Well-Tailored (Thorne and Dash 4)

“What? You think it’s me?”

No sense denying it. Darius seemed like he could take plain-speaking as well as give it. “Possibly.”

“I’m a right bastard, but I’m fair if you do what I ask.”

Marc wasn’t going to find another job doing anything related to fashion. “What hours do you need me?”

“Nine to six with an hour for lunch.”

Marc thought for a few moments. He could do this. He needed to do it. “I’ll take it.”

Darius sniffed. “Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”

“Aren’t I? You said you couldn’t get a decent assistant, and I do have experience.”

“Dear God, how much time do you spend around Thorne? You sound as cocksure as he does.”

Enough, apparently. “You said it yourself a few minutes ago.”

“Are you going to be this mouthy when you come to work?”

He’d like to show Darius just what he could do with his mouth, but it seemed that was off the table. “Possibly.”

“You haven’t signed a contract yet, you know.”

Why was Marc being so flippant? He wanted this job. He also wanted Darius. It would probably be healthiest for him to walk away from both of them.

“I’ll do what I’m asked, and I’ll do it to the best of my ability.”

“But you’ll never be reticent.”

“Damn right,” Marc said.

“Good. You’re hired.”

Darius offered his hand for them to shake. The same hand that, moments ago, had dug into his hip, holding him still to be fucked. This was definitely the strangest job interview he’d ever had.

“I’m assuming you can start right away.”

Marc nodded. “Tomorrow at nine, then?”

“Yes, I have a client coming in for a fitting at ten thirty. He’s a pretentious wanker who’d like me to take it up the arse for him, which I have no intention of doing.”

“Because you don’t fuck clients or employees?”

He gave a slow smile. “I fuck clients on occasion, but they don’t fuck me.”

Were they speaking literally here? Marc wasn’t sure, and he didn’t quite have the nerve to ask.

“Ignore the arsehole, and do what I say.”

“You like giving orders, don’t you?”

“I do. But I also know when that would be fruitless.”

Did he mean with Marc? He’d known several men like Darius—confident, command givers. He could make them all beg. He was certain he could make Darius beg too. But that wasn’t why he was here. Instead, he’d make Darius see he was a fast learner.

“I’ll be here, and I’ll be perfectly charming without being deferential. My previous job taught me a lot about how to handle men who think they can buy anything.”

Darius raised a brow. “I bet it did.”

Marc pulled his shirt on and rolled the sleeves up rather than buttoning the cuffs. Then he pushed his feet into his shoes and made sure his phone was still in his pocket. How late was it? What was the chance he’d have a parking ticket? What chance was there he could keep this from Riley? His friend would give him no end of shit for fucking Darius before he even started work.

What had he been thinking, anyway? That Darius was so fucking hot, Marc couldn’t possibly say no. That he’d come here knowing what would happen even if he didn’t admit it.

“I’ll see you in the morning. How would you prefer I dressed?”

Darius looked at him in a way that said he was considering answering “in nothing at all.” So he’d gotten Marc out of his system, huh?

“Like you are now. No T-shirts, no jeans. Dress like you know fashion.”

“Luckily, I do, so that won’t be a problem.”

Darius snorted, but Marc could tell he was pleased.

“Have a good evening,” Marc said. Then he left Darius there, naked, gorgeous, pretending he didn’t want Marc anymore.

It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. We’re not going to fuck again.

He thought about the way Darius had watched him as he left.

Or are we?

CHAPTER SIX

Darius tried to focus on the fabric he was pinning. It was a simple hem. He could’ve asked Marc to do it, and now he wished he had, because having Marc standing there observing as he bent to tuck the excess fabric under was far more distracting than it should be. When he turned around to grab another pin from the box Marc was holding, he confirmed that Marc was watching his damn arse. He’d felt the man’s gaze, and his cock was reacting to it. Fuck. He usually had far better restraint.

The situation wasn’t made any better by the fact that the young man trying on the tuxedo was thirteen and wanted to be anywhere but in a tailor shop getting fitted for a wedding he didn’t want to attend. Who the fuck invited thirteen-year-olds to black-tie weddings, anyway?

Since very few customers—even those swimming in money—wanted to buy a tux for kids or teens who were still growing, Darius kept a few in a variety of sizes that he rented to his clients for astronomical prices. He raised and lowered the hem and made tucks or expansions as needed.