The horde ushers Milo onto the platform in the middle of the room, where he unceremoniously strips down to his black Polo Ralph Lauren boxers.
Nobody bats an eye. Everyone goes about their business, grabbing measuring tapes and fabric to compare against his skin, and I’m…trying not to look at him.
It’s a harder task than getting my name spelled right on my coffee order.
RowingorRoannmight as well be my new name, because I can’t stop my eyes from trailing over his flawless form.
Lean muscles hug him in all the right places, and his defined V-line dips under his boxers. It takes everything in me to keep from staring at him and his sizable bulge. To stop looking at him in general.
I can’t get over how sexy the belly button ring looks against his skin. A sparkle that holds my attention. Onhim.
I find myself a relatively free wall to stand by as my sister’s voice echoes in my head.
Psycho, psycho.Perverted psycho.
I can already imagine Riley catching wind of me drooling over my newest client with her super-secret spying skills. She claims she’s not a spy, but I’m still not convinced, and I’ll be damned if she finds out I’m reacting this strongly toward someone.
It’s been so long since someone’s gotten my blood rushing like this, and I doubt his looks have anything to do with it. In my line of work, being surrounded by beautiful men and women is a given.
Most celebrities I know are vain and dressed to the nines, regardless of their location. Not dressed in a plain gray hoodie that does nothing to show off his body or keep him warm.
I can’t put my finger on why, but I’m drawn in like a fucking magnet. My gaze naturally falls on him, like I’m both anticipating something and wary of what I’ll find.
Milo’s playing dress-up doll and letting himself be put in dozens of different outfits that all look like they’re tailor-made for him. It’s annoying how he looks good in everything…and in nothing at all.
The stylists and Ray look serious as they go through their options. Milo’s expression is too neutral for me to gauge how he’s feeling, but his eyes are zooming around again, taking everything in.
His gaze meets mine, and they still.
Time slows—or maybe it’s my heart that does—and all I can focus on are those soulful gray eyes and how Milo seems to be keeping the fire inside dimmed for whatever reason.
Milo stares back, too, and I’m left momentarily breathless by the intensity of his gaze. He’s locked in on me like the people rushing around him don’t exist. Like I’m the only thing he sees.
Ray says something to Milo, and the moment breaks. My pulse kicks up in an erratic beat that leaves me feeling all bothered and confused.
There’s no denying the interest, not that it matters, because crushing on a client is a huge no-no, and I’m nothing but professional. So whatever strange emotions this pop idoldraws from me needs to be firmly locked away with the damn key thrown away.
Milo Tobitt is off-limits, and there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it!
3
Rowan
Hours later, and Milo is still getting fitted. It feels like he’s rotated through hundreds of outfits, and they still haven’t made a decision.
It’s because everything looks too darn good on him, making it impossible to choose just one outfit. And that’s anunbiased fact. One that I’ve heard the people around me mutter more than once in the last few hours.
Milo has been complying with them without complaint this entire time, but the poor man is starting to look dead on his feet. I’m sure he’s still tired from his morning travels, and standing without rest for hours can’t be helping. I caught him sneakily rubbing his stomach a couple times, and I can’t stop myself from worrying about when he’s eaten last.
Yet another suit is brought up to him. I fear they’re going to be at this all night. I know it’s his job and all, but they should at least give the man some food. Ray is busy coordinating with the stylists, but he might be hungry too.
I don’t see catering magically being carted out anytime soon, so I ask the closest person—a young man with an intern badge hanging around his neck—where the nearest vending machine is.
Thankfully, it’s not too far, so I figure he’ll be fine without protection for a few minutes. I can sneak out and be back before anyone notices I’m gone.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when I see the snack options, considering we’re in fashion central, where skinny is the bread and butter that feeds everyone here. Everything inside the vending machine is marketed asorganicandlow fat, and all the other buzzwords that health-conscious people gravitate toward. The beet vegetable chips don’t look the least bit appetizing, nor do the low-carb pretzels.
I get both anyway. I buy one of everything while I’m at it, thinking Milo and Ray will find at least one of these options appealing.
