“What's wrong with what I looked like?” I glanced down at my clothes and answered my own question. The shirt that I was wearing might have been as old as I was or older since I had gotten it at a thrift shop. There was a little hole in it in the shoulder and there were definitely some stains that never came out. The sweats were pretty nice though, they were like eighty dollars.
“Well, we are at a five-star restaurant and you came in here wearing a t-shirt with no sleeves and athletic shoes. I know that many brands make luxury athletic wear, but that's not what you're wearing. And that's not what anyone expects you to wear either. Image, whether we like it or not, is everything.”
“I told him we were coming somewhere nice and this is what he decided to wear,” Toby said, snitching on me. I shot him a dark look. Not that long ago, we were in the same boat. He dressed just like me if not worse. We started getting money and attention and he gave himself a makeover. I thought it was a waste of time and roasted him for wearing suits all of a sudden when I was used to seeing him in t shirts and basketball shorts. Turns out he had had the right idea all along.
“You know what would make this easier? If we just wore fatigues every day like when we were serving.
“You hated wearing fatigues,” Toby said. I glared at him again.
“Why would you want to go back to wearing what was essentially a uniform every day?”
“All the greats did it. Steve Jobs?” I said like he was an obscure, little known personality from a faraway country.
“Your wardrobe isn’t just something you present to other people. It’s a reflection of who you are and what you’re about,” she said. I looked from her to Toby. They were on the same side and I was starting to feel like I was losing.
“So, what do you suggest?” I asked her.
“Before we get to what you like and what you want to project, we could start cleaning up the canvas.” Toby laughed.
“The hell does that mean?”
“Well, to start with, the beard. A little shadow can be stylish but there is a fine line between that and unkempt.”
“Unkempt?” I said. Who the fuck used words like unkempt?
“And a haircut never hurt anybody either,” she said. My hair was a little on the long side. It would be brushing my shoulders in a couple of weeks, but I didn’t know what that had to do with anything. I was good at what I did. My work ethic was unmatched. Our products were the best in the market. What else did anyone want from me?
“I’ve been telling him,” Toby said. My temper sparked. Artemis James was hot for a while before she opened her mouth. Now, her and her sexy ass British accent could fuck off. I wasn’t interested. Not in being with her and definitely not in getting a makeover.
“I didn’t know it would be quite so bad,” she said.
“Then leave.”
4
Artemis
So, this was Easton Schultz.
I had to say, he looked better in person than he did in pictures, but even that wasn’t saying much. At the moment, sitting in his chair across from me, shoulders tense, jaw set, green eyes on fire, he looked ready to jump across the table and sink his teeth in my neck, and not in a kinky pleasant way. He was incensed. I had touched a nerve somewhere. My clients up to this point had all been women and they had all been eager to get their makeovers. Easton Shultz wasn’t the kind of man that was into fashion, clearly. I wouldn’t look twice passing him on the street. He was very… dressed down.
He didn’t look wealthy which was strange because people who were wealthy tended to want to look that way. Not to bandy about any unkind new money stereotypes, but, it was a fact that when people finally got their hands on the money they previously lacked, they made sure that people knew they were rich. That was where the gaudy head to toe designer label outfits with huge logos came in. I didn’t expect him to be fully decked out like a nineteen-year-old hypebeast but he looked like he worked at TKMaxx for minimum wage while he lived out of his mother’s basement. He would be at home on any college campus in the country. The epitome of sloppy single maleness. He was pushing back against the idea of changing his look and we hadn’t even mentioned the clothes yet, just the hair and his beard which were completely separate sins.
The beard was to men what makeup was to women. They could fake a strong jaw and handsome face that way but something made me have hope in Easton Schultz’s bone structure. It was a fine line between hipster and homeless however and he was dangerously towing it. He was well-built though, it wasn’t going to be hard to dress him. He had wide shoulders, a trim waist, and long legs - the kind of physique that made all clothes look good. The rest of him looked so good, I was hopeful that he had the whole package under all that hair. This was going to be fun, or it would be if he loosened up and stopped acting like we had insulted him.
“I’m sorry?” I asked him.
“I said then why don’t you go? Seems like you might be out of your depth.” The set of his jaw and the look in his eyes said that that was a challenge. Our first impressions had clearly been set and he didn’t like me very much. I wasn’t going on much but the feeling at the moment was mutual.
“Why don’t you tell us what you have planned for him?” Toby said hastily, steering the conversation away from Easton. The atmosphere was palpably tenser than it had been when I arrived. I wasn’t sure what I had walked into, but it seemed like the two men were of very differing opinions when it came to overhauling Easton’s image. I measured my words.
“To be honest, I didn’t think we would be starting from…” I reconsidered my words looking at Easton. “Well, my usual process is I talk to my clients first and look at their existing wardrobe to get an impression of their style and what they’re comfortable in. I like to build from that rather than styling clients how I or anyone else would like to see him.”
