Page 3 of Sass

“Jenn’s car was parked out front next to a plumber’s van, so...”

“Huh.” Rhys cast a dubious look at the wall. “I hope it’s nothing serious. We can’t afford any problems with the sale starting this week.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I swallowed another bite of doughnut and tried to sound casual. “You’re in early.”

But Rhys saw straight through me. “I’m not worried, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He shot me a frustrated scowl. “I have zero concerns about leaving Flare in your hands, Kip, so get used to it. You’ve been my store manager for over eighteen months, and you do a better job than I ever could, but it’s not all you do and it’s time your job title reflected that. You manage the staff, including me—”

“This is true,” I interrupted, shoving the last of the doughnut in my mouth before grabbing another.

Rhys rolled his eyes and counted on his fingers. “You work miracles with what little help we get from my eye-wateringly expensive brand consultant, who I can’t afford to pay for more than cursory assistance. You oversee marketing plans and shit I have no idea about. You deal with orders and stocking, plan the seasonal merchandise and sales andeverythingelse. You’re my right-hand person, my second in charge, my PA, my fucking business lifeline. Jesus Christ, you’re practically my damn mother.” He gave a nervous glance around as if the woman might actually appear, and I didn’t blame him. “I couldn’t keep up with my design work without you having my back. And I don’t pay you anything close to what you’re worth.”

“This is also true.” I smiled around a mouthful of salted caramel goodness.

“You already function as Flare’s executive manager, Kip, so take the damn title and the pay rise I’m offering. And youreallyneed to take my office. Not to mention we could do withanother sales assistant to free up your time. Drew isn’t enough. Why are you fighting me on this?”

I sighed and concentrated on my doughnut. “Because as nice as all that sounds, I have zero formal education for any of that stuff you just mentioned. There must be tons of more qualified guys out there to choose from. Yes, I’m good at selling clothes—”

Rhys raised a brow and I winced.

“Okay, really good,” I admitted because I was. “But as for the rest?” I shrugged. “I barely graduated school. I don’t have a degree. You only hired me because in the ten minutes I was waiting to be interviewed, I rearranged your service desk and half your store for the better, which wasn’t hard to do. Just saying. But mostly you hired me because we both know Icansell a look, and I’m mouthy as shit with a dangerous dose of charm.”

Rhys snorted. “All true, although that charm comes with a set of sharp teeth. You absolutely do have an innate sense of fashion, the gift of the gab, and the ability to wear a paper bag down the street and have a dozen orders for it before you get two blocks.Butyou’re also one of the smartest people I know. You have a nose for marketing that can’t be taught in any university, you’re meticulous with the accounts, a tiger with my debtors, and you have more social connections than I could hope to accumulate in a lifetime. You’re great at what you do, and you deserve the recognition.”

I sighed and put my doughnut down, suddenly not hungry anymore, the niggling self-doubt I’d been feeling for the past few weeks as Rhys had tried to convince me about his plan rising to the surface once again.

“Look.” Rhys placed a hand on my arm and gently squeezed. “If the qualification side worries you so much, I’m happy to pay for any night or part-time courses you think you need. Go ahead and enrol in whatever you want.”

My gaze jerked up. “Really? I mean, I sucked at school, and I’m not sure I could manage it with my hours. The store comes first—”

“We can work around that, especially if we take on another person.” He shot me a pointed look. “Then your hours could be more flexible. I have no issues with you using some work time for study when you need. The business will benefit in the long run, and Drew can handle the store on his own for short bursts of time if he has some help. Sucking at high school doesn’t mean you won’t ace at something you have a natural talent for, Kip. And you have a talent for business, especially the fashion business.”

I stared at him, not daring to believe. I’d fallen into my dream job by total chance, bringing only my love of fashion. I wanted all that Rhys was offering but I also didn’t want to let him down. My job at Flare meant the world to me. So did Rhys. His faith in me had saved my life in so many ways, I owed him everything.

“But Drew is only filling in time while he decides what he wants to do, and until he gets his surgery done,” I pointed out.

At nineteen, Drew was mature beyond his years—no surprise with all the shit he’d taken from his transphobic family before he finally walked out and finished school while living with Rhys’s mother. After he graduated, he’d been at a bit of a loss and I’d suggested to Rhys that maybe he could work at Flare until he found his feet. He’d fitted in like he’d always been there, which in some ways he had, having spent many hours hanging out in the back yard to escape his family and the school bullies. He had a calm, no-nonsense manner that balanced my admittedly more... blunt approach, and we made a good team.

In addition, Drew had a pretty good sense of style for a kid who hadn’t been able to express much of it while growing up. And once we broke through his tendency to wear baggy clothes—understandable with his body dysmorphia—we spent a lot of time working looks together until he was comfortable. As he grew in confidence, his dress choices became more fitted and daring. And with his fine features, sultry androgynous looks, killer brown eyes, and sassy dry wit, Drew had been an instant hit with the customers.

“All the more reason to take on someone new.” Rhys’s frustration showed in the weight of his sigh. “Train them up and then hire again when Drew leaves. Look, Kip, you don’t have to make any decisions now, at least not about the courses. But as for taking my office and getting another salesperson? I’m sorry, but that needs to happen. When I get back from New York in a couple of weeks, I expect to see you moved in there—” He thumbed over his shoulder. “—and to have a draft ad ready for the new hire. I’m moving my design workshop above Leon’s as soon as we can make it happen. Until then, I’ll continue to work from home just like I have since we rented the flat to Hunter and Alec.”

My stomach sank. “But—”

“No buts, Kip. No more fucking around. I’m serious about this. You can do this. We’re a team, right?” He looked so earnest I had to swallow around the sudden lump of gratitude clogging up my throat.

I tore my eyes from his before I fucking cried and stared through the glass into the dim office instead. “You do realise it’s a dark shithole in there.” I sniffed in mock disapproval. “I don’t know how you expect me to work under those conditions.”

Rhys barked out a laugh. “Then redecorate it for fuck’s sake.” He crossed to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “Alec! Hunter! Get down here. Coffee’s up.”

There was a muffled shout of “fuck yeah,” followed by the unmistakable sound of laughter and running feet. Rhys and I exchanged a knowing look. It had taken a wee bit of adjustment having the two lovebirds overhead after more than a year of the flat being empty, but it worked. Between Alec’s modelling, Hunter’s fashion and travel photography, and their model agency in Auckland, the two men were always going somewhere. But they were also ridiculously and sickeningly in love.

Hunter hit the bottom of the stairs, took one look at me, and barked out a laugh. “Whoa! What the hell happened to you?”

“Not. A. Word.” I raised my palm. “Or I’ll be morally obligated to ask why you’re shirtless and looking thoroughly debauched at eight thirty in the morning.Andyour dick’s hanging out of your sweats.”

Hunter’s horrified gaze shot to his neatly zipped jeans and then back up to me. “Lying fucker.”

I waggled my brows. “And yet you looked.” He reached for the chocolate doughnut with sprinkles, and I slapped his hand. “That one’s not for you.”

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