I don’t have time to search anything because the bus comes to a stop and I get up. I take a picture of the plane for my Instagram story. As soon as the plane takes off, the food starts coming out. The sound of plates clinking fills the air, and I open my phone again. I sat by myself this time, and when I look around, everyone seems to be in their own world. That is what happens when you travel late at night. I scan her website and see that she works for Nordstrom, and I set a plan in motion in my head.
When we finally land, it looks like everyone is ready to crash, and no one really says anything as we get our key cards. Dumping my bag right inside the door, I undress and finally lay my head down at almost three thirty. I close off my phone completely, and when I wake up in the morning, I’m shocked to see it’s almost noon.
I pick up the phone and call the front desk to request a car. I get up, washing off my face and grabbing my black jeans and a black T-shirt. I run my fingers through my hair and then slide on my black leather jacket. With my wallet in my hand and my phone tucked into my back pocket, I make my way downstairs. I spot some of the guys and just nod at them while I walk to the front desk. I put on my dark Ray-Bans so no one really notices me.
I grab the keys to the car waiting at the front door and punch in the address on the GPS. It says I will arrive at my destination in forty minutes. I add twenty minutes for traffic, but I’m surprised when I make it there in under an hour. Finding parking is a nightmare, but I just park at the first underground garage I can find. When I walk out of the car and make my way to the store, I get all these butterflies in my stomach. I start to wonder if maybe this wasn’t the best plan I’ve ever had.
I pull open the door to Nordstrom and take a look around. I walk through the cosmetic area and then spot a woman dressed in black. “Excuse me,” I say, and she turns to look at me, a smile plastered on to her face. “I was wondering where the service counter was.”
“Third floor,” she says, pointing at the escalator. Nodding at her and smiling, I turn and make my way over to the service counter. The woman sitting behind the desk has a headset on as she fields calls.
“Good afternoon,” she says, smiling. “How may I help you?”
“Hi,” I start to say, and my heart beats so fast I swear it’s going to come out of my chest. “I was wondering if I could have an appointment with Zara Stone.”
The woman looks at me. “I don’t know if she is taking any other clients today,” she says and then looks down. “I know she is with someone now.”
“If you can ask her, I would really appreciate it, and I will pay double if that helps.” I smile at her, and she just nods.
“Let me see if I can reach her,” she says.
“Sure thing,” I say and walk over to the two chairs on my right. I sit down and take out my phone, and my head is down when I hear the sound of heels clicking.
My head comes up the second she walks into the room, and it’s a good thing I’m sitting down because I think I would fall. She doesn’t see me there, so it gives me time to get myself under control. Her strawberry blond hair hangs loose to her waist, and she is wearing loose blue pants that stop hallway down her calf. Her white long-sleeve sweater just makes her elegant and classy. The sleeves cut open at her wrist, and those fucking sky-high heels make her even hotter.
“Hey, Zara,” she says, smiling at her. “This is the gentleman who asked for you,” the receptionist says and points at me. Zara finally notices that I’m in the room, and if I thought she was breathtaking walking in, it’s nothing compared to when she faces me. I see that her eyes are almost emerald and her lips a perfect shade of pink. Her eyes land on me, and surprise fills her face.
“Evan,” she whispers, and my cock springs up for a salute. “What are you doing here?”
I get up, smiling now. “I need a suit. Figured I could kill two birds with one stone,” I say as I walk up to her, and I’m not sure if I should go in for a hug or a kiss on the cheek or what, so I just stand in front of her. I breathe in her scent, and if my cock wasn’t being strangled enough, it definitely is now.
“A suit?” she says, laughing. I see that her sweater goes off one shoulder, and I have this sudden urge to cover her with my jacket. I also have the sudden need to lean in and kiss her bare shoulder. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. I wonder if she would get goose bumps. I wonder if she would lean into me. “Um, hello,” she says. My eyes fly to hers, and I know I’m so not ready for her.
