by Adams, S. C.
“How are you doing, dear?” Gloria asks from behind me, nearly causing me to break a seam. “I haven’t given you too much, have I?”
“No, no. This is fine. I’ve got it.”
She picks up the white pants that I finished a few minutes ago and examines the new seams and hem. “You’re doing great work, Maggie. I’ve never met a natural like you.”
Her praise makes up for the intense boredom I’ve been feeling for the last two hours. “Thank you so much.”
“Keep up the good work, dear.”
Gloria returns to her station, swinging her wide hips as she goes. The Latina woman has the same body type as me, which is a relief. When I first saw the skinny, perfect people working in sales, I thought for sure I’d be the odd one out. Most of the other tailors are thin, but there are a couple who look like Gloria and me.
“Gloria,” I call out before she takes her seat. “I meant to ask you, am I allowed to bring headphones?”
She laughs. “Can’t handle the silence?”
I shake my head. “It’s driving me a little crazy.”
“Of course, dear. Anything to make you comfortable. We don’t do a whole lot of communicating between us anyway.”
Thank goodness. I might have had to quit if it was always going to be this silent. I’m afraid to shift in my seat in case the hard plastic squeaks. I’ve forced down a few sneezes to avoid making a scene. Having something to listen to will at least give me the illusion that there’s noise around me.
My suit jacket begs for attention, so I return to the side seams. The person who measured the guy I’m tailoring this suit for was meticulous, which makes my job easier. I know his height, his weight, the width of his shoulders, and the length of his legs and torso. I could perfectly sew his entire suit without meeting the guy, though measurements aren’t as good as trying it on for size.
According to Gloria, the customer will be in tomorrow, and she’ll take me through the process of checking the adjustments on an actual human. I’ve never done that before!
Once this suit is finished, I move on to the next one. This pin-striped suit will be my last one of the day, and also the hardest. The pin stripes mean I have to line up every seam perfectly. Not as fun as the simple fabrics, but I’m used to working with funky patterns. The clothes I used to sew together for my family were rarely solid colors. I’m a big fan of flowers, and they’re extremely difficult to get right.
Thinking about my old projects sends my mind down a rabbit hole. On a shelf in the corner of the room are reams of multicolored fabrics. We make custom-designed pocket squares and liners for high profile clients, so there is always fabric on hand just in case. There’s a blue silk that would look amazing inside the white suit I finished earlier. I would add paisley pocket liners and a strip above the pockets on the pants, too.
I sigh loudly enough for Gloria to look over at my station. “You okay, dear?”
“Yeah, sorry. These pin stripes are just a pain.”
“Let me know if you need my help,” she responds before returning to her project.
I can’t let my mind wander like that. This isn’t about my dreams. Someday, I’ll get to do whatever I want, like add color to a boring white suit. That’s partially why I took this job in the first place. I figured I could expand my horizons and learn new techniques. But what I really want to do is be a designer. More specifically, I want to design wedding dresses. It’s been my dream since I was a little girl.
This is just a step in the right direction.
The front door bell rings for the first time in almost an hour, signaling a new customer.
“Welcome!” I hear my boss say from the front end. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Cheers,” a deep, sexy voice responds. I’ve never heard a voice as beautiful as this one. I can only imagine what the owner looks like. “It has been a long while, hasn’t it? Sorry about that. There’s been a lot of traveling overseas.”
“No worries!” my boss replies. “Just glad to see you now. What are you in the market for?”
Gloria and the other women surrounding me are focused intently on their work; none of them are paying me any attention. I’m almost done with this last suit… I can take a short break. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I forgot where the bathroom is.
Mercifully, my chair doesn’t scrape against the floor when I slide it away from my station. I glance around the room one last time to make sure no one cares what I’m doing, and then I walk slowly to the curtain separating us from the sales floor.
The dark fabric shifts easily to give me enough space. My eyes find my boss just in time to see him bowing to the customer. He didn’t do that with any of the customers we passed during our tour, so this guy must be special.
And the guy… even from a distance, I can tell he has striking blue eyes. The soft lighting reflects off his brilliantly colored irises to create a blue I’ve only ever seen in pictures of underwater treasures. They pair beautifully with his jet black hair, which is trimmed so perfectly, I imagine the haircut cost more than a day’s pay.
The customer stands a foot taller than my boss, though his actual height might be a few inches shorter than he looks. The way he holds his back perfectly straight and carries his head confidently may add some height to his stature. I’ve seen his type walking around New York. He’s got to be a powerful CEO or something.
None of those other businessmen can hold a candle to his attractiveness, though. My stomach flutters just looking at him. His suit coat hangs lazily over a white button-down, and he’s not wearing a tie, yet he still exudes power. If this man asked me to do something, I would do it without asking any questions.
I suppose that’s why my boss is flapping around like a peacock right now. Not literally, of course. That would be weird.