“That’s too bad because I want you to style him the way I’d like to see him,” Toby said. “Look at him. That kind of stuff is what he wants to wear and frankly, I can't have that.”
“Why don’t you get a fucking makeover then?” Easton snapped at his partner.
“I think we can make everyone happy,” I said, cutting in between them. I was not sure that I could do that but we were in a five-star restaurant thirty floors in the air. God forbid one of these men lost their temper and tried to toss the other through a window. With this pair, Easton specifically, it seemed possible.
He was still sitting there, stewing. Some people were more sensitive than others when it came to their wardrobes. They felt like it was their personal brand or identity and would take it personally when you told them that the band t-shirts they loved so much went out twenty years ago. I empathized but only up to a point. I would also be upset if I ended up on a worst-dressed list but when someone told you to dress better, it wasn’t for their sake, it was for yours.
I took in the man’s outfit. It was a travesty. Joggers, sneakers that were old on top of being dirty and an even older t-shirt. I could not abide men over the age of twenty-one dressing like he was now. I mean, if he was going to do it, some clean, higher-end athletic wear was permissible, but his partner was in a suit. This was a five-star restaurant. Time and place, please.
“I can tell looking at you now that you like comfort,” I said, tactfully.
“He likes looking like a frat guy who is on his eighth year of a communications degree with no graduation in sight. He needs to look like a competent entrepreneur,” his partner barked. I nodded, trying to stay level and not take sides, even though I was firmly on the side of Toby.
“You can be comfortable in more formal clothing. In fact, the line between comfortable and sloppy is much thinner than people imagine.”
Easton had been silent for a few moments, not even reacting when his partner said he looked like a failing college student, but his face twisted with my remark. “Sloppy?”
I hurried to remedy the situation. “It’s the attention to detail. That t-shirt you’re wearing is… fi
fteen, twenty years old?”
“It’s vintage.”
“It's old.
“I prefer my clothes lived-in who would rather wear a stiff, starchy shirt and tie that they could barely move comfortably in?”
“That doesn’t mean you have to look untidy.”
“First I was sloppy. Now I’m untidy,” he said.
“That t-shirt is stained and faded at the same time.”
“Yeah, and you know how much of an effect it has on my work ethic? Zero.”
“It's not your work ethic I’m here to fix. It’s your fashion sense.”
“You know what? Why don’t you girls discuss your fashion without me? I don’t need you telling me my clothes are stained and off-trend.”
“So, you agree that your clothes need replacing? That’s the first step,” I said.
“I don’t.”
“You need this. You don’t agree, that’s apparent but clothing speaks before you do. You can’t present something like this to clients and expect them to be happy with it. They’ll most likely look for someone who inspires a bit more confidence in them.”
“If that’s what they’re using to judge me then they can go to hell, and frankly, so can you.”
Okay, he was more combative than I anticipated. It was literally just clothes, it wasn’t life and death. There was no need for all this back-and-forth and there was no need for him to be so sensitive. He had said himself that he was more than what he decided to put on his body. For someone who didn’t want to be defined by the way that he dressed, he sure was defensive about it. I took a deep breath. “You don’t want your company to stall in progress because you can’t dress.”
“Lucky me, our clients don’t care about that,” he said.
“Easy, come on,” Toby said.
“Unbelievable. You wouldn’t put on a suit, even if it was for the good of your company?” I asked.
“I don’t have to. My products do the talking.”
“I thought you were open to giving this a shot.”
“Yeah, before you suggested getting rid of everything I know and making me look like him,” he said, motioning at his colleague. Toby was dressed quite well, I didn't see a problem with that. In fact, I knew that the shoes he was wearing were off the runway. They were polar opposites in their style. Toby was clean-cut and dashing, suited and booted and looking expensive. Meanwhile, Easton looked like Toby’s ‘before’ picture, preceding an extreme makeover. My mind was doing extensive gymnastics trying to figure out how the two of them knew each other, much less maintained any kind of relationship.
“I never said any of that.”
“Whatever. I’m not interested regardless.” The men were different, that much was obvious at first sight, but Toby had taken strides to be polite and accommodating to me while Easton had done nothing but spar with me. They were different in more ways than were blatantly apparent and the taste I had gotten of Easton’s true colors had left a sour taste in my mouth. That little bit of open-mindedness for the process that he had promised initially was gone. I couldn’t work like this.
“I suppose I’m of no use to you then,” I said. I stood.
“Missy, please wait,” Toby said. He got out of his seat and turned on Easton.
“Easton, fucking apologize.”
“The woman wants to leave, let her leave,” he said, looking up at me. He didn’t look smug. There was still a challenge in his eyes. He was telling me to try stay and fight him. I was going to lose. I wasn’t in the habit of wasting my time on people who neither wanted nor appreciated it. Someone else was going to have to be my first male client.
“I can’t work with someone who has said in no uncertain terms that they weren’t interested in changing. Thank you both for your time. Have a nice day.” I turned on my heel and walked out.
