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“No store is open, Perry,” he says, handing me a sleek to-go cup made of darkly brushed metal-finish. The coffee smells like heaven.
I take a sip. It tastes better than heaven. “This one is. I’ve a car waiting.”
We drive across town to East Fortieth, just off Fifth Ave, and Ryder’s dark head is bent over his phone as he sends out whatever he’s sending on his phone. It looks like texts and emails, probably to do with work.
He doesn’t say a word as I lead him out on the already busy street—people have places to go and deals to wield. The door is non-descript, just a sign on it that says Harold Daley’s Custom. I buzz and it opens and we step into another era.
Custom-made suits, ones where every detail is considered, is an art, and this cool, quiet store with the dark wooden floorboards and sparse fittings is from another world.
Harold Daley is the best, and he dresses CEOs, presidents, celebrities, and the rich.
“Harry!” Ryder grins at the graying man in the sharp suit, who slaps him on the shoulder like an old friend. “It’s been a while.”
“A month.” Harold looks from Ryder to me and back again. “Topping up? I’ve some styles and fabrics you’ll love—”
“Actually,” I say, “Ryder’s here for a makeover…”
I look at him as we step out of the store. Ryder has a new wardrobe coming, and fast. One of the beautiful things with Harold is he can work as slow or quickly as a client can pay, and as Ryder’s one of his best customers and can pay, we’ll have his new wardrobe by Monday morning.
“Well?”
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Harold was out of specialty cages and leashes—”
“Leashes? I didn’t know you were kinky. Tell me more.”
“—so the suits had to do. I figured no one’s going to believe you showing about town in a regular suit, even if it’s made to order. But something with a touch of Ryder flair without the…erm flair works. Conservative but you.”
He smiles. “I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered.”
“Settle for a bit of both,” I say.
My phone buzzes and I dig it out of my pocket and click on the alert I’ve set up for anything Ryder related. All goodwill disintegrates as I read.
“I’d ask but your face is telling me it’s not good.”
“Is anything to do with you good?”
“I haven’t done anything. I haven’t had time.”
I hand him my phone. “You have at some point. Another scandal?”
“Elliot—”
“No.” I turn and glare. The article is every single reason why it’s a bad idea I’m working for a guy I’ll crush on for his looks. Hell, I can already feel the lust in my blood. I’m not sure who I’m disgusted with more. Me for being so horribly shallow, or him for being, well…him. “This one says you are her secret lover. Emphasis on are. Every single thing there is believable. You going to tell me I’m wrong?”
Chapter Five
Ryder
“Come on. I’ve never met her in my life.”
I shouldn’t be pissed off, but I am. Secret lover? Jesus. And Elliot actually believes this shit? Problem is I don’t know how to explain my way out of this and not make myself sound like a giant douche.
Say I wouldn’t sleep with the woman in the photo? I look like a douche. Explain that having a secret lover means a relationship? Douche.
So I don’t explain a thing. Elliot can believe me or not. I have no reason to lie, so I say that. “This is just someone riding on the coattails of the other scandal. There’s no reason to lie to you. I hired you to fix things for me. I’m not into hiding anything.”
