by Claire Adams
“You didn’t say ‘hit me up’ in the email, did you?” I asked, grinning.
“No,” he said, chuckling. “But, that was the biggest suggestion: an online store for those who find it difficult to get into our physical location.”
“Those are actually good ideas.”
I couldn’t believe I had said that. I couldn’t believe I was agreeing with my airheaded stepbrother on everything that just flew out of his mouth. Who the hell was this and what did they do with the Christian I knew?
This was the type of thinking and planning that could help this company thrive. He was displaying the kind of work ethic and dedication the company needed to keep progressing into the future.
I noticed Christian’s strong jawline and broad shoulders. Those strong features would serve him well in meetings like this. It would give people the idea that he knew what he was talking about. The slope of his nose and how it stopped just above a perfect set of lips would keep them entranced with what he had to say, and if he could turn on the intelligence like he was right now, he’d be unstoppable.
“We would need to get you another suit,” I said. “You look ridiculous right now.”
“Yeah. It’s the only one I own. I figured I’d have to go shopping sometime this week before the meeting,” he said.
“Do you know how a suit is supposed to fit?” I asked.
“I’m a man, Stella. Of course I know how a suit is supposed to fit,” he said.
“Alright. Then where is the leg cuff of a suit supposed to hit a man on his legs?” I asked.
“At his ankle?” he asked.
“It’s supposed to grace the tongue of his shoe without breaking down to his heel,” I said.
“Who the fuck made that rule?” he asked.
“A gentleman who knew what a good suit looked like on a man. I’ll take you shopping Wednesday.”
“You’re going shopping with me,” he said.
“Yes. Wednesday afternoon. We’ll get to work early in the morning, then take a long lunch. You’ll only need one for now, and once you see how the process works, you can take it from there.”
“Alright. But, I’m not wearing any funky colored suits. No reds, no oranges, and no whites.”
“What the fuck kind of suits have you seen all your life?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, chuckling.
I sat there staring into his eyes while I lost myself in the conversation we just had. My grip tightened around my coffee before I brought it to my lips, and I couldn’t help but watch him as he took a sip of his.
“Holy shit, this coffee is phenomenal,” I said.
“It’s Todd’s latest creation,” he said. “Elderberry and some other shit.”
“Elderberry and some other shit. Sounds tasty,” I said, winking.
“He should open his own place. He’s excellent at what he does.”
“And it seems he wouldn’t be the only person who qualified that statement,” I said.
I watched his eyes light up before a small grin tugged at the sides of his lips. Where the hell did that statement just come from?
“Well, I’ve got some phone calls to make and some numbers to run for projects and such. I’ll get back to you when I have those numbers,” I said as I hopped up off his couch.
“And don’t forget to ask them about the warehouse-to-doctor shipping,” he said.
“I won’t!”
I practically ran to my office before I shut the door behind me. What the hell was happening? My goofy stepbrother wasn’t a dimwitted little boy, but a mature businessman whom I had just told was doing a good job of running the company. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I tried to settle my racing pulse, but the only thing I could see were those beautiful blue eyes.
My eyes flew open before I tossed my coffee cup into the trash. I grabbed my purse and slung it onto the coffee table before I dug for my phone so I could make phone calls.
There was no way I could regard my stepbrother as anything but goofy and boyish. He could not be a man. Nowhere near it.
He could not be the attractive man my mind apparently thought he was. That was ridiculous. He was my stepbrother, and that was a boundary I was not about to breach.
I dialed the number of the first warehouse I needed to call and started asking them questions about the products they were producing. My father had developed a new type of adhesive doctors could use for suturing people who were allergic to the sterilization process used on suture string. But, this kind of glue could also be used deep within the body for things like open heart surgeries and cesarean sections. It had a powerful suction and adhesive component that wasn’t available on the market yet, and hospitals everywhere were clamoring for something like it.
Then, I had to call the warehouse that shipped us all the small things we kept in our store. They supplied us with our gauzes, tapes, small joint braces, canes, and bandages. I spoke with them about reordering a few items that were picking up in demand as well as get some quotes on what they would charge us for diabetic supplies. The warehouse currently helping us obtain those items was going out of business, and I needed to find a very quick replacement without dropping the quality of the products we kept in our store.
Then, I had to call the two warehouses that supplied us with the bulk of our other products. They would be the businesses Christian would probably want to use for this warehouse-to-doctor idea, and I needed to get a sense of how that operated, what we would need to do, what it would cost us, and what all they would be willing to ship. They were American-based warehouses, so they were a bit more expensive, but they were the two most reliable warehouses we worked with.
That, and it resonated with our customers that we used American-made products.
By the time I had all the information I needed, it was almost lunchtime. I sighed, sinking into the couch, and closed my eyes just for a second. I needed to get this information typed up and over to Christian’s office before the end of the day today, but that’s not where my focus currently was.