Roger flutters from one display to the next in an attempt to entice the customer into purchasing one of our most expensive products. His chest is heavily puffed out like this is a mating ritual. I’m not getting any gay vibes from the customer, but I am getting them from Roger. He’s not openly flirting with the gorgeous man; there’s just something about how he angles himself toward the customer and focuses intently on the man’s chiseled face that makes me wonder if Roger swings that way.
“This color would look fantastic on you,” Roger says. He holds up a navy blue blazer against the customer’s chest. “It matches your eyes.”
“You’re right,” he says. His accent is posh. Definitely British. That just adds to his hotness level. “But I’m looking for something black right now. I’ve got a mate’s wedding in a few weeks, and I’d like to wear something new. You understand?”
“Of course!” Roger tells him. “What about this one?”
Roger describes in great detail what excellent qualities the expensive, designer suit has that makes it better than all of the others in the store. He doesn’t mention that it’s also the most expensive suit we have.
While Roger is droning on about seams and possible liners, the customer is clearly tuning him out. His deep blue eyes scan the room for something more interesting than my trilling boss.
And they land on me.
I don’t have a second to retreat into the cave without him seeing me, and I’m not sure I want to. The electricity between us is real. The hairs on my arm are most certainly standing up.
He smiles, and his teeth are whiter than the suit I sewed earlier today. Roger looks up, notices the mysterious British man staring off into the distance, and glances in my direction.
I gasp and duck back behind the curtain before he has the chance to see me.
Back at my desk, I struggle to catch my breath. That was close! Roger almost caught me spying on him. Luckily for me, none of the other workers seemed to notice my brief enchantment with how the other side lives.
I feed the steel gray pin-striped pants through my sewing machine, hoping to erase the image of the most attractive man I’ve ever seen from my mind. I’ll likely never se
e him again. It’s not like anything happened, anyway. We locked eyes, that’s it. That’s barely anything.
I wish my best friend were here to tell me what it means when a guy smiles at you. I’ll have to ask her about it later.
Just as I’m finishing up with the pants, Roger flies through the curtain. “Maggie, can I see you for a second?”
Oh no. He knows! He saw me spying, and now I’m going to get fired.
“Of course,” I say quietly. I expect Roger to pull me into his office, but he remains rooted by the entrance to the sales floor.
“I need you to take some measurements and mark up a new suit. This is an extremely important customer, but he specifically requested that we send the youngest tailor we have to do the job. That means you.”
“What?”
Roger sighs. “Can you handle this, Maggie?”
I blink a few times, but Roger stays rooted in front of me. This isn’t just a dream. I’m really going out on the sales floor to take the measurements of the hot British guy.
I liked this job a lot before. Now, I love it.
3
Maggie
“This is a very high profile client, Maggie,” my boss explains once again as he leads me to the dressing room. “I have to know that you’re up for the job.”
“I promise, I can do this.”
He stops to study me. I hope he doesn’t notice my shaking hands or that my heart is beating far too fast.
“I’m trusting you on this.”
Roger continues into the dressing room area, where the customer from earlier is waiting on a pedestal. The dark-haired man turns to face us. His eyes light up in recognition when he sees me. I guess he did notice me when I was spying earlier. Is it possible he requested me specifically, then?
No, that can’t be what happened. A guy who looks like a black-haired Adonis wouldn’t want a girl like me measuring all of his intimate spaces. He probably asked for a young tailor because he didn’t want one of the older women messing up his measurements. The tape has small numbers that can be hard for the more seasoned tailors to read.
“This is Maggie!” Roger says. His voice is higher than before. I didn’t realize that was possible. “She’s going to get you all measured up!”
Roger adds a bow at the end of his final sentence. The guy looks hot and powerful, but he doesn’t look like royalty to me. I don’t know why my boss keeps bowing in front of him.
The tall stranger eyes me. “Thank you, Roger.”
Oh God, that accent! I could listen to him talk for hours. I’ve never met anyone in real life with a British accent. It makes him even hotter.
“Go ahead, Maggie, get started!”
“Of course,” I say. I open up the measuring tape with nervous hands and take a few steps toward the pedestal. “I’ll start with your arms.”
“Maggie?” Roger asks from behind me. “Do you have the measurement sheet?”
I nearly drop the tape. “No, sir, I forgot to grab it.”
“It’s okay!” he trills. To the customer, he adds, “She’s brand new, like I told you. I brought the paper in case she forgot.”
“How prepared you are,” the customer says. “How about we get to it, then?”
“Of course, of course!” Roger tells him. “Go ahead, Maggie. Be sure to write down every measurement!”
I hold up the tape again and get in a full arm measurement without freaking out. The customer smells like pine and some expensive cologne I can’t place. For all I know, it could be a custom scent made by Calvin Klein especially for him.
Roger watches over my shoulder as I take measurements. “Measure everything twice, Maggie!”
My eyes meet the customer’s and find an amused look on his face. He watches Roger circle us like he’s some kind of bird and we’re his nest.
