Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

I flashed a quick smile, then took the vest that Angela handed up to me. “I still don’t understand why you’d design a men’s line around me.” Once the vest was on, I started on the tie Bristol had picked out. “I’m not sure most three-piece suit guys are tatted up like this.” I motioned to the ink that crept up my neck.

“I’m not designing three-piece suits for most guys,” Bristol countered, folding her arms across her chest and walking forward on a pair of stilettos that left her towering over two of her male assistants in the background.

Bristol was tall, probably five-nine or so, but even in those five-inch heels, I had a few inches on her. Most of the taller women I knew stuck to flats like their height was something to be diminished, but Bristol owned those fucking legs like she did the rest of her body—with complete confidence.

Had to admit—it was a fucking turn on.

“I want men just like you,” she said, walking around the podium and studying me like I was a prize stallion up for sale. “Tall. Built. Powerful. Rough around the edges.” She stopped in front of me, drawing her gaze up to meet mine slowly. “Modern business wear for a modern man.”

“Careful, or you’ll make me blush.” I stuck my hands in the pockets and felt the fabric strain to stretch across my shoulders.

She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly how you look, Cormac. I’m not the first company to seek you out for your face.”

“That body doesn’t hurt, either,” Angela noted, scribbling something on her clipboard.

I laughed.

Bristol sucked in a breath, then swallowed, her features tensing as her attention fell to my shoulders.

“I work out for a living,” I told the smiling redhead. “But thank you for noticing.” My body was a machine, pure and simple. It ingested fuel to build muscle and expend energy. Its function on the ice was always more important than its appearance in the mirror, but I hadn’t missed the appreciation in Bristol’s eyes.

“You’ve put on weight,” Bristol grumbled.

“Ten pounds.” I cocked my head to the side. “Are you complaining?” It was all muscle in my upper chest and arms.

“Take it off,” Bristol ordered, waving her hand at me. “It’s too small now. Shit. We’ll have to let it out. Did we bring anything—”

“This one.” Another assistant raced forward with a similar shirt in a darker green.

“Thanks, Lenore.” Bristol offered her assistant a smile, and a strange stab of jealousy hit me straight in the stomach. Why? It wasn’t like I wanted her smiling at me. This was the woman who had wrecked my life and snatched my team out from under me.

I handed one shirt to Angela, then took the next from Bristol. Our fingers brushed, and fuck if I didn’t feel the touch jolt through my veins like a shock.

“Thanks,” I muttered, slipping it on and getting it buttoned.

Bristol sighed and rubbed her temples. “Now that one is too big. Okay. Angela, grab pins and the measuring tape. We need to fit this one and then get some accurate measurements for the next fitting. Does your chest always fluctuate like this during the season?” she asked, keeping her eyes locked on mine.

“Do you always get the wrong measurements before asking your spokesman to actually be your spokesman?” I countered, flashing a smile.

“I was being proactive!”

“You were assuming I’d say yes.” Last button was in.

“Not sure if you’ve noticed where we are, but you did say yes.” She smirked.

My stomach clenched. I wanted to kiss that smirk right off her lips. Hell, I wanted to grab ahold of her ass, press her into the wall and feel those stilettos in my lower back while I fucked her mouth with my tongue so she’d remember she wasn’t the only one with a little power here.

I jerked my gaze from hers as Angela stepped up onto the wide square of the podium. How the hell was I supposed to work with Bristol for six months if I was thinking about sucking on her tongue during the first fitting?

“Since when do CEOs attend fittings, anyway?” I asked Bristol as Angela finished up my measurements and tucked the fabric at my sides, preparing to pin.

“Since now,” Bristol said, nibbling on her lower lip. “The rest of Lusso is running like clockwork—it’s not like I fired the CFO when I bought it, but this line? It’s mine. I designed every piece. I wasn’t kidding when I said that everything I have is riding on it.”

“You staked your entire inheritance on me.” I shook my head. “Bold move, Duchess.”

I could have sworn I heard her growl.

Angela’s hands swept up over my shoulders, but she fell back. “I’ll get a step stool!” She bounced down from the podium.

“Dinner is here!” one of the guys called from the foyer of the penthouse.