Not So Nice by Emma Lyon
Nathan
Beatrix, as it turned out, was a seventy-five-year-old former ballerina, or so she informed us as she sailed gracefully to the door of the red brick and black-framed storefront off the Commons to meet us. She was replete in a black leotard and flowing skirt. “Saul said you would be arriving.” She had a faint accent, something Eastern European.
She looked me over, giving my Brunello shirt grudging respect, and Ryan’s retail store shirt and pants a wrinkled moue of distaste. “This is the one?”
“Yes.” I glanced around her shop. It was clear she catered to an appointment-only crowd by the lack of other patrons and the few clothes racks in the open space. I was relieved the designs were suitable for what I wanted. I didn’t need Ryan in haute couture.
“What is it you want?” She circled Ryan like a vulture, mentally taking his measurements while Ryan eyed her warily.
“Something suitable for a business dinner. Not flashy, but not too conservative, either. I leave the color palette to your discretion.”
She snorted as if that was never in question. “What I have is in the back. Come with me,” she said to Ryan imperiously. “You”—she lasered her hawk gaze on me— “wait there.” She pointed to an oversized armchair near the center of the room.
Ryan threw me a please, help look as she herded him to the back door. I smiled and waved him on. “Enjoy yourself.”
His helpless look morphed into a glare.
He was no match for Beatrix, however, as she shuffled him through the door. I sat in the chair she’d indicated and took out my phone to catch up on email and the state of the business, knowing they would probably be a while.
I had a missed call from my lawyer, but if it was urgent Quinn would text me. I put that to the side to follow up on later, and scrolled through my email, which I managed to keep light by discouraging people from emailing me in the first place. In any case, there was nothing urgent, so I closed it and opened up the schedule of the summit.
The seminars and lectures were the nominal reason for the event, but the real deals would take place in the after hours. Thus the importance of looking the part tonight.
I saw that Lorde was one of the session speakers, something about the rise of the gaming industry. My immediate visceral reaction to seeing his face on my phone screen warned me I was letting emotion dictate too much how I dealt with him. It was aggravating that he wouldn’t even talk to me, but I needed to put that aside if I expected to be rational in my dealings with him.
Movement from the back door broke into my brooding, and I heard Ryan say uncertainly, “I don’t know. What do you think?”
I looked up, my mind still half-occupied with Lorde, until Ryan filled my vision and every other thought fled.
Beatrix had dressed him in an exquisitely tailored blue button-up and charcoal slacks that hugged his legs, but not too tightly. The shirt brought out his eyes in startling technicolor.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Ryan’s uncertain look deepened. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” He turned to a mirror set up near one of the racks of clothes and frowned. “I look like a GQ model.”
He’d said that like it was a bad thing. Besides, he looked better than a GQ model. He looked….
I stood and stalked over to him before I was aware I was moving. Jesus, his eyes were blue. Had I never noticed that before? The shirt had transformed them to the deep blue of ocean depths, so dark they were almost navy. Dark depths to drown in.
Ryan watched my approach, something lighting in his expression that sparked another surge of reaction from me. He wet his lips. My gaze went inevitably to them, the slight pink flush, how fucking full they were, now wet from his tongue.
I found my voice with an effort. “You look good.” At close range I saw the pins in the shirt and pants holding the tailoring in place. In just a few short minutes, Beatrix had transformed him into a man who knew good clothes and how to use them to showcase what he had.
He had a lot.
Ryan turned back to the mirror to frown at himself again. “I don’t know.”
“No one will be able to take their eyes off you.”
He cocked his head at me, as if trying to gauge my level of seriousness. I’d been dead serious, but apparently he didn’t believe it, because he shook his head and snorted. “Right.”
It was possible my PA didn’t realize how gorgeous he was.
Beatrix emerged from the shadows by the back door. I wondered how long she’d been standing there. “I have one more to show you, but this is good, yes? If so I will begin to alter.”
I cleared my throat before I made a further idiot of myself. I needed to keep the real reason we were here in mind, not get distracted by my PA. “Yes, this will work. One more like this, then perhaps a suit.”
She shook her head. “I do not do suits. You need Pavic for that. I will call him.” She disappeared into the back.
I managed to tear my eyes off the perfect lines of the clothes over Ryan’s body and brought them back to his face. “You’d better go with her.”
He looked at himself in the mirror again. “I don’t feel like me.”
I reminded myself that Ryan was new to this. I’d played the game so long I forgot sometimes that other people didn’t. “Half of looking the part is putting out what you want the world to see. Now go with Beatrix like a good boy so she can dress you up again.” He made a face at my deliberately patronizing tone, so I added more sincerely, “You look good.”
That brought out the first genuine smile I’d seen from him all afternoon.
The next outfit was just as delectable—burgundy shirt and a dark pant that was either brown or gray, I couldn’t decide—and I told Beatrix we’d take them both, and that we would need them altered and sent to the hotel by five. She agreed, and Ryan went into the back to change back into his own clothes.
“He is yours?” Beatrix asked suddenly.
That could mean so many things. “Only for a weekend.”
“Ah.” I couldn’t tell what she took from that. “He is cute. I think you will eat him up, like a shark.” She motioned with her hands the jaws of a predator.
“You think?” I said, humoring her.
She cocked her head. “Or maybe not. Maybe he will be the one to catch you in his net by tickling your belly.”
I snorted. I didn’t love that metaphor, either.
But then, that wasn’t what this was. This was a business transaction, a bit of playacting, and hopefully a done deal with Lorde at the end of it.
I just had to remember that.