Personal Shopper (2 page)

They probably had a drawing room at their estate—did French people have estates or castles?—with pictures of hunting scenes. And sconces…and Will wasn’t entirely sure what a sconce did but he knew it signaled class. His loft did not have sconces.

At Highland Jack’s door, Will paused and tried to push down his buzz of nerves. As a guy who bought his jeans and quirky saying tee shirts off the Internet, this had the potential to end badly. The storefront was small but he could sense the snootery from the sidewalk.

A little bell jingled as Will pushed open the heavy wood door. Immediately he was assailed with the smell of old wood and rich dude cologne. Two steps in and the small space looked almost exactly like he imagined those rich people’s drawing room would look like, except stuffed with racks of clothes. Striped wallpaper in gold and black, heavy oak tables and elegant chairs – and sconces.

“Hello?” a crisp efficient voice asked and a man in a dark brown suit stepped into his personal space. “Deliveries for the Java Joint are at the next door.”

Will blinked. “Excuse me?”

The man – probably a little older than Will and carved from quality marble with a high maintenance pompadour – took a small step back, a frown tilting his mouth downwards.

“Next door,” he said slowly, as if Will didn’t understand English.

“Yeah, not a delivery boy,” Will said finally, annoyance bubbling up inside him. If he was smart he’d turn around and walk the hell out, but there was going to be something nice about whipping out his credit card at the end of this and making this dude kiss his ass. “I’m looking for some gifts.”

“Ohhh,” the salesman said, still chilly and relatively disinterested. “Anything in particular?”

“Scarves.” It came out snotty but a second later – when the guy had barely resisted rolling his eyes – Will wished he’d said something more expensive.

“The table is over there.” Sales guy gestured to a wooden table in the far corner, strewn with a variety of colors, draped over vintage suitcases. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

And he flounced off.

Jerk.

Will’s shoulders were up around his ears as he walked across the store. His big coat kept catching on things, an annoying scrape of plastic against wood and fabric. He felt like an idiot but he couldn’t leave now.

Backboneless for his weepy sister, stubborn idiot for a nameless stranger in an overpriced men’s store. Will sometimes felt embarrassed to be himself.

At the scarf display, Will pulled off his beanie and gloves, shoving them into his pockets. Every scarf was tasteful – plaid and dark colors, all cashmere and all…

Yeah – the cheapest one was four hundred dollars.

Jesus.

Will touched a few, tried to figure out which was the most neutral to get his soon-to-be-brother-in-law and said guy’s rich and snotty dad, who thought Will’s sister was a gold digger.

He decided on black. For both of them. And if anyone decided to be a dick at Christmas, they’d make excellent garrotes.

His own father would die before wearing a four hundred dollar cashmere scarf and rather than risk a dinner-time speech of rage over the capitalistic opportunism and meaningless exchange of overpriced crap, Will decided to double his usual dad gift (donation in his name to Oxfam) and give him a bottle of fair trade wine instead.

Three gifts down. Maybe he could pull this off.

The tinkling sound of the door caught his attention as he turned around. He wanted to ask sales jerk if they had gift wrapping but he was busy rushing the door with an air of joy.

“Mr. Smith!” he chirped.

The Mr. Smith who caused great sales jerk joy stood at the door, unwrapping a fabulous red scarf from around his neck. It complimented his double-breasted camel overcoat perfectly – which, when unbuttoned – then revealed a chocolate brown suit and tan button down combination that made Will long for a caramel brownie.

This was the kind of customer sales jerk had been waiting in breathless anticipation for.

“Clark,” the man said affably. British accent – of course. It was sharp as the collar on his shirt. “Good to see you.”

Clark the salesman took the scarf and coat, draping them over his arm like a butler. “And you. So glad you could stop by to see us while you’re in town.” Was his snotty tone evolving into something faux British?

Will edged closer to the entrance and cash register, the scarves clutched in his sweaty hand.

“I just need a few things,” Mr. Smith said with a smile and oh…

Wow.

Will stopped behind an antique dress form wearing a bowler hat and five silk ties. Mr. Smith was a good-looking man; sharp masculine features, close cropped brown hair, a mouth…well. No need to get dirty about a complete stranger but the smile? The smile was great. Full. Charming. Dimples.

