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I release a breath, knowing there’s only one place to start. “From the ground up. I need to find out what’s happening on the shop floor.” I pause and glance around the room. “Looks like I’m going undercover.”
Chapter2
Eva
I stand back,looking at the placement of the mannequins in the window. I’ve stripped them of the summer collection clothing, ready to re-dress them with the new autumn trends. The window display looks so cold and clinical, and I have ideas for how to make it more appealing and tempt customers into Sutherland’s department store.
I sigh in frustration. I have so many ideas for the department store, which is often likened to a more affordable Harrods. But sadly, the store manager, Gerald, is a self-important, overbearing, incompetent arse who thinks he knows everything. The man actively steals my ideas without attributing or recognising my contributions and seems determined to block me from advancing within the company. But his shitty attitude only fuels my determination to climb the career ladder. One day I’ll behisboss, and he can kiss my rounded—
I snag my heel on the discarded clothing on the floor and lose my balance. My arms cartwheel, knocking one mannequin into another and tumbling them like dominoes. The last one smacks into me, and down I go, landing on my back with a loud “oof.”
“Shit. You okay?”
I tip my head back at the sound of the deep voice. Enormous black leather shoes come into focus. My eyes trail up long, muscular legs clad in grey suit trousers. They widen as they skip past a well-endowed groin area to a barrel chest before finally landing on a pair of deep brown eyes. Even upside-down, those eyes take my breath away.
“I-I think so.” I try to get up, but I’m still pinned beneath the mannequin that fell on me. Her left boob threatens to poke my eye out.
Suddenly, she’s gone, and a big hand appears in front of my face. Tingles explode up my arm as I place my hand in Mr Melty Eyes' big mitt, and he hauls me to my feet.
My mouth drops open, and I stare blankly at the dark-haired specimen of gorgeousness before me.
His mouth moves. I think he’s asking me a question, but I can’t hear him over the fangirling of my ovaries.
He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Huge, at least 6”4,’ with wavy black hair, high cheekbones, and ridiculously thick eyelashes. He’s husky and solid and oozing rugged sex appeal. The man looks like he should be getting down and dirty in a wrestling ring.
“My cat puked on the hall carpet,” I hear myself say.
He raises an eyebrow. It’s clear from his expression that he thinks I’m a fully paid-up member of the Monster Raving Loony Party.
“I knew my day was jinxed when Monty threw up on the hall carpet this morning,” I continue, undeterred. “Then, my dishwasher flooded, my trousers split in an unmentionable place, and now I’ve embarrassed myself with a naked mannequin in front of a strange man. Not that you’re strange. I’m sure you’re completelynotstrange.”
Stop talking, Eva.
I tilt my head to look at him. Bloody hell, the man is even bigger up close, all wide shoulders and bulky build wrapped to perfection in a dark grey suit.
His eyes run over me like hands, and a smile tugs at his full mouth. “Thanks for the compliment. I think. Sounds like you’ve had quite the morning.”
His voice is deep, like rich velvet, and his eyes crinkle sexily at the corners as he smiles. I suddenly find myself fantasising about what our babies would look like.
“You’rebeautiful,”I blurt.
Really, Eva?My inner Eva who measures every word carefully before she speaks facepalms.
The big man chuckles. “I think you must be talking about yourself because you’d look right at home on the catalogue cover of Sutherland’s.”
His words should hit a resounding ten on the cheese scale, but the genuine warmth in his russet eyes allows him to pull them off.
“I … Thank you.” My gaze flicks to his huge hands. No ring on his finger, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in a relationship. Some married men don’t wear their wedding rings.
He quirks a dark eyebrow. “So, do you often wrestle with mannequins on the shop floor?”
I press my cool palms to my burning cheeks. “Oh, God. How embarrassing. I’m not usually so clumsy,” I say, glancing at the jumble of mannequins in the window. A male mannequin has landed on one of the females in a very compromising position. “Thank goodness it’s early, and no one else was around to witness my humiliation.”
He taps the side of his nose. “Your mannequin mishap will be our little secret.”
I smirk and give him a little curtsy. “You are indeed a man of honour, sir.”
My grin falters as I suddenly remember I’m at work. I’m meant to be professional, not flirty. Besides, I don’t have time for romance. So, how is this deliciously chunky giant lighting me up from the inside with one glance?