“Mr. Jones needs this suit to be perfect in just a few weeks, so we won’t have much time to get it resized if you make any mistakes.”
“She looks to be doing just fine, Roger,” the customer – Mr. Jones – tells my boss. “And please, call me Sean.”
Sean stands straight the entire time. He’s done this before, probably a thousand times. I wonder if he ever wears the same suit twice or if he gets rid of them after an event. Would I be less attracted to him if he was a use-it-and-lose-it kind of guy?
I take in his face as I measure his neck. His jaw is angular, and his eyes are mysterious. There’s a crook in his nose, so he probably broke it when he was younger. I have a similar bump from an unfortunate encounter with a dryer door at the laundromat when I was seven.
I don’t think I’d fall less for his face if the man lived up to traditional rich stereotypes. A lot can be forgiven when you look like a statue and talk like a king.
“Maggie, be sure to measure the shoulders.”
“Yes, of course.” Roger’s reminder is welcome this time. I’d forgotten to measure the width of Sean’s shoulders. This measurement finishes the upper body, which means I have to move lower.
Sean watches my shaking hands attempt to wrap the tape around his slender hips.
“Above and below, Maggie!” Roger shouts into my ear. “You have to measure above and below the hips for the best fitting slacks!”
“Roger, I think Maggie’s doing a brilliant job, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I suppose she is.” Somehow, Roger is developing a British accent of his own. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m just keeping an eye on her, you know. This suit is for a special occasion, and we have a reputation to uphold.”
Sean places a hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Your reputation is in good hands with this one, I can tell. Why don’t you leave Maggie and me to it?”
Roger scrunches his brow. “Oh, I don’t think…”
“Roger, I’m sure the rest of the store could use your acute attention, don’t you think?” My boss continues to hesitate. “Maggie can do this, Roger. You should check in on everyone else. If we need you, we’ll come find you.”
Roger sighs. There’s no argument he can make to justify staying here with us. Finally, he moves to leave.
“I’ll leave you to it!” Roger trills.
He bows a few more times and heads for the sales floor. Sean laughs once Roger is out of earshot.
“I truly thought that man would never leave me alone. A strange rabbit he is.”
“I only just met him, but he can be a bit… eccentric. He cares about the business, that’s for sure,” I tell Sean. “He’s a good boss so far.”
Sean remains quiet, so I get back to work. Unfortunately, we only have a few measurements left. Not only does this mean my time with sexy Sean is almost over, but these are the worst measurements.
My nervousness must be clear because Sean puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. I kneel down in front of him with my measuring tape in hand.
“Do you, um… Well, I need to ask…” I sigh. “Do you hang left or right?” I finally ask.
Sean chuckles. “Left, darling.”
I didn’t even need to ask. My face is level with exactly where he hangs, and he hangs heavily. His large penis is tight against his pants. Has it been like that the whole time I was measuring him?
My cheeks burn. I’ve never blushed so much in my life! Well, I’ve also never been this close to a man in my life. My parents have kept me sheltered. Even when I do go out, I’m far too shy to talk to a guy, let alone kneel in front of him…
“Enjoying the view?” Sean jokes. I jump back, tumbling off of the pedestal and onto the floor. “Goodness, darling, are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. You startled me.”
“It’s okay, love. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I climb back up to finish the measurements and leave before I embarrass myself further. My hands are shaking even worse than they were before. I try to stay as far away from his left side as possible, but I have to get his length… I mean, the length of his leg… still.
“You can get a little closer, darlin
g.”
I startle again, but this time I don’t fall. “I’d love to,” tumbles from my mouth before I can stop it.
Sean laughs. “I think we’d both like that.”
My legs stand on their own. Are we flirting? I’ve never flirted before. My heart flutters with excitement.
“You’re beautiful, Maggie,” Sean says, lowering his deep voice to barely a whisper.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.” He tangles a hand gently in my unruly curls. “I saw you behind that curtain and knew I wanted to get to know you. But first…”
Sean’s head bends forward until our lips meet. I’m new at this, so new that I’ve never been close to a kiss before, but somehow, I know what to do. I attach my mouth to his eagerly.
He intensifies the kiss with his tongue, causing me to moan. Sean chuckles into my lips. “Darling, perhaps we should go somewhere a bit more private?”
“The dressing room?” I suggest. The measurement area is surrounded by mirrors on one side and enclosed dressing rooms on the other. I pull Sean into the largest one. “No one will bother us here.”
“Good,” he says. “I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Sean sits me down on the dressing room stool. My lips miss the feel of his, but his hands on my legs feel almost as good. He slides his palms up my thighs and under my skirt. His fingers find my panties and pull them down to my ankles.
“I’m going to make you feel good, Maggie,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Please,” I tell him. I’ve never felt like this before.
His mouth lands on a different part of my body, and I gasp. For the first time in my life, a man is touching me where my parents said only my husband should touch me.
Oh no, my parents! What will they think?
That thought is immediately overpowered by pleasure. Sean’s tongue dips into my soaking slit.
