I leaned forward and rested my hands on the desk, not sure what else to do. I wanted to go around and shake some sense into Maurice but doubted that would work. “No one will be rude to you in this office. You make the whole business run.”
He straightened and glared. “Don’t help me again. Everyone will hear about this. They will.... They will....” He tugged on his bow tie until it loosened and fell apart, hanging from his collar like a ruined party ribbon.
“What they will do is treat you with respect or they will find employment elsewhere.”
He shook his head and stomped out. “You really don’t get it,” he said over his shoulder. “People are jerks all the time without thinking. You can’t fix this for me.” He kept walking and left through the outer door, and I stood there staring like a moron until he was out of sight.
“What did I do wrong!?”
Of course, no one answered. The only other person who regularly kept my long hours had just left in a huff.
2
MAURICE WINSTON BARANOV III
“Honey,you must stand still. Your suit will be off if you keep moving around.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Indy glanced up and winked at me. His bright blue eyes were a shock, but not quite as much as his short neon-purple hair, which was styled into a swoop. A gauzy shirt that matched his vibrant hairdo swirled around his thin frame as he worked, flashing peeks of his nipples, and combined with his flowing white pants, the outfit made him resemble a flower petal.
I blew out a long breath as Indy’s fingers tickled along my inseam on my right leg. He was nothing except professional, I was just sensitive when it came to people touching me because it didn’t happen often. I stared out the wide front window of Sew Much Better Than the Rest, his tailor shop. It was past nine o’clock on a Wednesday night, but St. Loren’s Pleasure District, which butted up against the Business District, was coming alive for the evening, and people walked past outside, talking and laughing loud enough that their good mood carried inside to us.
“You keep it classy in here.” I had no idea what I was babbling about because I was mostly distracting myself. The shop was more of a high-end boutique, with tan leather couches clustered on the right side of the wide space. Along that wall were suits and other odds and ends for people who preferred a more masculine style, and on the left were red leather couches. A staggering number of dresses were displayed on mannequins artfully arranged at different heights to take advantage of the space. I was on a small podium in the back, surrounded by mirrors I avoided looking into.
“It’s a necessity in this business,” he said. I could tell he wasn’t paying much attention to me, which was probably good since he was still taking my measurements. For some reason he wrapped his measuring tape around my right knee, which I’d never had anyone do.
“Why do you have the wedding dress boutique separate from this side?”
He glanced up and grinned, scrunching his nose. The freckles dusted across his cheeks were vibrant at this angle, and with a jolt I realized he’d dotted something glittery on each one because he sparkled. “Brides are princesses. They need their own special extravaganza. This is everyday clothing.”
“Um.” I shifted uncomfortably as he forced me to lift my right foot and wrapped his measuring tape around it. “Hey!”
“Shh.” He snickered. “I want these numbers.”
“Why am I being measured again?” I grasped his shoulder when I almost lost my balance, and he nodded as if to tell me it was all right to touch him before he dropped that foot and shot around to my other side as fast as a bunny rabbit. He tapped my left foot, and we repeated the process.
“Why? Because, my dear, your boss is dropping a mint at my shop, and you’re the reason for that small mercy. You’re also writing an exposé on my tailor services for your magazine. You must receive the full experience if you’re to be able to write about it, and you deserve to look amazing. I want everyone to know I’m not only about servicing the Paris-runway body types at my shop.”
My face overheated and I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead. “It’s theSt. Loren Quiltbag Reader, not really a magazine. And it’s nine hundred words, not an exposé.”
Indy snorted and stood, shaking his measuring tape in my direction. “Free suit advertising to gay men is worth its weight in platinum. And don’t get me started on lesbians and suits. They’re less willing to drop cash up front than the men are, but if you get one on the hook, they’ll be loyal buyers for years. I’ve had more than one woman or nonbinary person tell me it’s difficult to get a tailor to fit their suits correctly, and I still can’t figure that one out, but there you are—all you have to do is listen to people and do what they like.” He walked around me with an intense expression on his baby face, and my entire body blazed hot because I just knew he was staring at my round stomach and picking my bulk apart for all the imperfections he was going to hide with his wonderful clothing.
“Anytime in the last year when I’ve been out and see a nice suit and ask where it came from, I’ve gotten your name, Indy Yves.”
He put a hand over his chest and smirked. “You have wonderful taste. Now, where is your boss? You did text him almost an hour ago.”
“He said he would be—”
“I’m here.” Mr. Guidry’s voice jerked my attention toward the front door as he strode into the shop. I’d thought the space was large only minutes ago, but with him inside, all the oxygen was sucked up and it felt ten times smaller. He wore his suit well and was tall—or at least, taller than me—with strong shoulders and a slim waist, which had to be a thirty-two. I hadn’t seen that size since middle school. He ran his hand through his silver hair and swept some of the longer strands from the top off his forehead and back where they belonged. The smile he flashed at me made my stomach flip, and Indy nearly swooned as he went toward Mr. Guidry with his hand out.
“Hello, Mr. Guidry. I was not informed you would be such a delight to dress.”
I rolled my eyes since neither of them were looking at me, but Indy was right, so I couldn’t exactly feel too snarky. I should say something to Mr. Guidry, but I had no idea what, so I clamped my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have talked to him again tonight after the tension earlier, but Indy had texted me with this opening in his schedule, and it would’ve taken another month to get in here if we waited.
I watched as Mr. Guidry talked softly with Indy, giving him his full attention, the way he did with everyone he met. I used to think he was constantly flirting—and maybe to some degree he was—but he acted the same way with everyone. My boss was handsome and perfect and got hopes up everywhere he went. It was tragic, and I was part of the long line of oglers and dreamers. I’d given up on talking myself out of my crush and just hoped it passed soon. It had been holding strong for two years, though, with no end in sight.
Mr. Guidry glanced up at me as I hopped down off the small podium and put my shoes back on. He meant well and would never get why I was upset earlier. He’d probably never had a day pass in his life where someone didn’t give him special treatment because he was good-looking. Awkwardness clamped down on my chest as Indy slammed him with a flirty smile, then my stomach sank as Mr. Guidry shook with him and said something else that had Indy practically giggling.