Even though I had spent almost four hours on the phone with different warehouses, I still couldn’t get my mind off of what it might feel like to run my hands through Christian’s hair.
And I groaned before I stood to my feet and strode out of my office.
I needed to take a fucking walk.
Chapter Thirteen
Christian
“I didn’t even know this place existed,” I said.
“Yeah, well. You probably get all your clothes at the thrift store anyway,” Stella said.
“Ouch. That hurts. Sorry if I like my T-shirts and jeans,” I said.
“Well, it’s time to move into the world of professionalism. You want to run a company? You need to look the part,” she said.
I opened the door for her, and we walked into an upscale store in the middle of downtown San Diego. It was lined wall-to-wall with suits in all different colors and styles, and I was suddenly very glad she was here with me. I had no idea there were so many differently-shaped suit coats and collars, and I found myself lost in an unfamiliar world.
However, Stella was walking down the lines of clothing and feeling the fabrics as if she knew exactly what she was looking at.
“Can I help you?” a well-dressed man with a name badge came up and asked her.
“Yes, my stepbrother over there needs a perfectly tailored suit for a meeting Friday. Is that possible here?” she asked.
“We could have it tailored and ready by tomorrow. Any particular style?” he asked.
“One that screams business owner,” she said.
“My suit’s going to be screaming at me?” I asked.
“If you rock it right, the ladies will be screaming at you, too,” she said, winking.
“She’s right. A tailored suit on a gentleman is like well-made lingerie on a woman,” the stylist said.
“I’m down for anything that’ll make me more appealing to women,” I said.
I looked over at my stepsister, who was fondling a pitch-black suit jacket, and I studied her intently. I looked for anything that could’ve signaled the fact that she was making a joke at my expense or throwing out some sort of covert insult, but all I saw was the softness of her features. Her fingers, light and nimble, wandered over the buttons of the jacket, and I watched as she plucked it from the rack and held it up for me to see.
“What do you think about this color black?” she asked.
“There’s more than one color black?” I asked.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” the stylist said. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Stella handed the suit coat to the man before he led me back to the changing rooms, but all I wanted to do was crane my neck back and keep looking at Stella. In all my life, I’d never seen her this relaxed. She seemed happy. Content. In her element in a way I never would have suspected.
“First, I’ll get your measurements, then you’ll try this coat on. We’ll fool with the fit later. Right now, I want to learn what colors look best on you,” the stylist said.
I held my arms out while he took measurements, and I looked at myself in the mirror while he jotted things down. He took my measurements three separate times, having me stand in three different positions, and by the time he was done be looked satisfied.
“I’m going to go see what your lovely friend has picked out for you, and we’ll nail down some colors that will go wonderfully with that dirty blond hair of yours.”
“Here, I’ll come with you,” I said. “She’ll pick out ridiculous stuff for me if I don’t monitor her.”
“Oh, we’re just going for color. Not style right now,” the stylist said.
But I was already pushing past him to get back to Stella. By the time I rounded the corner, Stella was coming around as well, and we ran into one another. It caused the coats she had picked out to fall to the floor, but the sound that fell from her lips was not the one I expected.
The Stella I knew would’ve gotten angry. She would’ve scolded me or told me to watch where I was going. The Stella I grew up with would’ve chided me for not being more careful or watchful of others.
But this Stella laughed. She bent down and picked up the suit coats with a sparkle of happiness in her eye, and that’s when I realized how light green her eyes were. Usually, people with green eyes had those stormy, raging green eyes that held mystery and caution. But, Stella’s green eyes were light and playful, sparkling with her smile while I helped her pick up the coats.
“I’m so sorry, Stella,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not a problem. You know, you’ve never watched where you’re going. I should’ve been keeping an eye out for you,” she said.
Our fingers touched picking up the last coat, and I felt a shock of electricity jump up my arm. I was painfully aware of how glistening black Stella’s hair was and how soft and supple the tips of her fingers had felt against my hand. I ripped mine back, allowing her to pick the last suit up off the ground before we headed back to the dressing room, but all I could do was take steady breaths in an attempt to calm my racing mind.
What the fuck was going on?
“Let’s try these colors on first to get an idea,” Stella said as she handed the coats to the stylist. “If there’s a style that looks especially dapper on him, clock it. Otherwise, just stick to what looks good with the undertones of his skin.”
“Undertones of my skin?” I asked. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means you’re going to look hot in whatever suit you walk out of here with,” Stella said.
I caught her gaze as a grin slowly brushed her cheeks. She tapped the door before she shut it, closing me in with the stylist, and he held up a dark red coat to my body while we analyzed what looked the best.