5
Easton
It was a shame that she was leaving, but I loved watching her walk away.
“Fuck,” Toby said. He leaned back in his chair and let his head fall back.
“Too bad she had to leave. I liked her,” I said. His head popped back up and he glared at me.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asked.
“Me? She’s the one who walked out of here before we had a chance to get anything done.”
“Don’t play fucking dumb. You told her to leave, Easy.” He signaled for a server to come to our table. Were we still eating? The meeting was over, why were we still here?
“I don't see what the big deal is.”
Toby put in his order, not for food, but for whiskey. A double. Okay. I could kind of see what the problem was. Toby didn't typically drink during the day. He was upset about the meeting. We hadn't given the woman any money yet, so this wasn't a loss. We had a meeting to figure out whether we would be able to work well together, and we figured out that we would not work well together. Sounded productive to me.
“If it bothers you that much, I’ll wear a fucking button down to the next meeting. Okay?”
“Why don't you take anything seriously?”
“I take serious things seriously. You wanted me to sit here and pretend like a meeting about my fashion sense was serious?”
“It is serious.”
“Please. It’s one fucking step above discussing what color your shit was last night.”
“Do you see what just happened? That wouldn't have happened if you took this seriously. She’s a professional and we were consulting her. You insulted her and wasted her time.”
I scoffed. “Her job is coaching people to match their socks with their ties. What was I supposed to do? Sit there and take her calling me a slob some more?”
“If it hurt your feelings, that means you know it’s true. Would it have killed you to respect the fact that she’s good at her job no matter whether you think it’s a real job or not? Maybe listen to her explain the things you don’t believe when I say them to you, and actually put them in practice?”
“Why are you so mad about this?”
“You really don't give a fuck, do you? You're so hard-headed, you don't even want to give it a shot. You don't even want to try to hear her out. Hear what she has to say.” The server appeared and placed Toby’s whiskey in front of him. He picked it up and cleared the tumbler in one big swallow.
“Jesus Christ man, it's not even three p.m.” He stood up.
“Yeah, but you are intent on sinking this business so what do I have to lose?” He pulled some bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table, then started walking out. What the hell?
I knew he was upset but wasn't he taking this too far? He was straight up having a temper tantrum just because I didn't want to play dress-up with the British fashion girl. Part of me was offended that he didn't think I could put on a suit when the time called for it. I could, I just didn't see the point. None of this was serious enough to call in a so-called professional.
I followed him outside. Out on the sidewalk, he hailed a cab. We had walked here, so it didn't look like he was going back to the office, but I asked him anyway.
“Do you still have work to do?” he asked me. He was short. He didn't want to chat. Okay. Okay. Clearly, I was going to be paying for this failed lunch meeting for a long time. I didn't understand where the annoyance came from, but there was no talking to him right now. I had no reason to go back to the office. I could have just gone home but I couldn't let things lie the way they were.
At times like this, I remembered what people said about going into business with your family members or friends and how you shouldn't do it. Toby was more than that, I was closer to him than anybody in my immediate family. All that said, the people you loved the most could also disappoint you the most. That was the risk you took.
The cab pulled up and he climbed in. I jumped in from the other side.
“Where are you going?” I asked him. He ignored me, addressing the cab driver.
“Take me to Lucky Star Gentlemen's Club.”
�
��What? Right now?” I asked.
“Yeah right now,” he barked, leaning back in the seat. A fucking strip club? It was the middle of the day. Most offices hadn’t even let out of work yet. What was it that was so unseemly about going to a strip club before nightfall? Did he really need booze and tits after that?
“Quit it, Toby.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you doing all this shit to get my attention? Because it worked, you have it now. Let's just go back to the office. You're taking this too far. You can't act like this because I refuse to wear a stupid suit and tie.”
“It's not the suit and tie. The fact that you don't understand that by now is the problem.”
“You need to relax, it's not that serious. We’ve had this much success already, obviously if there is a problem it isn’t with my outfits.”
“It’s your whole demeanor. You can’t talk to people like a drill sergeant, not when you want them to give you their money. You need to be nice to them, handle them professionally. You need to act the part. Part of acting the part is looking the part.”
“Back to fucking fashion. Is there something here that you’re not telling me, Toby?”
“You know if we didn’t work together…”
“If we didn’t work together what?” I asked.
Toby sighed. We talked about this often, but it never got this heated. He wasn’t just upset. I was sure that if we weren’t in the back of a cab right now, he’d clock me right in the jaw.
“You’re good at what you do. We wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t, but we aren’t the only fighters in the ring. When someone comes along with better work, and better client relations on top of that, what is supposed to stop our clients from leaving and going to them?”
“Clients that have worked with us wouldn’t jump ship because of how I dress.”
“Maybe not, but they would if we haven’t built strong enough relationships with them. Just stop fighting me on this, okay? I don’t want us to actually lose all our clients for you to finally understand what I’m talking about.”
Admit You Want Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3) Page 4