Page 3 of Flare

He sniffed. “I was overseas. Miami. Stockholm.” He waved a hand in the air. “The casting agency contacted my agent, of course, but it couldn’t be helped.”

Behind Shayne, Kip gave an epic eye-roll that would’ve given the London Eye a run for its money.

Shayne studied his fingernails. “And yes, I’ve had a lot of requests since I returned. But I like your work, Rhys. It’s a little raw, but there’s a freshness to it—”

I imagined strangling the man by his Hermes scarf, knowing Kip would help me hide the body.

“—and since this is your debut year, I thought I’d give you first shot at me. I can help make that splash you need.”

Again, unfortunately true. But Jesus fucking Christ, he’d never speak like that to a seasoned designer. It was all I could do not to boot the arsehole from my office, but New Zealand fashion was a tiny industry, and the last thing I wanted was to earn a name for myself as a prima donna in my first year.

“I’m flattered you thought of me.” I almost choked on the words as Kip mimed hanging himself with his tie while walking downhill. “But not this time.”Read ever.

Shayne stared, bewildered, like I’d lost my ever-loving mind, and maybe I had. Then he shrugged. “Well, I hope you don’t come to regret your decision.” He shoved his lookbook in his fashionable Burberry satchel with an audible huff. “Young-gun invites only happen once, right?”

“Right.” I nodded sagely, wondering if it would be considered a service to humanity to throttle dickhead sanctimonious pricks on a Friday afternoon before they were let loose on an unsuspecting weekend. If it wasn’t, I was going to petition for a law change. “I guess I’ll have to rely on my actual designs, won’t I?”

He sent me a look that said he knew there was an insult in there somewhere, but I wasn’t worth the effort to search for it.

“I should be getting back to work.” I pushed to my feet and circled around the desk, making it clear the meeting was over.

Shayne gathered his coat and satchel and then stood. “I, um, ended things with Marc, in case you were wondering.”

I wasn’t and looked puzzled just to piss him off. “Marc?” I knew damn well who he was talking about.

He narrowed his gaze. “MarcNorman.”

“Oh. Shame.” I felt oddly relieved for Marc, who was in fact a lovely guy, if a bit... vacant.

Shayne ran his gaze slowly up my body and I suddenly needed a shower. “Maybe you and I could do... something?”

Not in a million years.“Thanks, but I’m too busy to date right now.”

He shot me a sly grin. “It wouldn’t have to be adate.”

And yeah, I might’ve thrown up in my mouth. “The answer’s still no.” I plastered a grin in place. “Sorry.”

A spark of annoyance flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t push.

“Let me walk you out.” I ushered Shayne past Kip, who discreetly stabbed a finger in and out of his mouth, and then out the front door of Flare and into the crisp June air laced with salt from the harbour beyond. As soon as the coast was clear, I spun back to my assistant, my mouth open in a silent scream. Kip raced to my side, and together we watched Shayne cross the road and disappear from view in a cloud of Yves St Laurent and pissy flounce.

“Oh. My. God. That man is a douchebag of the highest order.” Kip slipped his arm through mine and pulled me toward the service desk. “He’s always dropping into the shop looking for you. I put him off as often as I can, but he does actually spend money, so I don’t want to piss him off too much. I don’t know why he’s so fucking popular.”

I snorted a laugh. “You mean apart from his scorching angular waifish look and ability to have both men and women drooling over their credit cards as they rush to buy whatever the fuck he wears?”

Kip huffed. “People will follow any idiot off a cliff if they look like they know what they’re doing. Your clothes stand on their own, Rhys. They don’t need a pretty clothes horse.”

I shot him a look and he pulled a face.

“Okay, maybe one or two pretty clothes horses wouldn’t go amiss, just not that particular donkey. I know he’s majorly attractive in that weirdly unusual way that you runway sluts drool over, but I’m proud of you for taking the moral high ground.”

I sighed and leaned against the glass top of the service desk, watching him steam the final jacket. “I hope that moral high ground doesn’t collapse into a sinkhole, or you and I will both be out of a job.”

“Pfft. Enough with the doom and gloom. You’ve been bitching all week and your eyes look like you should buy up stock in Visine. What’s up?”

I turned my gaze to the street outside. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep well.”Understatement of the fucking year.

Kip studied me. “It’s a bit early to be stressing about Fashion Week, don’t you think? You’ve got a couple of months to work up a head of steam over that.”

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