Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“That was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Peyton said quietly.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I drawled. “I’m a sweet man.”
Cathryn snorted behind me.
I shot her a narrowed-eyed look.
Mere minutes later, I was no longer Julia’s favorite. She wanted back to Cathryn as soon as we’d boarded, so the ladies took their seats two rows behind Peyton and me, and Mathis had his seat on the other side of the aisle. He liked his privacy.
“I’ll get my shit together soon,” Peyton promised with an apology in his voice. “First time—I’m just nervous.”
“It’s quite all right,” I assured him. “Would you like a distraction?”
He nodded jerkily.
I shrugged out of my suit jacket, and a flight attendant whooshed by to grab it. “In a few hours, you’ll be modeling shirts for me.”
Peyton whipped his head my way and stared blankly.
I smiled. “I understand, it’s your first time. I’ll be gentle. At first.”
And there was the blush. It crept into place slowly, and he diverted his stare to the seat in front of him. I watched his Adam’s apple shift with his swallow. Christ, he was dangerous. He didn’t seem to know it either.
“I don’t get you.” He spoke under his breath. “Either you have the most wicked sense of humor, or you’re dead serious.”
I chuckled.
“I’ve never had a boss like you, that’s for sure,” he finished.
That made me hum. “I’ve never had an assistant like you either.”
Approximately four hours later, I was about to get what I craved.
With Cathryn and Julia catching some rest at the hotel, Peyton and I had gone straight from the airport to Antonino’s in Bel Air.
It was like traveling back in time to enter his shop. He was an old man, but he’d probably outlive his four sons, all of whom worked with him. He smoked, he drank, he denied his arthritis, and he’d shoot anyone who talked shit about Frank Sinatra. A series of pictures of the singer hung on the wall above the wide doorway leading to the private dressing rooms.
In all the recent years I’d come here when I was in town, he managed to squeeze in a spiel about how America was no longer free because he couldn’t smoke in his own store. But to this day, the faint smell of cigars lingered in the cherry paneling on the walls.
“’Course I remember you, Ed,” Antonino scoffed when I extended my hand. “Don’t be stupid.”
I smiled. “Good to see you again. I brought my assistant today. He’s in need of a new wardrobe.” I turned a bit and peered into the adjoining store next door where they sold everything a businessman could need. “I’m thinking one bespoke three-piece, two tailored regular suits, and a selection of shirts. He’s got black covered.”
“All right,” the man grunted and gave Peyton a once-over. “Well, let’s head to the back, boy.” Then he hollered toward the clothing store section. “Mikey! Come give this kid a gander. I want ten shirts to go with the new indigo we got in last week, and…” He tilted his head from side to side, studying Peyton. “Let’s go with dark and medium gray. Charcoal and the iron one, Mikey!”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, Pop!” Mikey hollered back.
“Bene. Let’s go.”
We followed Antonino to the back where he had his dressing room, and I breathed in the scents of cigar, cherry wood, and leather. Antonino’s son joined us for a brief moment to guesstimate Peyton’s size before disappearing again.
I was only here to enjoy the show, so I took a seat in one of the two big leather chairs.
Antonino snapped his fingers and pointed to the round podium in the center of the floor, silently telling Peyton to get up there. “How long’re you in town this time, Ed?”
“Just a week, but we’ll be back in the beginning of June,” I replied. “Do you think you can squeeze in his second fitting before we leave?”
“Eh. Sure. Should work.” He lowered his glasses from the top of his head and grabbed his measuring tape. “Want me to keep his patterns on file?”
“Please do.” If I got my way, we’d be back here.
Noticing that Peyton was trying to get my attention, I met his gaze, and he mouthed “You’re crazy” to me. Then he rubbed his fingers together, indicating that it was going to be a costly visit.
I merely flashed him a smirk.
It might come as a surprise to him later to learn that I didn’t have any expensive hobbies or much to spend money on. My lifestyle was far from cheap, naturally, but I didn’t indulge out of boredom. I wasn’t nuts about gadgets. I didn’t have a yacht or a garage full of cars. I had one. One car. And a motorcycle I hadn’t ridden since Julia was born.
I didn’t golf, I wasn’t part of some ridiculous country club, I didn’t know how to sail, I couldn’t play any instruments, so there was no fancy grand piano at home…