Suit porn, for which Will had an inexplicable weakness, and a sexy smile. Will bit his lip and wished he’d taken his jacket off. He was starting to sweat.

“Of course.” Clark turned around and did a sour faced double take when he realized Will was still polluting his space. “Did you find everything you need?” he asked, his voice arid and annoyed.

“Uh yeah. Just these scarves,” Will said, gesturing with them. He darted a quick look at Mr. Smith.

Who was still smiling at him.

“Please don’t let me interrupt you helping another customer Clark,” Mr. Smith said warmly. He gestured towards the register.

“Thank you so much,” Clark said, insincere and all but batting his eyelashes. He wanted Will gone and Will felt himself digging his heels in. “I’ll just ring you…”

“Actually.” Will flashed Mr. Smith a smile of his own. He hoped it wasn’t ridiculous. “I do need a suit for the holidays. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Mr. Smith clapped his hands together, shaking his head. “No, no. You were here first. I’ll browse a bit and Clark can assist me when you’re through with him.”

Then he winked. Will tried not to swoon.

“Thanks,” and then it wasn’t about dicking around the sales guy. It was pretty decent of him not to pull rank—and as a member of the pushed around nerd class, Will had a catalogue of memories when the cool guys did just that—because well, he had money and class and various other things Will had read about in magazines.

“No thanks needed mate.” Mr. Smith gave him a quick nod and wandered over to a rack of suit jackets in the far corner. Will realized both he and Clark were staring because damn, the front had nothing on the back.

Will looked at Clark, Clark looked back and Will realized this was about more than commission.

He smirked.

With quick motions, he unzipped his jacket and pulled it off, knocking into as many things as he could. He handed the puffy coat to Clark.

“If you could take care of that, I’m going to check out that rack over there,” he said, bored and dismissive. “I’ll let you when I need you.”

CHAPTER TWO

Of course Will picked the rack closest to Mr. Smith.

God, he could be so childish. But heavens, this man was emanating sex appeal like a claxon.

Without waiting to catch the full wattage of Clark’s hatred, Will walked over to the rack, hands dug into his jean pockets. He did a surreptitious sniff of himself and figured he still smelled enough like soap and clean clothes to be appealing. Like the great procrastinator he was, he figured the next block of time would include flirting with a cute guy to annoy someone, buy a decent suit, collect the gifts and head on to the next place.

Then lunch.

Mr. Smith was browsing through a series of dark blue jackets, perusing each one at the cuffs. He looked up and flashed Will another smile as he got closer.

“You seem to know this place pretty well,” Will said, as he pretended to be checking the cut of a black wool suit when he was really trying not to audibly gasp at the price.

“Yes, well – a friend introduced me to their wares a few years ago when I was here on business.” Mr. Smith – who smelled far better than free trade lavender soap – leaned into Will’s space. “That rack is where they throw the shite designers they’re trying to get rid of quickly,” he said sotto vocce. “This one has more of the classics.”

Will nodded and stepped closer to inspect the suits. And enjoy Mr. Smith.

“What do you recommend then?” Will tried to put a note of flirtation into his voice. He could feel the burning rays of Clark’s stare into the back of his head as his hands skimmed the rack of suits.

“Well, with your coloring,” Mr. Smith said, glancing between Will and the clothing. “The navy would be lovely. Or perhaps the brown tweed.” A hint of pink highlighted his cheeks as he paused. “Sorry.”

Will almost purred. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to sound forward.”

Will shrugged. “I’m totally hogging your shopping time and now making you into my personal shopper – feel free to tell me how lovely I am.”

Mr. Smith laughed.

And even that was hot.

“I’m Will by the way, Will Nixon.” He offered his hand which Mr. Smith took; a tight clasp of warmth – smooth, this guy wasn’t a day laborer on a lark – and Will resisted the urge to squeeze back.

“Hudson Smith.”

Will’s eyebrow went up. “That’s a great name. Or an alias. Are you a spy?”

“It’s the accent right? Always gives me away.” Mr. Smith – Hudson – quirked his lips at Will.

“You might want to try something Southern next time.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

Hudson went back to the suit sorting but the quirky smile stayed on his lips. Now that Will knew his name he was reconsidering the whole “being pervy about his mouth was rude” thing.

