Page 4 of Cashmere Cruelty

Update: the jacket looksamazing.

I watch it shine under the changing room’s lights, the embroidery perfectly matched to the blue of my customer’s eyes, and I feel a tingly burst of pride.

I’m this close to pumping my fist in the air, but I restrain myself. The man has a glare that could melt steel, and I’d love to not feel that heat again quite yet.

Instead, I keep it professional. “So, what do we think?”

“It’s a bit loose,” the man comments, scrunching up his face in distaste.

“That it is,” I agree. “Luckily, it’s an easy fix.” I walk up to him with my trusty tape measure. “May I?”

He gives me a curt nod.

“Jacket off, please,” I tell him, positioning myself behind his back. I help him out of the garment and hang it carefully insidethe changing room. Then, tape measure in hand, I mount the stepstool.

But even when I’m elevated, I have to rise up on my tiptoes to reach him.

This man’s built like a tree—strong, lean, tall.If I can just reach a little higher, though…

“Should I hunch?” the man drawls.

Dammit. I keep forgetting about the stupid mirror. Has he been watching me struggle all this time? “No need,” I reply, still straining on my tiptoes like a ballerina.

I can feel the heat radiating off his body. It definitely isn’t helping me sweat any less. Between the freckles and how red my face must be, I probably look like a strawberry right now.

“There,” I say with relief. “Done.”

“Where’s the rest?”

The rest?It takes me a moment to grasp what he means. “Of the suit?”

“Yes,” the man replies, that familiar impatience ringing out again. “Unless you were planning to send me out there in nothing but the jacket.”

I hastily delete that particular mental image. Not because it’s unpleasant—far from it, actually. That’s the problem.

I won’t bethattailor. I won’t ogle my customers, no matter how handsome or ripped or?—

“So?”

Right, the rest. “The jacket’s a unique piece,” I explain with a gulp. “We can have matching trousers and waistcoat made on a custom order. The jacket’s our very own Mr. Turner’s work, so the integration will be seamless.” It’s easy to lose myself in work. If nothing else, it’s a welcome distraction from the man’s gaze. “We’ll take the rest of your measurements and schedule a fitting to make sure everything’s the perfect size.”

“Hm,” the man says.

And, for a while, that’sallhe says.

It strikes me suddenly how alone we are. The building is hushed like only quiet tailor shops can be. The windows are far on the other side of the room. There’d be no one here to watch if I knelt down from the stepstool and…

“Well then?” he demands eventually, making me blink in confusion.

“Pardon me?”

He doesn’t even try to hide the eye roll.Asshole. “Aren’t you going to measure me?”

“Oh, that’s—” I swallow hard. “We can put you on the calendar, for sure. It’s just that Mr. Turner has already gone home for the day, so?—”

“You do it.”

I’d really, really rather not.“I, um…”

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