Chapter 2 - THE MEASUREMENTNoah’s gaze narrowed, his expression unreadable. "And is some other man currently trying to become your boyfriend?" he asked, stepping closer.
The air in the room grew heavy and suffocating.
I swallowed hard, keeping my voice steady. "I charge by the suit, Mr. Moretti, not by the conversation."
That reply drew the faintest, dangerous hint of a smile in his reflection. Noah was a man accustomed to compliance, not backtalk. Paulie watched me from the corner like a loyal hound witnessing someone step onto terrifyingly thin ice. But Noah didn't become angry; he became intrigued, which felt infinitely more dangerous.
When I stepped forward with my fabric tape to measure his waist, my fingers brushed briefly against the cold steel of the concealed pistol tucked beneath his tailored jacket.
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I pretended not to notice. Just as I pretended not to notice the sudden heat radiating from his body or the way his heartbeat quickened slightly every time I leaned in close to adjust the tape.
He ordered four expensive suits, dropped a stack of cash onto the cutting counter that was triple our standard rate, and insisted the first charcoal suit be finished in four days. Before walking out the door, he leaned in close enough for only me to hear a quiet warning: Any man trying to become my boyfriend should carefully reconsider.
