Well-Tailored (Thorne and Dash 4)

Marc hated the hurt that flashed in Thorne’s eyes before he managed to cover it. “That’s…interesting.”

“He’s stubborn as hell, Thorne, you know that. I probably shouldn’t have told you, but I don’t want to see him give up a chance to make his dream come true.”

Thorne studied Marc for several seconds. “Speaking of turning down opportunities, why haven’t you submitted your application to Darius?”

So Riley’d told Thorne about Marc wanting to work for Darius but not about the building. “It’s not the same.”

Thorne simply glared at him, not bothering to respond.

“Okay, fine. It is, but Darius has probably hired someone by now.”

“I doubt that,” Thorne said.

“Why?”

“He called me to ask about you. He seemed very interested.”

“Really?” Marc hadn’t expected that.

“Yes. So apply for the fucking job.”

“Yes, Mr. Shipton, sir. Right away, sir.”

Thorne gave him a look of disdain. “Fuck off.”

Marc laughed. “I love when you get all foulmouthed in your perfectly fitting tux.”

“Aren’t you tempted to learn Darius’s secrets?”

That’s not all Marc was tempted by. “Yes.”

“Then do what I said. Maybe you can learn to make pants that fit a man like a glove.”

Marc blatantly looked at Thorne’s ass. “I think that requires magic.”

“Hey, some of it’s the client’s natural attributes.”

Marc gave him a gentle push toward the crowd. “Get out there. Oh, and don’t mention the building tonight, please,” Marc said.

Thorne nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good. I’m going to get Riley that drink now.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Marc pulled out of his client and worked to get his breathing under control. The man lay there gasping, eyes wide as he looked at Marc. “You’re incredible. That was just what I needed.”

A hard spanking and a rough fuck with no prep. Marc bet no one at the man’s office would suspect that. He doubted his client’s coworkers even knew the man liked cock.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Whew! Did I ever. Let’s get together again.”

“Call or email Sheila, and she’ll arrange it.”

He never made “dates” with clients himself, even if he liked them and wanted to see them again. There was too much pressure to rearrange his schedule to suit their needs. For the most part, the men who could afford Sheila’s service weren’t used to hearing no.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” Marc said. “It’s time for me to get going.”

“Of course. Thank you for staying overtime.”

“No problem. I’m glad it worked with my schedule.”

The man had called Sheila just before their appointment to ask for extra time. Since Marc was trying to build up his savings, he agreed. Ultimately, he wished he hadn’t, even though the man was truly an ideal client—respectful, easily led, with desires matching up with what Marc enjoyed.

Marc had learned how to screen his clients to suit his needs as well as theirs, and he used to thoroughly enjoy his appointments, at least as much as he would with a random hookup. Lately, he had to force himself not to let his mind wander, and today he hadn’t been sure he was actually going to be able to come. Thank God, he didn’t lose his erection at the crucial moment, but he wondered if that would happen soon. Maybe rather than getting a second job and reducing his hours, he needed to quit entirely, or at least take a long break.

To do that, he had to have a full-time job lined up, a job like the one at Darius’s tailor shop. He’d continued to stall on applying, even after talking to Thorne. Instead, he’d been looking for other jobs, looking and looking and not finding a damn thing he even wanted to inquire about, much less actually do. None of the openings he’d found had anything to do with fashion, nor would they pay close to what Sheila did. If he took the job with Darius, he could take a break from the escort business. He’d lose his regulars, but it wouldn’t be difficult to build up a clientele again later if he needed to. He’d done it after living in California for a few months.

How quickly could he get across town to Darius’s shop? What time did he close? Six? After he dried himself off, he looked at the clothes he’d worn to his appointment. They weren’t too wrinkled, and they were just the right thing to wear to drop off an application: nice gray pants and a button-down that had cost him far too much. He dressed nicely for his appointments, believing an escort should look like someone his clients would fuck even if they weren’t using a service.

After he said good-bye to his client, he hurried across town as fast as Atlanta traffic would allow. It was a few minutes after six when he found a parking place down the block from Darius’s shop. Maybe he could still catch him.

As he raced up the stairs to the second-floor shop, he saw Darius step out and pull the door closed behind him.