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We rotate stations—one with hair, one with makeup, while we dress the third. It’s fluid and effortless.
I live for this job. It’s my only love. Style. Fashion. But most of all, I love the control. Being my own boss. No one questions my taste...not anymore. I’ve worked for heads of state and Hollywood’s elite. Nothing surprises me at this stage of the game, and best of all, they trust my judgment when it comes to wardrobe.
When I’ve finished the second artist’s look, the manager appears in the doorway. “Marcy, Mr. Simmons is ready for you.”
Kit and Trixie glance up simultaneously to meet my gaze in the mirror.
“I’ll be there in a moment.” Once he disappears, I gather the garments I set aside for him and motion for Liana to join me. “Donna, finish up here.” I glance at Trixie and Kit. “I’ll send him over when I’m done.”
Their expressions fluctuate between jealousy and disbelief. I almost make a sexual innuendo, but I refrain. I don’t need gossip to spread that I’ve set my sights on a client. I certainly don’t mix business with pleasure. No matter how tempting it might be.
Liana grabs the garments in my hand and follows as we step from the dressing room. The manager leads us to a room down the hall and leaves us.
I knock on the door. “Mr. Simmons?”
“Come in.” A deep voice echoes within.
When I enter, my whole body ceases to function. Mr. Simmons is standing in only a robe, his dark hair tousled, his blue eyes sparkling, and his lips curved in a tempting grin. Shit. He’s even more handsome in person than on TV.
Somehow, I manage to regain control of my brain and my limbs. “Good morning. I’m Marcy, this is Liana. I’m your stylist for the day.”
“Lovely.” His gaze rakes over me, and I can’t stop the heat from rising in my face.
I turn and take the garments from Liana’s arm. Keeping my back to him, I hang them on a hook behind the door. With a deep breath, I face him once more. My gaze lingers on his broad shoulders as I take in his form, estimating measurements.
“We’ll go with the navy blue. It’ll bring out his eyes, and the fit should be perfect.” I gesture for Liana to prepare the suit. “Now, Mr. Simm—”
“Vic.” His deep voice rumbles through me. “Call me Vic.”
“If you insist.” I clear my throat. “Vic, do you have an undershirt?”
He tugs the hem of the robe aside to reveal only bare skin beneath the fabric. “Never wear one.”
“I see.” My heart pounds in my chest and I struggle to ignore the allure of this man. “Well, in that case, we’ll go with a darker shirt. I think the black will work, don’t you, Liana?”
“Yes.” She frowns as she skims through the bag. “It must be on the rack. I’ll go get it.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Liana steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked, and the earlier tension transforms into a physical presence.
Vic patiently stands at a reasonable distance, yet I feel claustrophobic. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s one I’ve purposely avoided for years.
“Here...” I pull the pants from the hanger and cross to where he’s standing. “Put these on. I’m pretty sure they’ll fit like a glove.”
Vic’s gaze doesn’t waver as he pulls the robe off his shoulders. There’s only a tempting expanse of skin dusted with hair and an intoxicating scent of his aftershave. He drapes the robe over the chair and takes the pants from me. My gaze dips to his waist. I stifle a moan at the sight of his muscular thighs and the briefs gripping his hipbones, barely containing his obvious arousal.
I avert my gaze as he draws the pants up and fixes them around his waist.
“They fit perfectly.” He grins. “You’ve got a good eye.”
“What can I say? I’m good at my job.” I snap my gum.
“You certainly are.”
I don’t miss the glint of hunger in his eyes. Why did I send Liana for that shirt? I know better than to break my own rule—never remain alone with a client, male or female. It leaves too much room for unwanted drama. I’ve seen too much shit that could have been avoided if there were witnesses.
And yet here I am. Alone with a client who obviously sees something he likes.
