Page 167 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

It always struck me as a little funny, that being surrounded by wealth could make me, a fellow rich person, uncomfortable. I just never saw the reason to exchange my personal preferences for what was expected of me. I preferred to like my rooms and enjoy spending time in them, and if that meant buying from shops that made my peers laugh at me, well, truth be told, I didn’t care. Let them laugh. I was the one who wouldn’t have a perpetually sore ass every time I sat in my living room.

“Are you nervous?” Brian asked. He sat on a chair across from me, a glass case coffee table between us. A set of antique sewing tools, labelled, accompanied with little fact plaques, were inside the case—the only charming thing in the whole shop, in my opinion.

“Of course I’m nervous.” I plucked at my beard hairs.

“It’s just a party. If this is how nervous you are for a party, imagine how you’ll be on your wedding day.”

That was getting a bit too far ahead. “Do you think we scheduled it too quickly? I know this was the best time, but—”

Brain stopped me with a derisive snort. “Sounds to me like you’re doubting my skills. Don’t worry, Carter. Everything is running very smoothly. I know you said you didn’t want to see how many people are coming, but let me tell you, the response has been huge.”

“Ugh. Stop. I could be sick just thinking about it.”

Brian laughed. “You’re not nervous about the party. You’re nervous about meeting a girl. Just relax. If you do, you do. If you don’t, you tried. And you can try again. I’ve enjoyed scheming with you and you had best believe I will jump on the opportunity to do it again.”

That made me feel a bit better, at least.

Approaching footsteps, descending the staircase at the far end of the shop, announced the arrival of the tailor.

I got up and shook hands with him. “Sir John,” I said.

John had been knighted once upon a trip to England, when he provided an emergency solution to the Queen’s wardrobe malfunction. She granted him knighthood on the spot. He did not let anyone forget his “rank” and took every opportunity to flaunt his supposed importance. I was halfway convinced that he had his wife call him Sir, as well. Certainly when they were in bed together.

Sir John shook my hand much too firmly, squeezing like he had everything to prove. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bryant. I’m so pleased to be able to service you today. Have you the garment with you?”

“Right here,” Brian said, holding up my costume.

“Ah, this is for the party you’re advertising, is it not?” Sir John gave a smile that tried too hard to be disinterested. “I may attend myself.”

“Will you wear armor?” Brian joked.

Sir John gave him a withering glare I didn’t quite understand, since it was a perfectly logical question that I might have asked him myself. Maybe he mistook Brian’s humor for outright making fun of him. Turning back to me, completely and intentionally ignoring Brian, he said, “Why don’t you follow me and I’ll take your measurements? Then we can get the costume from yourassistant.”

Maybe he thought that would offend Brian, but the truth was, I knew I wouldn’t be anywhere without him. Brian knew it too. As my assistant, he did far more than simply fetch coffee and take calls. He was my confidant, my right hand man, the one who turned ideas into reality.

I really hope this guy isn’t going to start laying into Brian as soon as we’re alone together, like we’re teen girls at a slumber party.

Luckily, nothing of the sort happened. Sir John busied himself with flitting around me, measuring every inch of my person, and the only talk was when he requested for me to move in a certain way to make another measurement. Or when he made comments on my body, usually complimentary, comparing me to other clients who, in his professional opinion, had let themselves go due to their wealth.

He didn’t need much in the way of a response from me. I simply stood there and took it while he tangled me in his measuring tape, breathing in the scents of polish and cut cloth.

Finally, he released me to fetch the costume from Brian, and then spent a considerable length of time making minor adjustments until my costume fit me better than any suit I owned.

“I have to hand it to him,” I told Brian, once we were outside and alone, “the man is good at his job.”

“At least he has that going for him, since he’s terrible at conversation.” Brian climbed into my car, behind the wheel. He mimicked Sir John. “Oh, you are asurgeonwhose saved dozens of lives? How quaint. But your coat doesn’t fit and therefore, I hate you.”

I laughed.

“Let’s get some coffee. A treat after the hell we just went through.”

“I won’t argue. I’m exhausted.”

We decided to hit up a small shop that neither of us had been to before, one that wasn’t part of a chain. Effervesce was the name, for whatever reason.

Brian reached the door first and stepped in. I followed after, and was immediately hit in the face with a blast of warm, sweet-scented air. Upon first glance, there really wasn’t anything about this coffee shop to set it apart from all the others. It looked the same, smelled the same, not that that was the bad thing. From the name, I had just been expecting something a little more eclectic.

“Go ahead and get me whatever you’re getting,” Brian said, and headed off for the men’s room.

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