“Are you here for business?” Will turned to the table behind them, a heavy oak circle holding a rainbow’s worth of colored button down shirts.

The other man paused but didn’t look up. “Yes, in a way. It’s sort of family business.”

“Ack.”

“What?” Hudson was laughing again.

“Does England have a mafia? And if so, are you in it?”

“Yes and no.”

“Good to know.” Will picked up a powder blue shirt and showed it to Hudson.

He shook his head with an expression of faint horror.

“Really?”

“It’s a little tone on tone 80’s retro.”

Will sighed. “I don’t actually know what that means.” He dropped the shirt and picked up a yellow one.

“No, not with your coloring…” Hudson clucked his tongue and this time chose a heathery brown tweed suit, holding it up for Will to see.

“My lovely coloring,” Will said sweetly, all but batting his eyelashes.

“Yes.” Hudson was now regarding him in the same way he’d been inspecting the suit. “Quite lovely.”

They exchanged a look, so close now that Will could feel the heat emanating from Hudson Smith’s muscled body. The suit didn’t hide anything – broad shoulders, trim waist, developed chest. It looked like the thing had been specifically designed to accentuate every one of his good physical qualities. And there were many.

“I’ve gotta say – you wear the hell out of that suit,” Will said, biting his bottom lip. “Got anything in that rack that can make me look as good?”

The blatant stare was met and matched until Hudson looked away, gaze lost in the fine fabrics. “I can certainly find something flattering, but I wouldn’t entirely discount your current outfit.”

“This old thing?” Will teased softly.

Hudson leaned back and gave Will’s ass a once over. “Yes,” he deadpanned and Will laughed, covering up an inelegant snort with the back of his wrist.

The sexy Brit in the fabulous suit was a perv. Hallelujah.

“So – just to cover my own arse here. You’re not buying this suit to impress a woman are you?”

Will bit his lip and ducked his head.

“Welllll.” He brushed the hair out of his eyes to stall. “Yes.”

Hudson sighed. “Tell me it’s your mother.”

“My sister.”

“You could have teased me much longer you know,” he said, holding the suit in front of Will.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I’m buying it to impress a man?”

Their eyes met over the collar of the suit and Will felt himself hitting a fever pitch in internal heat. Those hazel eyes were studying him intently, like he was getting analyzed at a molecular level. Normally Will’s flirting involved overpriced drinks, strobe lights and a neon clock ticking towards midnight – generally just enough conversation to get a yes.

He usually wasn’t nervous. Must be all the daylight.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

The teasing smile on Hudson’s mouth faltered.

“Oh see, that didn’t work as well as I wanted.” Will’s stomach sank. “I meant…you know. I was totally going to leave but you came in and I came over and you’re showing me the suit. I might be buying the suit to impress you.”

Hudson blinked those long-lashed eyes at him and Will licked his lips unconsciously.

“Oh.” Hudson looked a little conflicted then smiled. “I don’t want you to have to spend a thousand dollars on a suit just to flirt with me.”

“I’m honestly here to buy gifts for people I don’t know – flirting with you is like, a massive bonus, to be honest.” Will scuffed his boot into the plank wood floor. “Plus – I really do need a suit for the holidays.”

Taking the suit in one hand and a red shirt off the table, Hudson didn’t say anything – he just kept smiling then tipped his head towards a shadowy corner with a curtained off opening.

If this had been Friday night at a club, Will would suddenly be wondering if he had a condom in his pocket.

“Try these on. I’ll find a tie.”

“Oh, okay.”

Will made his way to the dressing…nook, and now felt two heated stares following his every move.

Angry Clark and Flirting-With-Him-Hot-Guy Hudson.

It was turning into an awesome day.

CHAPTER THREE

The suit hung on his shoulders ever so slightly and the red and brown tweed combination shouldn’t work – but it did. Will looked at himself in the full-length mirror, tucking his longish hair behind his ears.

He put haircut on his mental list.

Hudson had a good eye because the color combination was perfect. You wouldn’t think finding clothes that looked good on a guy with brown hair and had brown eyes would be difficult, but nothing had ever worked so nicely on him.