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“Tell me about your design experience.”
Marc didn’t want to admit how little experience he actually had, but if he was going to learn from Darius, he had to be honest. He’d proven himself competent at the shop, even if Darius was unlikely to admit it. “When I was in high school, I designed costumes for a few community theater performances. I’d been making costumes for friends for years, for Halloween or cosplay—”
“Cosplay, like what people wear for Dragon Con?”
He nodded. People who worked in downtown Atlanta got to see costumed Dragon Con attendees wandering the streets every Labor Day weekend.
“That’s some cool shit. How did you get work like that so young?”
“The theater didn’t have the money to pay anyone. One of my friends acted in the productions, and she gave my name to the director. The theater paid for the materials, and since it was something I already enjoyed, I figured why the hell not do it for the experience. It wasn’t like I was busy with the football team.” He paused deliberately and then winked at Darius. “Well…”
Darius scowled at him.
“Hell no, I wasn’t blowing anyone on the football team. Most of them were assholes, and the others weren’t my type. In other words, they were straight.”
“So what then?”
Marc sighed. “Nothing. I’ve got no fucking follow-through.” He looked down and fiddled with his straw. “I guess I’m not supposed to say that to my boss, am I?”
“No, you’re not. Don’t let me see any of that lack of follow-through shit in my shop.” Darius sounded pissed, but the twinkle in his eyes proved he was mostly joking.
“My problem is with long-term projects, goals, dreams. That’s what I fuck up, not the short-term stuff. And not what I’m doing for other people. You can ask my string of vile exes about that. I always did what they needed.”
Marc closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. Why was he pouring all this out to Darius? It wasn’t like Darius had been super open with him.
“So you haven’t done any costume design in…seven years?”
“Nice calculating. I guess you did read my application.”
“I had to make sure you were legal,” Darius said with a smirk.
“Ha!” Marc rolled his eyes. “I kept making costumes for friends, and, as you know, I started a fashion-design program. I have a transcript and everything.”
Darius nudged his arm. “I didn’t doubt you, and besides, Thorne vouched for you. That was good enough for me.”
“I wasn’t enjoying it. Most of the classes were too restrictive. I wanted to use more creative energy, but the teachers only wanted to see the prescribed assignments. Then I had a financial downturn.”
Fortunately, Darius didn’t ask for details. There was only so much Marc was willing to tell. Darius didn’t need to know how he had loaned thousands to a toxic boyfriend and never seen a cent of it again.
“You okay?” Darius asked.
“What? Yes.”
“You looked…sad.” Darius’s voice was unusually soft.
“I was thinking about something that’s long past. I don’t need to worry about it anymore.”
Darius continued to study Marc like he was trying to figure him out.
“What?”
“You’re a lot more complicated than I expected.”
Marc huffed. “You’re one to talk.”
Darius kept staring at him with unnerving intensity.
“Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No. Sorry. Now I’m the one lost in thought. I was envisioning a design.”
“Oh.” He’d thought Darius was going to ask him something else. Not that he wanted to reveal anything else deeply personal, but the idea that Darius had lost interest in their conversation bothered him. A lot more than it should.
Darius pushed back his chair. Apparently lunch and conversation were over.
“Let’s get back. I want to start on Mr. Scott’s suits.”
Marc gathered his trash and stood. “He was easy to work with.”
“If only they were all like that.”
Marc wasn’t sure that would actually work. “You’d get bored.”
“Are you saying I thrive on conflict?”
“I’m saying you’re a man who needs challenges. Easy customers with standard orders would not keep you happy.”
Darius tilted his head as if considering that. “True. But I’d always have Thorne.”
They both laughed as they exited.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. Marc even managed to prevent Darius from strangling an overly entitled customer who insisted on being worked into the schedule.
A few minutes after six, Marc picked up his bag, ready to head home. “So…um…I’ll see you Monday.”
“We agreed to a few appointments tomorrow. The ones for Henderson’s wedding.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Had Darius scrambled his brain that badly?
Walk away.
“So I’ll see you at eleven o’clock?”
Darius nodded. “Don’t be late.”
“Have I ever been late?”
Darius shook his head. “There’s always a first time.” His gaze moved over Marc as if he was remembering another first time.
“Or a second time?” Fuck. That was the wrong thing to say. Teasing wouldn’t get him fired, but pressing Darius on something he…
