CHAPTER 1
“I don’t know. Are you sure?” Duncan Reigns, Ducky to his friends and family, asked. He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing his reflection in the full-length mirror sitting in the middle of the dressing room just off Greer Lockhart’s large walk-in closet.
He turned a one-eighty, focusing on the style and cut of the suit he wore. When an answer didn’t come, he lifted his gaze to find Greer studying the outfit as well. After a few tense moments, something close to satisfaction passed over Greer’s stern face.
“Positive. But stop moving. You fidget constantly. Stop.” Greer stepped toward Ducky, gripping his shoulders, pushing them back until they refused to go any further, forcing Ducky into the position he wanted. “You’ve got to stop slumping. Head up, shoulders back. Proper posture all the time. The reason you aren’t satisfied with any of these clothes is because you’re not owning them. They own you. It throws off the whole look. Whether or not you feel confident, you must present yourself as a man who not only owns nice clothing but also owns the space around him. Lift your chin, too. Stop looking down.”
Ducky held the awkward pose, intentionally keeping his chest puffed out as he rotated around to look back into the mirror. The transformation in his appearance occurred instantly. His gaze drifted to Dallas, his brother, who leaned against the doorframe separating the dressing room from the main bedroom. Dallas’s brawny biceps noticeably bulged with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Since Ducky had first mentioned the idea of Greer helping him with a total body makeover, Greer had taken the role as mentor and transformer to heart. He used strict guidance and a tight schedule with his tutelage and had zero qualms about correcting Ducky. He did it frequently.
After months of following Greer’s drill sergeant approach to working out, Ducky’s soft, almost nonexistent muscles had developed. The physical part hadn’t come easy, but the rewards were worth it. Greer had finally moved this makeover in the direction Ducky had originally thought they’d start: his clothing. He’d always been impressed by the way Greer dressed. But now he understood it was more than just the clothes that made Greer, Greer.
Since they’d started, Ducky had become accustomed to living in a constant state of sore, aching muscles. Greer had changed his eating habits too. No more fast food. Not to worry, he still snuck in a cheeseburger or two whenever he got the chance. No one knew that truth. Or…at least Greer hadn’t called him out on it.
Ducky could see for himself that he looked like a completely different man today because of Greer’s unwavering guidance. Those five in the morning wake-up calls, pushing him out of bed to work out, never failed to motivate. He learned the hard way that if he didn’t answer, Greer would get in his car and drive over. The workouts with Greer beside him were a million times harder than the ones he did alone.
His head was taking a little more time to adjust to the change. His confidence levels weren’t elevating as quickly as he hoped. He still fought that inner voice that kept insisting this outer appearance was a ridiculous impostor. Per Greer, those insecurities weren’t hidden. They spoke volumes in his poor posture and constant crossed arms over his chest. Ducky only agreed with Greer’s first observation, not the second. He crossed his arms to give him something to do with his hands when he was forced out into the world with real people. If he didn’t tuck them away, he’d fidget nervously. If he couldn’t find the right words to say, he’d try to speak with his hands. Which turned into a whole-arm movement that eventually included his entire upper body, as if he planned to take flight with all the flapping he did.
Even now, he had a hell of a time just standing still with his arms hanging casually at his sides. He’d watched both Dallas and Greer cross their arms while thinking through a situation… With his shoulders still held back and his chest expanded in the unnatural pose, he carefully crossed his arms over his chest like Dallas’s to test the look.
His focus riveted on the mirror, insistently noting the difference between the two looks. As he studied his posture, he gnawed on his lip, memorizing this exact stance. Honestly, he was proud of what he saw. Other than the unruly mop of curls on his head that had to be continually tossed aside to be able to see, he didn’t look half bad.
“Tuck your fist under your bicep,” Dallas instructed, drawing Ducky’s attention. Dallas lifted a fist and pushed it back underneath his crossed arm, enhancing the look of his bicep.
“So, that’s how you do that?” Ducky asked, amazed at the difference.
“You have much to learn, little one,” Greer teased, chuckling as he turned away. Between where Ducky and Dallas stood lay a massive pile of men’s clothing. Dozens of boxes of shoes, socks, and belts. All in every style and color imaginable. They littered the available space from the floor to the countertops to the towel racks, spilling into the large closet.
The chaos represented hours of wardrobe changes. Greer had never tired, even when Ducky thought he’d found his style after the first fitting and was ready to call it done.
“Now that we know what looks the best, it’ll be easier to dress you from this point forward. You’ll stick with that cut then add seasonal trends to help keep you looking like you belong on the cover of GQ. It’s how I was taught to dress and do it every day. I like my clothes fitted and have since I first started deciding my own style. The colors and accessories keep me looking on trend,” Greer explained as he gathered various discarded wrappings. Greer didn’t tend to care about things out of place, but Ducky’s brother didn’t like a mess. That very personality trait left Dallas with little option to do anything more than push off the wall to pitch in to clean the normally tidy space.
Luckily for Ducky, he didn’t have those clean-freak sort of hang-ups. The more clutter the better to hide the mess underneath.
“You’ve done the hard part. It gets easier from here, I promise,” Dallas added, bending to sort through the different shoes dropped haphazardly into the boxes.
Ducky wasn’t entirely sure he believed either one of them as he turned back to stare at himself in the mirror. Everything he’d endured over the last few months, from working out twice a day on StreamTrainer, to hiring a health-food oriented chef to teach him how to eat better, none of it had become normal. What a ridiculous notion to have someone preparing his meals in his tiny apartment.
Maybe he was more like a voyeur, destined to look down at his life, never fully connecting. He’d been coasting, disjointed, since his and Dallas’s business had hit the big time.
As much as his own reflection in the mirror confused him, so did the idea of owning StreamTrainer, the most popular home workout device on the market today. The company had grown so big, so fast that everything else had become a blur. He had more money than he knew what to do with. Thank goodness for Greer and his investment knowledge. Except now that his money was making money….
Ducky’s armpits began to sweat, and he pushed all those anxiety-filled thoughts aside. Thinking about his finances made his stomach hurt. He had always railed against the man he’d now become…
“I think it’s time I tackle my hair,” Ducky said absentmindedly, unbuttoning his suit coat. As he shrugged it off, he stepped away from the mirror. Both Greer and Dallas stared at him. Ducky’s fingers barely caught the coat as it slid down his back, into his palms.
The astonishment staring at him caused a chuckle under his breath, understanding exactly what they were thinking. He’d hid behind the curtain of curls for most of his life. Not having a real haircut since junior high school, maybe before then. His hair only grew so far with every curl springing out like a coil. “I like the shorter sides with the hair waving out the front like Nick Champa or Pierre Bouvier.”
Greer nodded and said, “Cute couple. That style’s perfect for you.”
Ducky hung his suit coat on a nearby towel hook, grinning. For all these months, he’d held firm against cutting his hair. If this makeover hadn’t worked, then he wanted to keep the security of his frizzy mop. Dallas’s fist popped into Ducky’s peripheral vision. His brother had always been on his side. Dallas had looked out for Ducky his entire life. Maybe the only person in the world that believed Ducky had value. He extended a fist, meeting his brother’s knuckles.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, a little above a whisper. Dallas’s warm gaze met Ducky’s.
“Not me, thank you. You did this. You’ve accomplished so much.”
The weight of emotion had him ducking his head as he unbuttoned his dress shirt and turned toward the closet, his changing room for the day. Dallas didn’t let him get too far without gripping his shoulder and squeezing. He appreciated the encouragement as his phone’s alarm reminded him of the time.
