He laughed, low and rough. “Wow. Harsh.”
“Not harsh,” I corrected, grabbing my bag. “Accurate. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear those sweatpants were glued to your skin.”
Hunter finally slid out of his seat and met me round front. “Wait, how do you know better?”
“I’ve seen you in jeans,” I said with a shrug.
Inside Bianchi’s, the lighting was soft and expensive. The store smelled of cedar and wool, with rows of black and navy suits lining the walls like soldiers. A clerk appeared immediately, eyes bright when herecognized Hunter.
“Mr. Callahan, this is an exciting honor,” the clerk said. “How can I help you today?”
Hunter glanced my way, eyes pleading for help. I decided to enjoy the moment, and said nothing.
He fumbled awkwardly, then finally got out something that sounded like, “Black tux, I guess.”
The clerk frowned, then shot me a concerning look which made me give in.
“Let’s go with a midnight blue Barathea weave, single breasted. One button, and no outseam,” I said, moving us deeper into the store. “We don’t want him looking like he borrowed his little cousin’s prom suit.”
Hunter mumbled something under his breath but followed the clerk toward a fitting room. I trailed behind, scrolling through my notes on tonight’s guest list. Dressing to the nines was going to be only half the battle. I had to make sure he was ready for everything else that came with it.
He came back out a few minutes later in the first tux. A slim-cut number, with a peak lapel and crisp white shirt. The jacket hung open, bow tie dangling in his hand.
“Well?” he asked with a boyish grin.
My words got caught in my throat. He wasn’t even fully dressed yet and still… the suit did something. Broad shoulders, clean lines, every inch of him sharpened. Elegant, despite his messy hair hanging into his eyes.
I forced my expression back to neutral. “Better than your press-conference hoodie, at least.”
He smirked. “High praise.”
“The tie,” I said, setting my iPad down. “Give it here.”
He snapped it out of my reach. “I can do a tie.”
“I don’t believe you.” I lunged for it, stumbling into him in theprocess.
A mischievous gleam sparked in his eye and once he was sure of my annoyance, he doubled down. We wrestled around like a couple of idiots, Hunter laughing harder each time I tried to grab the tie from him and failed. In a final grab for dominance, I kicked his shin, and the tie floated cleanly out of his hands and into mine.
“I never took you for a dirty player,” he said, grimacing as he rubbed his leg.
“In my line of work?” I gave a low chuckle. “Shows how much you know.”
I looped the tie around his collar, keeping my gaze fixed firmly on the task at hand. He smelled faintly of aftershave and the clean cotton of a freshly pressed shirt. My fingers brushed the warm skin of his neck as I adjusted the knot, and I saw his jaw twitch.
“Look up,” I murmured.
He obeyed, eyes on the ceiling. “You do this for all your clients?”
I tightened the knot with a sharp tug. “Just the ones who can’t tie a half-Windsor without choking themselves.”
“So I’m special.” Hunter finally looked down at me, but I could barely meet the shit-eating grin he wore.
I slid my palms down the lapels to smooth them and stepped back. Away. Because enough of that.
“There. Don’t undo it.”
He turned to the clerk with a smirk. “They pay her extra to be this bossy.”
