I glanced at the nearly identical squares of fabric. “They all look the same to me.”
She sighed. “This one has undertones of black, this one has undertones of purple, and this one changes slightly under different lighting conditions.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, charmed by her seriousness about fabric colors. “Whatever you think is best.”
“It’s your tuxedo, Mr. Burkhardt. You should have an opinion.”
“My opinion is that I trust yours.”
She blinked. “Well. In that case, the middle one. With a subtle shawl collar and custom buttons.”
“Done.” I turned to Anatoly. “Whatever she said. And we need it by Saturday.”
“Saturday?” Anatoly looked concerned. “Mr. Burkhardt, a proper bespoke tuxedo requires at least three fittings and?—”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I interrupted, with the smile that conveyed I wasn’t actually making a request. “Consider it a challenge.”
Anatoly opened his mouth to respond further, but my phone rang. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”
I stepped away, answering the call. “What’s up, Erika?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Burkhardt, but there’s a situation.” Her normally composed voice had an edge I rarely heard. “My mother’s in the hospital. They think it might be a stroke.”
“Shit, Erika.” My irritation with the boutique experience instantly evaporated. “Go. Now. Take whatever time you need.”
“But the Tokyo investors?—”
“I’ll handle them. Family comes first. Always.” I meant it. After growing up with a father who put business before everything, I’d sworn never to inflict that priority system on anyone else. “Which hospital?”
“Mount Sinai.”
“I’ll have my car take you and make sure she gets a private room. Do you need anything else? Someone to watch your cat? A place to stay near the hospital?”
“No, I—thank you, Mr. Burkhardt.” The relief in her voice was obvious. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Don’t worry about work. Just take care of your mom.” I ended the call and turned to find Anica watching me.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“My assistant’s mother is in the hospital. Possible stroke.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She seemed genuinely concerned. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, but thank you for offering. Shall we finish up here? I need to make some calls to cover for Erika.”
She nodded, turning back to Anatoly, who had been hovering at a respectful distance. “We’ll take the midnight navy with the modifications I specified. Mr. Burkhardt will return for one fitting on Thursday, and the tuxedo must be ready by Saturday evening.”
“That’s... highly irregular,” Anatoly protested.
“So is a twenty percent premium above your standard rate,” I countered, “which I’m happy to pay for the expedited service.”
Anatoly’s expression shifted from resistant to accommodating. “We would be delighted to meet your timeline, Mr. Burkhardt.”
“Excellent.” I checked my watch. “Are we finished?”
“Almost,” Anatoly assured me. “Paul just needs a few more measurements, and then we should discuss accessories, cufflinks, studs, perhaps a custom pocket square...”
I suppressed a sigh. At this rate, we’d be here until dinner.