“Every year, we have our casino night,” I start telling her, “and well, I need a suit.”
She folds her arms over her chest, pushing up her perfect tits. Tits that would fit perfectly in my palm. “Interesting.”
“Nothing interesting about it,” I say with a chuckle as I push my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “Can you help me out?”
She shakes her head, and her smile lights up her whole face. “Fine,” she says and turns to the girl. “Can you check me out please? I’ll be leaving after this appointment.”
“Sure thing, Zara. I also have five emails and twenty-five voicemails for you. I will forward them to you.” She nods at her and then turns to me.
“Okay, Mr. Richards, let’s get this appointment going.” She holds out her hand to lead the way, and we walk side by side. “So tell me about your style. What’s your favorite color?”
As we walk toward the suits, I see how everyone turns to watch her. Not me, just her, yet she doesn’t see any of this. “Black.”
“How many black suits do you have?” she asks, and I look at her.
“I have no idea,” I answer her because I don’t. I don’t even need a suit, but I wanted to surprise her.
“What about blue?” she says, grabbing a blue suit and picking it up. “It’s Hugo Boss.”
I nod. “Are you opposed to prints?” she asks me, and I can see she is playing with me now. “Like a black with a gold tailoring?” she asks, picking up a suit that is too avant-garde for me.
I glare at her. “I like the blue one and that one,” I say, pointing at a light gray suit.
“That’s Gucci,” she says, walking over to it. Then she turns to me. “Follow me,” she says and brings me in the back to a private fitting room. There are mirrors on three walls with a solid door to the right. She walks to the door on the right and hangs the suits up. “Try this on, and I will get you a dress shirt. I think you’re a sixteen, right?”
“Um, I have no idea,” I tell her and then turn to see her with her hand on the door handle. “I don’t usually go into stores.”
“Well, aren’t I special?” she says and then looks at the suits. “Get the pants on, and I’ll be back in a minute with shirts. I’m assuming slim fit, right, to show off the guns and stuff?” She laughs and closes the door behind her. I kick off my shoes and take off my pants, grabbing the dress pants off the hanger and slipping them on. I pull off my shirt when I hear a knock on the door. I open the door and see her there with two shirts in her hand; one is light blue, and the other is a light pink. I smile when her eyes take in my chest, and now it’s my turn. “Um, here, try the pink one with the gray, and this with the blue pants.” She hands them to me and then turns to walk away, and I watch her hips swaying. I would love to have her bent over with the shoes still on. She looks over her shoulder and catches me staring. “You are paying me by the hour, so chop-chop.”
I close the door and put the shirt on. When I walk out of the room, she is leaning against the wall with her phone in her hand. “Did you request to follow me on Instagram?”
“Yeah, last night,” I say, getting on the platform and watching her in the mirror.
“I can’t accept it,” she says, and I turn around now to look at her face or more like down at her.
“Why the fuck not?” I ask her.
“It’s my personal Instagram, and you’re a client, so it crosses a certain line,” she tells me, putting her phone back in her pocket.
“Fine, you’re fired. Get me someone else,�
�� I tell her, and she throws her head back and lets out a loud laugh, causing something in me to shift into place.
“You’re a funny guy,” she says when she finally stops laughing. “Now let me see the suit.”
“I’ll show you whatever you want to see,” I tell her while I look at her in the mirror. Her eyes fly up to mine, and her cheeks get a touch pink. I am so fucked.
Chapter Seven
Zara
“I’ll show you whatever you want to see,” he says to me. It’s almost like he’s challenging me, and I swear my stomach flutters.
When I got a call from Bernadette telling me someone requested to see me, I had just wrapped up a fitting with a new client. I almost didn’t take it, and when I walked into the room and my eyes landed on his, I was shocked. I knew what he looked like from the hours I spent on Pinterest searching him, but I will deny that to my last dying breath.
