“Thanks. If you find out anything else, call me.”
“Of course.”
“How much is this going to cost me?” Darius asked. When he’d first hired Gary, he’d bartered some of the fee by making him a few suits.
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
That was unexpected. “And if I decide to sell?”
“Then I’ll charge your ass good. But you’ll easily afford it.”
“Fuck off.”
Gary was laughing as he hung up.
Darius didn’t know whether to laugh or scream or pass right the fuck out.
If he sold the shop, he could move back to England or go to New York or wherever he wanted. It wasn’t like he’d be set for life, not even close, but he could sure as fuck take some time to figure out what to do next. He could always open a shop somewhere else, but Tailoring by Darius was his. When Clarice hired him, they only did repairs and alterations. Once he’d taken over, he’d changed the name and the focus and built a reputation. He’d even begun to attract clients from other cities, who were willing to travel to see him or who flew to Atlanta when they wanted to update their wardrobes.
He’d been craving a new direction. Did that mean he should sell? He might never find anything else to do that satisfied him this much.
He glanced at the clock. Great. He was going to be late, and Marc would never let him live that down.
He raced out of his building, hoping luck would have planted a taxi right there. Of course not, and calling one or an Uber would take longer than walking. Motherfuckers.
He walked as fast as he could without actually running. When he arrived at the shop, Marc was sitting on the landing, staring at his phone.
He smiled at something—a text? A snap? His high score on whatever game children were playing these days? Finally he looked up, widening his eyes in fake surprise. “You did decide to come to work today. I thought I must’ve missed you saying we had the day off.”
“You’re hilarious.” Darius unlocked the door, anxious to get in and bury himself in work.
“And you’re late.” Marc maneuvered past him into the shop.
Darius huffed. “I was having a phone meeting.”
“A phone meeting?”
“Yes.” Not that he needed to explain himself.
“You need to give me a key.”
“A key?”
“Yes, one of those things.” He indicated the one in Darius’s hand.
“Why?”
“So I don’t have to sit outside the next time you’re late.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Steal fabric samples? Come in late at night and hide your coffee?”
“You wouldn’t!” The only think keeping Darius from committing murder right then was the fact that he had a cup of coffee in his hand and Marc was starting up the pot to make him more.
“Of course not. Do you think I’d want to work with you when you aren’t properly caffeinated? Are you insane?”
“I may well be,” Darius muttered. “Fine, I’ll make you a bloody key.”
“Good. More coffee is coming. You must not have had enough during your phone meeting.” He made air quotes around the last words.
Darius scowled at him. “I was talking to my lawyer.”
Marc frowned, all trace of mockery gone. “Is something wrong?”
“No, he was simply catching me up on paperwork about…umm…the lease.” He had no intention of telling Marc that he might sell the place and put him out of a job.
Marc didn’t look convinced.
“There’s nothing to worry about, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll go prep samples for the clients that are coming in.”
“Yes. Get on with it.”
Marc flipped him off as he headed toward the back. Sassy bitch.
Once he had more coffee, Darius headed into the workroom. “I changed my mind. I don’t want the blue pinstripe for—”
“I know. I’ve already changed it.”
How the fuck did he know? Darius had just decided on the way to work. “You what?”
“I can think for myself on occasion. You might even want to listen to my suggestion for a replacement.”
Darius gulped down more coffee. “Fine. Show me.”
Marc grabbed the exact fabric Darius had intended to use. Did he dare admit that? Marc already had him by the balls for being late. Could he give him more ammunition for mocking? Hell fucking no.
“That’s…a reasonable choice.”
“So which one were you going to choose?”
The bastard knew. How did he do it? “Not that one.”
“Right.”
“Goddammit, what is with you this morning?”
“Nothing, I’m wide awake and well rested.”
“Motherfucker.”
The door chimed. Their first client. No telling how much of that tantrum he’d heard while coming up the stairs. But why should Darius care? None of his clients hired him for his even temper or sweet disposition. They hired him because he knew how to make them look good.
“Good morning, Mr. Wallace.”
“Darius, how are you?”
“In need of coffee. How about you?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll take a cup.”
Darius started to tell Marc to get it, but Marc leveled him with a glare so potent he could feel it. “I’ll get you one.”