He then walked off to inspect a shelving unit.
“What's he talking about?” Brad found himself saying, when what he should be doing was heading out the door.
“It's nothing. I hear you have a new nickname?”
“Do you guys have smoke signals or something?”
“Or something,” she muttered again, returning to the counter. He followed, his eyes doing a survey of the shop.
“Do you actually sell anything in here?”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can't believe you said that.”
“There's stuff everywhere.”
“What the hell do you know about setting up a shop?”
“More than you think, and this is not inviting.” He swept a hand around the room.
Macy foundherself following Brad Gelderman around her store for the next few minutes, if only to give him a piece of her mind.
“I'm not taking advice from you, Gelderman. What the hell do you know about women's fashion?”
He was poking about on her racks now.
“Not much, but I know a bit about the right way to lay out a store so it looks appealing.”
Macy snapped her teeth together to stop from growling. Inhaling, she caught the scent of whatever shampoo he'd used this morning. His T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and the shorts showed a long expanse of leg lightly sprinkled with hair. His large feet were clad in sneakers.
“You have a label sticking out the back of your shorts, and for your information, people want to spend time here!”
One big hand reached around the back and pulled hard on the tag. He then stuffed it in his pocket.
“Declan chose them for him,” Newman said.
“He's got a good eye, unlike some,” Macy glared at Brad, who was looking at her scarves.
“How do you know if I have a good eye or not?”
Macy wanted to take a step back as he leaned her way.
“You have that whole biker boy look going on. Scruffy hair, ripped jeans, worn boots and T-shirt. It's hardly a fashion statement,” Macy said, knowing she was lying, because he looked hot as far as she was concerned, but she wasn't letting him know that.
“I wore suits for years, I like this better” was all he said before returning to her shelves.
“I'm sorry, that was rude.”
“Honesty is never rude.”
“I wasn't being honest,” she felt compelled to say.
He turned, just his head, and gave her a slow smile, but didn't say anything else, much to her relief.
“How are people meant to see these tucked away behind the racks of clothes. They should be on display.”
Macy glared at the belts he held in one large hand.
“I've been busy lately, and haven't had time to make changes. Stocks come in and—”