Seeing him in person, though, made this whole thing more real. I will also say he was so much hotter than in his pictures. And I was totally fucked. I needed to get away from him ASAP. So I put him in a room and took off, but then he opened the door, and he was shirtless, and that feeling came back. Except now, my mouth was dry, my palms clammy, and my stomach was doing this butterfly thing.
“Calm down there, big boy,” I tell him, going up to him and smoothing the back of the jacket. I swear it takes everything in me not to let my hand linger. “The fit is good,” I tell him, walking in front of him and seeing I reach his nose. It took everything in me not to step a touch closer to feel his heat. “I mean, we have to get it fixed a bit since your arms are a bit bigger than this size.”
I look up, and his eyes are looking down at me, and he puts his hands on my hips. If it were anyone else, I would step out of his hold. If I were smart, I would step out of his grasp, but I am not that smart. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks softly, and I just shake my head.
“I had back-to-back appointments,” I tell him and step back when I hear steps approaching.
“Oh, there you are,” Roman says, walking into the dressing room. Roman and I work side by side. He works full time and has an extensive client list. “I was wondering if you would leave without saying goodbye,” he says, coming closer. He’s six foot two and lean with a megawatt smile. He used to work at Abercrombie before starting here.
I laugh at him. “Nope still here. I had a last-minute addition.” He turns to look at Evan now.
“Oh, sorry. For some reason, I thought it was someone from your brother’s team,” he says. He isn’t a sports guy, so he has no idea what sport he plays, let alone what the team name is.
“Nope, he’s a new client,” I say, holding my hands in front of myself. “But he does play hockey. Roman, this is Evan Richards. He plays for Dallas.” Evan looks about to burst out of his suit. “Evan, this is Roman. We work together.”
Evan reaches out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Roman,” he says, and I think I see Roman flinch before Evan finally lets go of his hand.
“I was wondering if you wanted to catch up after work?” he asks me, and I’m about to tell him no when Evan speaks.
“She’s busy,” he says with a tight voice. I look at him, and the smile on Roman’s face goes away.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea,” he says, holding up his hand. “I’ll see you next week,” he says, nodding to me and walking away.
“What in the world was that?” I ask him, pointing my finger at Roman walking away.
“That was me getting you out of a date you didn’t want to go on,” he informs me, then looks at himself in the mirror, buttoning the jacket. “I like the fit of this suit.”
“Don’t you change the subject,” I tell him. “What if I wanted to go on a date with him?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Then you should have tweeted him instead of me,” he says. “Should I try on the next one?” he says, and I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been on the receiving end of this. I’ve seen it with Matthew and Max and my father, but I’ve never had anyone act like that for me. “I think I’m just going to take it,” he says, ignoring the fact he just laid claim to me. “Can I have this shipped to me, or do I have to take it right now?”
“I can have it shipped to you,” I say, “but that was not okay.”
“What wasn’t okay, Zara?” he asks. He steps closer to me, and I’m suddenly at a loss for words, again.
“You coming in here and just throwing down for me,” I tell him.
“What do you feel like? Italian?” he says, walking back to the room and shrugging off his jacket. “We can have whatever you feel like.”
“I feel like kicking you right now,” I tell him, and he looks up and smirks. It just makes me want to kick him even more. I mean, kick him and then kiss it better.
“Okay, I’ll surprise you,” he says and shuts the door before I say anything.
When I walked into work this morning, I had no idea I would be walking out with Evan by my side, let alone with his hand resting firmly on my lower back while he ushers me to where his car is parked. “Do you want to go home and change?” he asks me once we get to the car. I walk to the passenger door, and I’m about to reach for the door when his hand comes out of nowhere and opens the door for me. “Whatever you want.” He stands there with the door open, and I get into the car and lean out to grab the door to close it, but he’s standing in front of it. “So what do you think?”
“Um,” I say, my brain literally on overdrive right now.
“Do you live alone?” he asks me, and I nod. “We can always pick up some food and eat it at your house.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking that might be better than going out to a restaurant and risking someone taking a picture of us. “It might be better, so no one gets a picture.”
