Page 5 of British Daddy to Go

The dark fabric shifts easily to give me enough space. My eyes find my boss just in time to see him bowing to the customer. He didn’t do that with any of the customers we passed during our tour, so this guy must be special.

And the guy… even from a distance, I can tell he has striking blue eyes. The soft lighting reflects off his brilliantly colored irises to create a blue I’ve only ever seen in pictures of underwater treasures. They pair beautifully with his jet black hair, which is trimmed so perfectly, I imagine the haircut cost more than a day’s pay.

The customer stands a foot taller than my boss, though his actual height might be a few inches shorter than he looks. The way he holds his back perfectly straight and carries his head confidently may add some height to his stature. I’ve seen his type walking around New York. He’s got to be a powerful CEO or something.

None of those other businessmen can hold a candle to his attractiveness, though. My stomach flutters just looking at him. His suit coat hangs lazily over a white button-down, and he’s not wearing a tie, yet he still exudes power. If this man asked me to do something, I would do it without asking any questions.

I suppose that’s why my boss is flapping around like a peacock right now. Not literally, of course. That would be weird.

Roger flutters from one display to the next in an attempt to entice the customer into purchasing one of our most expensive products. His chest is heavily puffed out like this is a mating ritual. I’m not getting any gay vibes from the customer, but I am getting them from Roger. He’s not openly flirting with the gorgeous man; there’s just something about how he angles himself toward the customer and focuses intently on the man’s chiseled face that makes me wonder if Roger swings that way.

“This color would look fantastic on you,” Roger says. He holds up a navy blue blazer against the customer’s chest. “It matches your eyes.”

“You’re right,” he says. His accent is posh. Definitely British. That just adds to his hotness level. “But I’m looking for something black right now. I’ve got a mate’s wedding in a few weeks, and I’d like to wear something new. You understand?”

“Of course!” Roger tells him. “What about this one?”

Roger describes in great detail what excellent qualities the expensive, designer suit has that makes it better than all of the others in the store. He doesn’t mention that it’s also the most expensive suit we have.

While Roger is droning on about seams and possible liners, the customer is clearly tuning him out. His deep blue eyes scan the room for something more interesting than my trilling boss.

And they land on me.

I don’t have a second to retreat into the cave without him seeing me, and I’m not sure I want to. The electricity between us is real. The hairs on my arm are most certainly standing up.

He smiles, and his teeth are whiter than the suit I sewed earlier today. Roger looks up, notices the mysterious British man staring off into the distance, and glances in my direction.

I gasp and duck back behind the curtain before he has the chance to see me.

Back at my desk, I struggle to catch my breath. That was close! Roger almost caught me spying on him. Luckily for me, none of the other workers seemed to notice my brief enchantment with how the other side lives.

I feed the steel gray pin-striped pants through my sewing machine, hoping to erase the image of the most attractive man I’ve ever seen from my mind. I’ll likely never see him again. It’s not like anything happened, anyway. We locked eyes, that’s it. That’s barely anything.

I wish my best friend were here to tell me what it means when a guy smiles at you. I’ll have to ask her about it later.

Just as I’m finishing up with the pants, Roger flies through the curtain. “Maggie, can I see you for a second?”

Oh no. He knows! He saw me spying, and now I’m going to get fired.

“Of course,” I say quietly. I expect Roger to pull me into his office, but he remains rooted by the entrance to the sales floor.

“I need you to take some measurements and mark up a new suit. This is an extremely important customer, but he specifically requested that we send the youngest tailor we have to do the job. That means you.”

“What?”

Roger sighs. “Can you handle this, Maggie?”

I blink a few times, but Roger stays rooted in front of me. This isn’t just a dream. I’m really going out on the sales floor to take the measurements of the hot British guy.

I liked this job a lot before. Now, I love it.