Page 75 of Playboy For Hire

“Iama librarian.”

“Yeah, but you’re a hot-shot lawyer too. We need an outfit that says successful, intellectual, and too cool for your shit.” I stood up and walked to the closet.

Quinn stepped out to make room for me. “One outfit can say all that?”

“All that and more.” I began flipping through the hangers in the closet. “A really good outfit affects people’s entire perception of you. It’s a way to communicate without using words—and directly to someone’s subconscious. The perfect outfit can work wonders.”

“Jesus. Now you’ve given me something else to freak out about. I wear the same thing every day so I don’t have to think about it.”

“I mean, that’s fine.” I pulled out a shirt with a semi-spread collar in a crisp lavender. “If you find something that works for you.”

“Does my go-to outfit work for me? Or do I not want to know?”

I pulled a thin navy tie free of his tie rack and draped it over the shirt, then turned to hand the clothes to Quinn.

“Your go-to outfit is fine, don’t worry.”

“But just fine?” Quinn wrinkled his nose. “I thought outfits were supposed to convey all these adjectives. What are mine saying?”

I gave him an assessing look. “You really want to know?”

“I…think so? I hope I don’t regret this.”

“It’s not bad,” I reassured him. “I would say that your standard outfit says competent but not confident. You come across as mature and intelligent, but a bit like you’re trying to fade into the background.”

“Really?”

I laughed and pointed at his closet. “Just how many pale blue button-up shirts do you own?”

It was a rhetorical question. The answer had to be at least twenty. And most of the times I’d seen Quinn, the shirt had been paired with brown corduroys or chinos, and a pair of Oxfords. It was the kind of outfit that said, ‘I would like your eyes to slide right past me, please.’

Quinn flushed, and I smiled. “Seriously, the way you dress is fine.”

“Except it makes me look like wallpaper.”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of what you’re going for, right?” I scrutinized his face for signs of offense. “I’m sorry, maybe that came across as mean.”

He laughed. “After the stuff I said to you a few days ago, I think you’re allowed to be mean to me.”

“No, I’m not. And I’m sorry again for taking so long to reply. I just had to pull my head out of my ass.”

“Well, I’m sorry too. Just to say it again.”

I smiled. “That’s the eighty-seventh time you’ve told me. Believe me, your message has come through.”

“Are you sure? Because I can say it an eighty-eighth time, if that would help.”

I was rummaging through the pants Quinn had hanging on the other side of his closet. I pulled out a pair of lightweight wool trousers with a subtle houndstooth weave.

“Here,” I said, handing them to Quinn. “Try all of that together.”

Quinn looked at everything I’d give him. “A tie? You’re not wearing a tie.”

I was not. Instead, I was dressed in the very outfit I’d deemed too casual for Quinn. A navy polo over khakis, with worn-in brown loafers. But that was because the impressionIwas trying to convey was that I was coming to the dinner under duress, and didn’t consider it important enough to dress up for.

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to impress them.”

“I thought the whole point was that they didn’t take your life here seriously,” Quinn objected. “Why not show up in a suit and look like you work at a big lobbying firm?”

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