in town worth visiting," he said. His voice was this low, smooth baritone that felt like a literal shiver running down my skin.

I didn't give him a smile. I just straightened up, which made my chest settle with a very noticeable, heavy bounce that drew his eyes like a magnet. I checked my watch and looked him right in the eye. "Well, that depends on what you're after," I told him, letting my voice get a bit low and husky as I watched his gaze linger on the deep, shadowed valley of my cleavage.

"A tour, to start with," he said, his eyes dropping right to the swell of my bust before coming back to my face. "Show me what I can't live without. I'm going on a trip to the coast, and I always do better with a professional guide."

So, I spent the next twenty minutes leading him around the racks. I was totally aware of him right there, and I made sure to stay slightly in front of him, letting him watch the way my chest moved with every step. Every time I turned around to show him a nice shirt or some shorts, I caught him staring at the way my bodysuit struggled to contain me. I knew he was watching the way my breasts heaved under that charcoal fabric whenever I reached for something.

At one point, I leaned way over a display case to show him some sunglasses. I made sure to rest my weight on my arms so my chest was pushed way up and out, practically spilling right toward the top of my bodysuit. It was an obscene display, and I loved every second of it. I could see the pulse in his neck jumping! He was clearly hungry for it, even if he was trying to act all polished.

"You really have an amazing eye for detail," he said, leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—it was like tobacco and citrus and just pure power. "I think I've seen enough of the clothes, though. Now, I want to see you."

I stopped right there, my hand still on the glass, feeling the weight of my chest as I breathed. "Excuse me?"

"Dinner. This Saturday," he said, and he sounded like he didn't expect me to say no. "I’ve booked us for 'The Experience' at Elcielo. It’s the most exclusive seat in D.C., and I want you there with me."

I actually hesitated for a second. I knew about Elcielo—the place was famous for being a multi-sensory trip that cost a fortune and was nearly impossible to get into. I was used to guys staring and making comments on the street, but this felt different. This was high-stakes. I looked at his hands—they were so clean and perfectly manicured. He definitely didn't know what a "past due" notice looked like.

"I don't even know your name," I whispered, my heart starting to race a bit, my heavy bust rising and falling rapidly under his gaze.

"Julian," he said with a slow, dangerous sort of smirk. "And I don't usually ask twice."

I looked around the empty store, then at my reflection in the mirror. My body was supposed to be the down payment on my future empire, right? If this was a shortcut, I'd be crazy not to take it!

"Saturday," I finally said, keeping my voice steady. "But I don't have anything to wear to a place like that."

Julian leaned in even closer, his lips right by my ear. His breath was so hot. "Don't you worry about that, Zaya. An outfit will be at your door by Friday morning. Think of it as a little deposit on our night out."

He stepped back, took one last long, lewd look at my chest—letting his eyes linger on the tops of my breasts for an extra second—and headed for the door. "A car will be outside your place at 8:00 sharp. Don't be late!"

He walked out into the D.C. heat, leaving me standing there in the air conditioning with my heart thudding against my ribs. It looked like the blueprint was finally being put to work!