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“Maybe you should break your rule this one time?” Liana winks. “Come on...just one little date.”
“He hasn’t even asked me out. Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself here?”
“He’ll ask.” Liana nods in certainty. “I saw the way he looked at you last week.”
“Oh stop, Liana. Seriously, I’m too old for these games.” I rifle through the garment rack and pull a few dresses for the first client.
Another knock at the door saves me from Liana’s incessant nagging. “Come in,” I call without turning.
Liana nudges me in the ribs.
“What?” I spin around to find Vic standing in the doorway. “Oh, it’s you.” I replace the gowns and pull a casual menswear ensemble from the rack, taking into account his dark hair and bright blue eyes as I select the colors.
“I’m gonna go grab that box I left in the hallway,” Liana mutters as she slips out the door, clearly breaking the rule she knows I live by.
For the second time today, I’m left alone with Vic Simmons. Typically, I’d be worried about being alone with my client, but after the ride in the elevator, I’m oddly at ease with his presence. That should be a flaming red flag all by itself.
“Here. These should fit. I’ll just wait outside for you to change.”
“I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable...” He seems to search for my name like I never gave it to him, but he knows exactly what it is.
I humor him regardless. “Marcy.” I clear my throat. “And no, you don’t. I just wanted to give you some privacy.”
“How thoughtful.”
My heart flips at his sheepish smile. The hell is wrong with me?
I step outside and lean against the door. There’s no sign of Liana in the hallway. Traitor. She bailed on purpose, trying to play matchmaker. I should fire her ass. But I won’t. She’s practically family.
After a few minutes, I knock on the door. Vic opens it.
I gasp at the sight of him in a blue polo with a flipped collar. The tailored tan slacks perfectly hug his thighs.
“You’re sure about this?” He gestures to the shirt.
“For sure.” I smooth the collar, and my fingertips brush his neck. With a gasp, I drop my hands. “You look gnarly.”
“Is that a good thing?” he asks with a laugh.
“Totally.” My gaze skims the length of him, one last appraisal of my styling before I send him out on camera.
“Marcy.” His voice cuts through the silence.
“Yeah?” I snap my gum and meet his gaze.
“Would you have dinner with me next week?”
“I don’t know, Vic.” My heart does two somersaults, then lands like a rock in my stomach. “I don’t date clients.” Even as I say it, my traitorous heart pushes back against my conscience, demanding I pursue whatever this is.
He pulls a card from his wallet and hands it to me. “My number, in case you change your mind.”
“Thanks.” I take the card and slip it into my bra. His gaze follows the movement. “But I told you, I don’t date clients.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be a date. Just two people having dinner, getting to know each other.”
That grin devastates me with its undeniable charm. Warning bells should be going off in my head, but I’m too smitten to care.
I tap my chin. “I’ll think about it.”