“I don’t care about that. I care that you were working all day, and you might be tired,” he says, turning and shutting the door. I watch him walk around the car, putting on his glasses, and it takes everything in me not to call Zoe or text her or something.
He gets into the car. “Are you going to give me the address, or do you want to guide me there?” Starting the car, he looks over at me. He takes his phone out and enters the address I give him. I know my father would not be okay about this, but either way, he would know where I lived. I watch the road while he drives to my house and finds a parking spot right in front. He shuts off the car and then looks at me. “Don’t get out,” he says, getting out of the car and walking around to my side. He opens my door and holds out a hand for me. I look around, and he laughs. “Come on, it’s getting chilly outside, and your jacket is thin,” he says. I take his hand to step out of the car and he doesn’t let my hand go while he shuts the door. My hand is almost lost in his, our palms together, and when I walk toward the house, he intertwines his fingers with mine. I have to release his hand to get my keys out of my purse, and I miss it the minute I do.
After opening the door, I turn one the light in the entrance. I put my keys and my purse on the mirrored table with fresh white roses in the middle. I turn to look at him come into my house, and he shuts the door behind him, sliding the deadbolt. When I slip off the Louboutins that I’ve been wearing all day, I think tomorrow will be a flip-flop kind of day. “Come in,” I say, walking to the two big doors that lead us into the house. We come face to face with a white staircase with a dark chestnut brown railing against the wall. The flooring is a glossy green almost black marble flooring. “Let me take your jacket,” I tell him, and he takes off his glasses and places them with his keys by my stuff. He shrugs his jacket off, and I see that his shirt is tight on him, but I’m still picturing him shirtless in my head. He hands me his jacket, and I take it, walking to the living room and placing it over the back of the couch. “Do you want something to drink?” I ask him.
“Water would be great,” he says. I nod, turning to get him water, and he follows me. I turn left and head down a narrow hallway. Various frames line the wall from top to bot
tom with personal pictures of the places I’ve traveled. When I look over my shoulder, he’s looking at the pictures, but I’m already at the end of the hallway that opens to a huge kitchen. The middle counter is white and gray marble. A white vase with pink flowers brings out the light in the house, so I always keep them fresh. Skylights let in more light. The range against the wall is black. White cabinets line two walls while my huge ass fridge is against the wall on the other side. This was all here when I moved in. “Do you want sparkling or still?” I ask him, and he just laughs.
“Still is good,” he says. I don’t know why I’m nervous having him in my space. I open the fridge to grab the water bottle and hand it to him. He walks to me and stands in front of me. He twists open the bottle and takes a long sip, resting his hip against the counter. “Do you cook?” he asks me, looking at the range, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’m not cooking for you,” I tell him. “I mean, I can cook, but I’m not cooking for you.” I tilt my head to the side. “Do you have tools in your garage?”
“Yeah,” he says, and he looks confused, setting his water on the counter.
“Do you build houses?” I cross my ankles, and he looks down at my feet. I’m suddenly happy I got that pedicure yesterday. He puts his head back and laughs. His laughter pulls his shirt tighter across his chest. “Touché.”
“Yeah, exactly,” I tell him. “Now, what do you want to eat?”
“I’m good with anything,” he tells me. “I’m pretty hungry.”
“So pizza?” I say. “Can you have pizza?” When he nods, I walk out of the room and grab my phone. When I turn around, I shriek ’cause he’s right behind me. The hallway’s dark with only the light from the front door and kitchen. “You scared me.”
He puts his hands on my hips and brings me closer to him, my hand still holding my phone. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers, and I feel his hot breath on me. My heart speeds up, and my stomach feels all tingly. “I just didn’t want to leave you alone.” He takes one hand off my hips and brings it up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You have to be the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my whole life.” His voice is soft, and I swear I’m inching closer to him. All my words are stuck in my throat, and nothing seems to be coming out. “It’s a dangerous place.”
This Is Crazy Page 5
