Page 19 of Flare

Or not. Because the second he swept his gaze over me, I wanted to throw him in my change room and dress him, or undress him, come to that. Both. Definitely both. Like that was ever going to happen, but a boy could dream. The universe was a bitch like that. I would never be getting my hands on Beckett Northcott or vice versa, for a million very good reasons, his delicious size not the least of them.

And angels wept.

These reactions of mine were bad news. Beck was bad news. A weekend of talking sternly to myself had clearly achieved a big fat zero.

“Yes, I know I’m early, but I’ve been sitting in my office driving myself crazy trying not to text and make sure Jack got here.”

“I should’ve let you know. I’m sorry.” I waved him inside and stepped away from the half-naked mannequin I’d been dressing, not satisfied with any of the eleventy billion combinations I’d tried so far.

I dropped the pins on a shelf and held out my hand. “Hi, again.” The occasion didn’t exactly require a handshake, but whatever.Yes, yes, I know. Hardly subtle and not exactly in keeping with my determination to not let him get to me.

He stared at my hand for a long second, then wrapped that massive paw around it, and heat shot up my arm like a rocket launcher. Something inside might’ve keened just a little and warning bells rang in my bed. I pulled free and tucked both hands in my pockets.

He frowned at the unintentional rudeness, and I was so mortified at what I’d done, I couldn’t hold his eye. “He, um, arrived right on four,” I stumbled an answer.

His expression slipped into that cool mask I’d seen when I turned him down for the coffee. In fact, the word icy wouldn’t have gone amiss.

Yeah well, hardly surprising since I was acting like an arsehole.

“It’s not your responsibility. Jack’s capable of texting. Things have been a bit challenging between us lately.” He frowned and made a point of looking around the store, which was in a bit of a state as I’d decided on a whim to change out all the mannequins at once.

“Well, he’s been fine today.” I crossed my fingers in my pocket. “He and Kip have just left to pick up coffee, and then Jack has the back yard to sweep before he’s done.” I withdrew my hands and wrapped them around a new shirt to keep them safe from doing anything else—like try to touch the man again or fuck him over the service desk, just as an example, of course. Because that would be bad. And I didn’t do that shit anyway, so why was I even thinking about it?

“So, he’s been okay then?” There was a desperation to the soft question that caught at my heart.

“He’s been just fine,” I reassured, pretending to study the shirt so he couldn’t read the lie in my eyes. “But maybe tell him to bring some civvies to change into tomorrow so he fits in a little better in the store.”

“Oh, of course.” Beck scanned the store in what almost looked like disapproval. “You’ve got to keep up appearances, no doubt.”

“What?” I cocked my head, running his comment through my caffeine-deprived brain. “No. That’s not what I meant. Imeantthat Jack might feel more comfortable if he wore his own clothes instead of looking like a school kid in front of customers. He’s a teenager, and unless things have changed a whole lot since I was that age, they don’t like to stick out, right?”

“Oh.” Beck’s gaze swept the store once again. “Sure. Right. I’ll remind him. But I can tell you now that he won’t have anything to wear that would fit in... here.”

I wasn’t sure what was going through the man’s head, but the wordhereand the barely-there lip curl that accompanied it didn’t feel at all complimentary.

Well, fuck you too, Mr Arsehole.

I stepped closer. “Do you have a problem with me, or is it just this place, Beck?”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me. Because I thought I was doing you a favour having Jack work here instead of beingarrested.”

“No, of course I don’t have a problem.” He flustered with what was obviously a lie. “And I’m grateful for what you’ve done for him.”

I said nothing and we faced off for a few more seconds.

Finally, he sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” His gaze did another frowning circuit of the store and I was beginning to feel really pissed. “I just never feel comfortable in these places.”

“Theseplaces?” I cocked a brow.

“You know,designerstores.”

Ooooh.I was surprised he didn’t hear my teeth grind.

“So, you’re one of those people who see fashion as a useless pastime for self-indulgent lightweights with no brain, too much money, and a fondness for throwing up in bathrooms?”

His eyes bugged. “What? No, of course not.” He swallowed hard, looking slightly panicked.

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