Page 20 of Flare

“Right.” Yeah, you picked the wrong fucking fight this time. I’d been doing this particular dance for too many years. I loosened my grip on the balled-up shirt in my hands and took his measure.

He stepped back and I almost laughed.

“Because if you were,Beckett, then you’d have to include painters and writers and sculptors, and all the other artists, right? All tarnished by the same brush.”

“I didn’t me—”

“Just because I work with fabric and clothes, not paints or clay or whatever else gets your tick of approval for worthiness, doesn’t make my craft any less an art form. There’s a few millennia of history to back up the importance and influence of fashion in personal, political,andsocial development.”

“I wasn’t say—”

“It’sexactlywhat you were saying.”

Beck’s ears shone bright pink, and an awkward silence fell between us just as the door swung open and two men entered the store. They threw us a curious look, no doubt picking up on the crackling energy and pissed-off expressions. Well, mine anyway. I took a breath and welcomed them to browse.

Beck looked up from staring at his feet and we spoke at the same time.

“Well, that was—”

“I really didn’t—”

Silence reigned again, bar the murmurings from the two men as they perused the racks.

“I’ll wait in the car.” Beck turned to leave.

“Wait upstairs.”Jesus, where did that come from?“It’ll be warmer,” I explained, somewhat unconvincingly.

“Upstairs?” Beck shot a nervous glance up as if I had an entire brothel stashed above the elegant plaster ceiling rose.

“My design studio is up there.” I threw the crumpled shirt aside and dusted off my hands. “Come on. I’ll hide the knives. And I promise your virtue’s safe with me. I make it a point to never plunder virgins before dinner.”

He gaped, cheeks flaming, and I laughed.

“Of course, if you’re not a virgin, then you’ve nothing to worry about.” I reached out a hand and tipped his jaw closed with my finger. “You’re creating a draught.”

“Uncle Beck?” Jack walked through the door, closely followed by Kip, who took one look at my finger under Beck’s chin and shot me an amused look.

I dropped it like I’d been burned.

“I’m not ready yet,” Jack explained to his uncle.

“I know.” Beck dragged his wide-eyed gaze over Kip’s jacket and then shook his head. “I’m gonna wait upstairs,apparently.”

We locked eyes for a second. “Off you go, then.” I nodded to the stairs behind the service desk. “There’s coffee and tea on the countertop. Help yourself. But I’d be grateful if you didn’t drip your disdain all over my designs. I’ll never get the stains out.”

Beck snorted and made his way up the stairs, ducking to avoid the low beam on the landing. Good God, the man was a veritable mountain.

Kip steered Jack in the direction of the yard and then handed me my coffee, and we both watched until Beck’s impeccable arse was lost to sight. “And just exactly what was all that about... Boss?”

“Shut up.”

“Mmm. Me thinks not.” Kip chuckled. “And I have to say, the man makes a statement. I’m just not sure his clothes reflect exactly what that statement is. The 1970s asked for their wide trousers back. And don’t even get me going on that beard, and that’s from a guy who happens to love a splash of lumberjack with my gay, on occasion.”

I delivered him one of my better eye-rolls. “You have eclectic taste, it has to be said. And yes, the man doesn’t make the best of what he has, but I kind of like that about him. He doesn’t give a fuck, and in this business, that’s... refreshing.”

Kip hummed. “True. But I believe it’s possible to not give a fuck and dress a bit better while you’re doing it?”

I elbowed him none too gently. “Arsehole.”

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