“Not good on your skin,” the stylist said. “How do you feel about dark blue or black?”
“No blues. I’m always in blue because of my eyes,” I said. “But, let’s try the black.”
He held it up to my body, and both of us took a second to process it. I didn’t know what he was looking at, but all I was looking at was the glistening black buttons of the coat. They were smooth and shining, just like the fabric of the suit itself, and it reminded me of Stella’s hair.
Why the hell did it matter if it reminded me of Stella’s hair?
“I kind of like this one,” the stylist said. “What do you think?”
“I like it. Are there pants in this same color and fabric? Maybe with a light green tie or something?”
What the fuck was I even talking about?
“Oh, a stark black suit with a pale color underneath. I like it. Especially since your hair is lightly colored. It would be a good contrast to your eyes. You’d look like a shark in the business world.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked.
“It’s a great thing,” Stella said as she whipped the door open. “How are we doing on colors?”
“No to everything except this black coat,” I said.
“Well, the black does look good on you, but only if it’s that midnight black. Faded black wouldn’t go well with the redness of your skin tones,” she said.
“Again, no idea what that means,” I said.
“Alright. So, shining midnight black. Now, we need to figure out the style of suit you want,” she said.
“We’re going to be here awhile, aren’t we?” I asked.
“Yes. You’re stuck with me a little while longer,” she said.
“Eh, I could be stuck with someone worse,” I said, shrugging.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smiling. “And, by the way? That black really does look good on you.”
“Thanks.”
I had never seen Stella this jovial or this helpful in my entire life, and it really suited her. The way her whole face lit up with excitement warmed my chest. This was the type of happiness Stella deserved after losing her father so suddenly. She was enjoying this, and it was wonderful to see her in her element.
I was learning more and more about her, and she seemed a bit more beautiful.
Radiant.
Delightful to be around.
“How do you feel about matching black pants?” the stylist said.
“Isn’t that sort of what’s supposed to happen with a suit?” I asked.
“You seriously have no idea what you’re doing,” he said, chuckling.
Once we found a couple pairs of nice pants I could wear with this one jacket, we began fitting clothes to suit me. Stella was talking with the stylist about every color shirt and tie she brought in, but all I could do was focus on the light greens she was bringing in. If the contrast of jet black and light green looked good on her, why wouldn’t it look good on me?
Why did I even care?
I put on a pair of slim black pants with the black suit coat and a dark green shirt. The tie was a pale green to tone down whatever color my skin was at any given moment, and I walked out to stand in front of a full-length mirror. It fit well, not baggy like the gray one I had at home. I could see what the stylist meant about the colors ringing nicely with my hair, but what I couldn’t get over was Stella.
Her eyes were hooked on me, and for a split second, I felt a surge of pride ricochet through my stomach. I’d never had any woman look at me the way she was right now. For a moment, everything but Stella faded into the background. I studied her eyes — the way they matched my tie as they looked up and down my form. I studied her mouth — the way her lips slightly parted in shock as she saw the way the suit fell against my body. I studied her hips — the way they cocked to the side as she checked out my shoulders, hips, and legs.
I had to remind myself she was my stepsister.
“You look spectacular, Christian,” she said.
“Ya think so?” I asked.
“You really do.”
Her
eyes locked with mine in the reflection of the mirror, and a soft smile dawned on her face. Like the sun rising above the horizon, I was witnessing a side to Stella I’d never had the privilege of seeing. She was stunned and pleasantly surprised. She was happy and radiantly thrilled.
I couldn’t help but take in the way she was looking at me, until her phone rang in her pocket.
“Hold on,” she said.
She turned away from me and the moment was lost. I took a deep breath while the stylist began putting pins in random places on the clothes, but I kept my ears tuned to her conversation as she began to talk.
“Hey, Greyson,” she said.
Of course, it was him.
“Greyson. Greyson? Can you hear me?”
I watched her nose crinkle as she held the phone to her ear. The smile dropped from her face, and her shoulders rolled back, and I knew where she was headed. Something had thrown her into defensive mode, and I felt my fists ball up at my sides.
“Loose hands, please,” the stylist said.
She stood there with the phone at her ear, her back turned to us as her body slowly slumped. I heard her say Greyson’s name one last time before she hung up the phone, but when she turned around, I could see her eyes were red.
“Stella?” I asked. “Is everything alright?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said flatly.
“Was he there?”
“I think he butt-dialed me,” she said.
“Then why do you look like you’ve just been stabbed in the heart?” I asked.
“I’d rather not say.”
“Stella, could I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she said breathlessly.
“Why are you with him?” I asked.
And she looked up at me with glistening eyes before she shrugged her shoulders and sighed.
“I really don’t know,” she said. “But I have to go.”
“Well, hold on. Let me get changed and I’ll help you.”