Marley looked up from the contract of doom with one brow raised. “He? I’m a ladieswear specialist.”
“We’ll be needing menswear for this,” Lydia said.
Erin frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. “Marley, personal shoppers are specialists in all areas of the store. You can learn what you don’t know.”
Marley exhaled. She didn’t have a choice. She needed this job—and, importantly, the health benefits and paid sick time that came with it. With a shaking hand, she signed both copies of Lydia’s contract, then opened the Reid’s NDA. It was considerably shorter—and simpler. It basically said she must keep the identity and any private information about any personal shopping client confidential, or she would lose her job. Marley signed it as well and slid both agreements across the desk.
Lydia took one copy of each agreement and handed the others to Erin. “Excellent. Looking forward to working with you, Marley,” Lydia said. “Now that you’ve all signed, I can give you more information. The primary event we need wardrobe for is in just under two weeks. He’ll be needing at least three distinct looks for the event and for a press junket following it.”
Whoa. Thatwasfast. Marley nodded along, but her mind was reeling at how the hell she could become a menswear specialist so quickly. But also… this wasn’t going to get in the way of her surgery in two weeks. Thank goodness.
“Tailoring that quickly might be an issue,” Marley said.
Erin waved her hand. “You’ll be assigned a dedicated tailor.”
Marley nodded. “Is there anything else that might make him a challenge to dress?” There wasn’t time for any made-to-measure bespoke pieces.
Lydia snorted at that statement. “Oh yes. He isdefinitelya challenge. This is our biggest issue—he’s a little…resistant.”
“Spoiled celebrity bad boy?” Ernesto asked.
Lydia gave away nothing with her smile. “This is why we need confidentiality. The person you will be styling has recently been cast in a starring role in an upcoming blockbuster.”
Ernesto whistled low. “An A-list movie star?”
Lydia shook her head. “No. He’s not a movie star… yet. That’s the problem. Movie stars already have stylists. They know how to present themselves to the press. They know when to shut up and listen to experts. But God only knows why the studio has cast a complete nobody in easily the most coveted role of the year.”
“My god,” Erin said, her hand going to her mouth in shock. “This is forIronis 3, right? You’re talking about theBronze Shadow.”
Marley wasn’t really into superhero movies or comics, but she’d have to have been living under a rock to not know how popular the Ironis movies were. Based on a comic book franchise, two huge blockbuster action films had already been made, with more expected.
Lydia nodded. “Simon DeSouza, otherwise known as The Bronze Shadow, has been a fan favorite from the comics since day one. There are Vegas bookies taking bets on which Chris will be cast in the role. Many are sure it will be Tom Cruise, or Daniel Craig, despite them being much too old. This role should be going to someone like Pattinson. Cavill would be amazing. Hell, there is a whole email newsletter out therestating that fans will accept none but Timothée Chalamet as the Bronze Shadow. This roleshouldbe going to an A-lister. Not a nobody Canadian. And especially not a nobody Canadian who dresses like coastal-grandma-meets-frat-boy.”
Marley frowned at that image in her head. “Yay Canada, though.” She had no idea which Canadian would be up for such a huge part. Keanu Reeves? Maybe he’d be too old, too. Marley didn’t exactly keep up with Hollywood.
Lydia made a disparaging noise. “Suffice it to say that there will bea lotof disappointed fanboys when the casting is announced. We are attempting to mitigate that by relying on hometown advantage and announcing at Toronto Comicon—before filming. We’ve been working our asses off to get him ready, but this man needshelp. He’sfiredfive stylists so far, and he’s on his third personal trainer. And we’re not even going to talk about dentists.”
“A diva?” Erin asked.
Lydia nodded. “I wouldalmostfeel sorry for the guy—he’s about to walk into a media zoo. But he accepted the role. He knew what would happen. And honestly, existentialism isso passé. No one cares about his impostor syndrome. We all have our own to deal with.”
Marley wasn’t sure she felt a whole lot of sympathy for him, either. He was probably being paid a fortune for this role. He’d already fired five stylists. He sounded like an insufferable, inexperienced man-boy. “Why did the studio cast him?”
Lydia shrugged. “I’m not in casting, but there are reasons the studio wanted to move in this direction. It’s my job to turn him into a movie star whether he wants to be or not.” She sighed. “Fans haven’t embraced every Ironis casting decision, but everyone knows the backlash here will be exponentially worse.”
“Well, if he’s dressing like Chris Pine during the pandemic…” Ernesto said.
Lydia shook her head. “No, it’s not because of his lack of fashion sense… It’s because the Bronze Shadow is thefan favorite. No one is expecting a South Asian actor in the role.”
Marley inhaled sharply. Of course he was having an existential crisis—he knew he was about to be put in front of a firing squad of racist neckbeard fanboys. Poor diva boy. Her heart kind of broke for the man. And that was probably why they’d requested Marley—they wanted to work with a South Asian stylist so he’d have someone with the same skin color as him on his side. And Marley was the only South Asian sales consultant at Reid’s.
Marley nodded. “Okay. When can I meet him?”
Lydia stood. “Right now. My assistant is with Nik at your back door.” She pulled out her phone. “I’m telling them to come in.”
Marley stood and stepped toward the door, putting on her shopgirl smile to greet the VIP. She wasn’t going to be the next stylist he fired. Her job was depending on it—but also, as a South Asian, she was already protective of him. And weirdly proud. It was amazing that a desi had been cast in the biggest action role of the year.
When the door opened, first a small white woman with honey-colored hair walked in—Lydia’s assistant, presumably. Behind her was a tall, brown-skinned man—clearly the VIP. The first thing Marley noticed, of course, was his clothes. A faded, stretched-out Superman T-shirt with an oversized cream cable-knit cardigan over it. And a pair of wide-legged ripped jeans… wait. Were those painter pants?
