“I answered your question,” she said, cutting me off.
“Fine. Your turn.”
“No. That’s enough.” Pushing back from the desk, she looked flushed. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”
She was rattled. Why? Because she was hiding something? Or because she hated toeing the line?
This girl wanted to help Fabi and also wanted to protect her dad.
She was so goddamn busy trying to be everything to everyone that she was allowing her business to crumble in the meantime.
If this wasn’t fully self-inflicted and if I possessed a heart, I might have felt sorry for her.
Instead, I cocked a brow. “What now?”
She grabbed a few hangers off the metal rack. “I need you to try these on so I can check the fit. Then I’ll take your measurements for any alterations.”
I began unbuttoning my shirt.
Her eyes sprang wide. “What are you doing?”
“Changing.”
She practically threw the clothes at me, her hands flying up as if to block her view. “Not here! Go to the back.” She gestured to the curtained-off area at the back where I’d hidden last time.
“What if I need some help?” I asked, getting up.
Her nostrils flared. “You’re capable of putting on pants without assistance, I assume?”
I shrugged, stepping closer. “If I must. But we both know it’d be more fun if you helped.”
“That’s not happening,” she muttered and brushed past me, her shoulder grazing mine.
I chuckled. It was far too easy to get a rise out of her.
The dark slacks slid on without a problem.
The shirt was another matter. I got my arms halfway through the sleeves. The fabric wrapped around me like shrink wrap, and I took it off.
“Shirt’s too small,” I called, stepping out of the changing room with it hanging off my index finger. “Got another?”
She was leaning against her desk, typing something on her phone. Her gaze lifted, widened, and darted away just as quickly.
“Let me check.” She rushed over to the rack of clothes.
I ran a hand over the tattoo on the side of my neck, enjoying how fucking flustered she looked. She walked over to me with another shirt, clearly trying to avoid looking at my bare chest. Was she afraid I’d mesmerize her with my six-pack?
I mean, fair. It’s happened before.
“Here,” she said, giving me the shirt.
I took it. “Thanks.”
Her eyes locked onto my bruised hand.
“What happened?” she asked, her brows knitting.
I slid my arms through the sleeves. “Nothing.”
