Chapter 2

I heard the chime of the door and a moment later felt Adam’s arm slip around me.

“Everything okay, Charlie?” He was wearing an unfamiliar scent, subtle and citrussy, a hint of lemon but with a spicy undertone. I made a mental note to check out the new stock.

“Yeah, fine. Just one of those mornings.” I almost told him about the body. Almost.

“I’ll let you take my next textile client.”

“No, that’s alright.” But then I reconsidered. “Unless Dreamboat comes in. I’ll take him.”

Adam rolled his eyes, and I laughed. “Just promise me you won’t do something stupid?”

As if I didn’t know. I’d only secured a spot as a Ganymede counter “boy” after the last guy was fired for selling a client more than what was offered in the cases and on the racks. Our job was to create fantasy, not fulfill them. Pretty young men in makeup and the finest clothing, all just out of reach. But maybe if you bought the right item, the perfect fragrance, the newest accessory, that thing that clung to your chest just so.

Adam had started after me, but I was pretty sure he made more than I did. He was younger and taller, with a natural gaunt look and blue eyes. I was twenty-six with a youthful face, but I knew as soon as I truly started looking my age, I’d be out on the street and the next young thing would take my place.

At half past ten, the crowd started to pick up. The bell chimed the arrival and departure of well-dressed men in suits and cashmere, and the occasional curious kid in jeans. All of them were a blur of quickly forgotten faces until my dream man walked in just after the noonday rush.

True to his word, Adam slipped away with some vague excuse for disappearing into the back and I stepped around the counter and started straightening the table displays.

Since the first time he’d walked into our little shop, the man had been front-and-center of all my fantasies. He was tall, with fair skin and dark hair, and impossibly beautiful eyes. On occasion I’d heard him making friendly small talk with Adam as his purchases were rung up, but other than the few times I’d found him watching me, he wouldn’t so much as make eye contact, let alone speak more than a quick goodbye when etiquette left him no other option.

There was something in that quiet look when I’d catch his eyes on me that shook the facade of confidence I normally wore when speaking to a client. My genuine interest in the man made me feel self-conscious.

“Anything I can help you with?” I asked when I’d maneuvered myself close to where he stood browsing a standing rack of new arrivals.

He looked up and said nothing for a long beat, and I frantically began to calculate an escape that would rescue us both. I was saved from pulling a fire alarm when he finally answered. “I have this...thing. I need something to wear.”

I studied what he had on. Black, head to toe, but for the brushed silver of the belt buckle and a blue cord around his neck that disappeared underneath his sweater. Then I studied the clothes he’d been looking through. All of it much more chic gallery openingor sexy cocktail partythan funeral mass. “Business or casual?”

“Casual. But not too casual. Quality.” He ran a finger along the shoulder of a fuzzy sweater. “I need to look presentable.”

“Presentable or available?” I asked without thinking.

“Presentable will do.” He dropped his hand from the sweater. “Unless you have a way to get me out of it.”

Those last words were delivered in a quiet murmur, and I wasn’t sure if they were meant for my ears. While I wasn’t part of any of the Houses, too much a product of intermingling and babies born on the wrong side of the marriage bed, my hearing and eyesight were sharp enough that I likely had a wolf great-great-great somewhere in my bloodline. “Oh, one of thosethings.”

He laughed quietly at that, and I smiled, starting to feel a little more myself.

“What are your thoughts about something soft?” I held up my arm. “Touch my sleeve.”

He hesitated, but did as I asked, running the knuckles of one hand down the fabric and watching me with those eyes. Brown eyes so golden, they may have been amber. “Nice.”

“Both my sweater and pants are vegan.” I touched the smooth faux leather on my thighs, happy when his eyes followed the movement. “And while I don’t have this exact thing, I have a few items that are similar. Casual but sophisticated.”

I turned, heading to the far wall, relieved when he followed. “And I’m thinking maybe not my maroon? Something even darker. So you can disappear into the shadows if you need to.”

“Yes.” I looked over my shoulder at his agreement and he smiled. “That would be perfect.”

I smiled back. “It’ll be our little secret.”

I gathered up several styles, pulling complete looks together, and set it all up in the largest of our fitting rooms. As much as I would have liked to offer to help—assist him into the clothing or just stay there to give an opinion on what looked best—I knew he wouldn’t want that.