Page 4 of Flare

An image of me waking at midnight on the floor of my bathroom sent my heart racing. The climax of an entire week of crappy nights that saw me drinking too much and bingeing reruns ofMasterChefat two in the morning. But blaming the stress on Fashion Week in August was a good excuse, so I grabbed it. “You know me.”

Kip’s brows dipped and he was quiet for a few seconds. “Some days, I really wonder if I do.”

I gave him a sharp look, but he’d turned back to the jacket he was steaming and gently smoothed the feathers. “Your collection is amazing, Rhys. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe.” I turned at the sound of the front door opening to find a teenage boy about sixteen or seventeen sauntering into the shop. The kid had a serious face framed by light brown hair that sat just this side of shaggy. He glanced our way with a quick smile, then made for the far corner of the shop with the growth-spurt gait of a body still trying to work out where all those extra centimetres suddenly sprang from.

Kip sent me a raised brow and I shrugged. Not our usual clientele, but you never knew. I’d sold expensive pieces to flush teenagers from wealthy families before. The boy was followed a minute or so later by a couple of attractive young businessmen—much more our target market.

Kip glanced at the newcomers and gave a low whistle. “Mmm, mmm, a sweet treat for afternoon tea.” He straightened his shirt and threw me a wink before hanging up his steamer and approaching the two men, one of whom raked his eyes over my assistant’s pert and well-dressed frame with obvious appreciation. Get in line.

I watched my assistant work his magic among the racks of clothes—a mix of my own label and my favourite designers. I’d furnished the store in an eclectic blend of chic black-and-chrome industrial and distressed eighteenth-century wood that softened the look and went with the age of the building and its wide-plank wooden floors. Four dressing rooms sat in a large open alcove to one side, each space large enough for a chair, a floor-to-ceiling mirror, and plenty of elbow room—their privacy ensured by double layered generous black curtains. Two deep, buttoned couches, a water cooler, and the lure of free coffee encouraged friends and partners to stay awhile. It was a cool, edgy space, but also friendly and inviting—exactly the way I’d imagined it for longer than I could remember.

Kip directed the men to the new shipment of winter trousers on the far side of the shop and promised to check on them soon. Then he approached the teenager, who was studying every shirt on the sale rack in microscopic detail, and offered his assistance. The boy shook his head and Kip returned to my side.

“I’m gonna keep my eyes on that one.” He tipped his head to the boy.

I nodded and lowered my voice. “As much as I can’t stand Shayne any more than you, we both know he was right. We need the orders from this show or I won’t be able to afford the lease on this place past the first year, and I don’t have a big enough name to risk a suburban location. Not yet. I can’t afford to fuck this up.”

“As if.” Kip patted my hand. “You should have more faith in yourself.” He fished the ubiquitous dusting cloth from his pocket and set about polishing the glass top. Although, how he fitanythingin those dick-strangling trousers was beyond me. But he looked fucking amazing, as usual, and that was all that counted.

“Gloria will preen like a fucking peacock if I screw this up.”

“Gloria lives her life pissed at the whole fucking world,” Kip scoffed. “She’s just annoyed she couldn’t hold on to you. She actually has to do some work now. You were the linchpin in her designer stable. You realise that, right?”

“Maybe.” I sighed. “But she was good to me at the start. I’m not sure I would’ve survived against her label without those eight years working there. Mennz is just too big.”

“But what you’re doing now is way better than her recent lines. She’s stuck in the past and she knows it.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Jesus, listen to you. Eight months ago you didn’t know your A-line from your inseam.”

He laughed. “True, but I’m a quick study. And face it, you need me. Who else is gonna kick your arse when you become a huge success and start getting ideas above your station?”

“This is true.” I watched the teen take a shirt from the rack and then peruse the cabinet of cuffs and jewellery. “Then again, I may have to fire you for lowering the tone of my very expensive shop.”

The boy grabbed a pair of trousers to go with the shirt, caught Kip’s eye, and pointed to the change room.

Kip nodded and waved for him to go ahead before snorting in amusement. “Fire me? Yeah, good luck with that. You can barely ring up a sale on our new machine, and you don’t know half the bloody pin numbers for your accounts. As a designer, my friend, you rock. But you and technology are barely on the same planet. Not to mention, I ace the fuck out of pimping your designs.”

I couldn’t argue. Kip organised my diary to within an inch of its life and sold more clothes by the simple fact of wearing them than any ad campaign I could ever afford to run. The previous week he’d sold a shirt to a man who’d admired him wearing it on the morning train and promptly been given our card.

It was like having my own personal five-foot-seven, prickly, walking, talking billboard, and I treasured every snarky, brutally honest comment that fell from those pouty lips. Even if I had to remind both of us on occasion thatI, in fact, owned the shop, not Kip. A reminder that usually earned me an indulgent look and an offer to buy me a coffee as if he did it every day.

He didn’t.

Most daysIdid the coffee run after Kip rattled off his order from some insanely complicated list of options ranked by mood, and all of which seemed to involve copious amounts of cream and seemingly no calories since he never looked anything but sylph-like.

I sighed and glanced through the glass doors to the street. “Maybe I shouldn’t have turned our tall, irritating and insanely attractive arsehole down flat.”

“Rubbish. Word on the street is that Shayne’sexplosionon the world stage was possibly more of a pop, which likely explains his unexpected visit today. Touting for business.”

I stared at Kip. “Really? How do you know this and I don’t?”

He shrugged. “Friend of a friend. He’s getting a reputation as... difficult.”

I snorted. “Shocker. Still, I’m surprised. He might be a pain, but he’s definitely a crowd favourite.”

“Maybe.” Kip shrugged. “But Shayne’s look is designated runway material. He wouldn’t last in commercial modelling, and that’s limiting at his age. Plus, I bet that new face you took on would give Shayne a run for his money, any day.”

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