Chapter Eleven #3
Taking his offer of an out, I made my way to the section he’d gestured to, shocked to see a few racks and stands with less intimidating options, the clothes on display much closer to what I was used to.
I flicked through the tops first, then moved on to trousers.
There were no graphic band tees or ripped skinnies, but there were black cargo jeans and T-shirts with abstract patterns, which would suffice.
James, one of the clerks, was beside me every step of the way, his arms out and adamant for me to hand my selections to him for holding.
He’d looked like a kicked puppy when I’d refused, so I’d thanked him profusely and reluctantly passed over the pieces I’d chosen.
Initially, I was grabbing anything that even remotely matched my tastes just to get it over with, determined to act like being compliant in this farce was a chore—keeping up appearances.
However, the further I explored, the more absorbed I became in the task, and my picks ventured into adventurous territory.
Trousers instead of jeans, pullovers instead of plaid, all mostly in black or dark colours as it was more my vibe, but still.
I couldn’t remember ever wearing a knitted jersey.
Especially cashmere.
It would likely give Caine an aneurysm, but I picked up two pairs of joggers, and some other loungewear for playtime with Minnie—since the Alpha had obviously decided on this trip after his comment about my outfit in the playroom yesterday.
I winced at the thought of dirtying such high-end material with playdough and other equally sticky substances, but fuck it.
A deal was a deal.
“Is this what you had in mind, Alpha Devereux?” I heard Clarice comment from a distance. Glancing in her direction, I inspected the suit jacket she presented to Caine. My face scrunched involuntarily. “As always, we can place an order for a piece befitting your tastes, if not.”
Caine hummed. “I prefer a single button, and those shoulder pads are an eyesore.”
“Of course. I’ll request the changes and have it shipped out to you as soon as possible.” She dipped her head in a bow before turning on her heel and weaving toward the till at the back of the store. I rolled my eyes.
If it were me, I’d have told him where to shove it, but I guessed that was why my job prospects were non-existent.
Customer service had never been my strength.
I watched him for a beat, noting how the staff peeled off in every direction as soon as he made a demand, bending over backwards just to please him.
He was meticulous, in his element, pointing at button-ups, dress pants, fancy shoes, everything.
He seemed to also favour a darker palette, which made me wonder if we shared an affinity for moodiness, or if he’d clocked my preferences and was just being indulgent.
Either way, as long as I didn’t have to partake in the selection process for the events, I didn’t care what he chose.
I didn’t even know what a gala was, let alone what I’d wear to one.
“Dylan,” Caine called out, cutting through my concentration barely ten minutes later. I peeked over the rack of jumpers I was rifling through, scanning the store until my gaze landed on him—he seemed a little tetchy. “Changing room. Now.”
He stalked off, presumably in the direction of said changing room, and my eyes followed him, my face twisting with mild disgust. “I think I’ll take my time, thanks,” I mumbled under my breath, though it obviously wasn’t as quiet as I’d meant it to be—or he’d anticipated my response—as he spoke again.
Louder and with even less patience.
“Now.”
I inhaled deeply, looked up to the ceiling, and forced the breath out through my nose.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed James’s lips twitching upward before he ducked his head to hide it—least one of us was having a good time.
I mindlessly plucked a few more shirts from the railing before heading in the same direction, not at all shocked to learn the fitting rooms were just as grand as the rest of the store.
I still gaped at the Persian rug and two velvet chaise longues with solid gold legs, though.
They had to be worth a small fortune.
With my arms full—despite James’s protesting—I wandered toward the seating area, where Caine stood.
Waiting. Impatiently, if his foot tap was anything to go by.
He turned at my approach, his eye reflexively dropping to the bundle I carried, and a faint look, which was neither smug nor surprised, passed over his face.
It was actually . . . vaguely impressed?
“Try everything on, and show me each outfit once you’re done.
Don’t dawdle.” He unbuttoned his jacket with a graceful flair, passing it over to Clarice before lowering himself onto the two-seater.
His hand drifted up to his temples as if to rub them, but he paused, reconsidering.
Instead, he reached toward the lamp beside the sofa and flicked the switch to turn it off.
Were the bright lights causing him pain?
He caught me staring, and his demeanour turned defensive. “What are you waiting for? Permission?”
And there went any flicker of sympathy I might’ve had.
With a huff, I set my bundle on the sofa beside him. James hurried forward as if to pick it up—likely aiming to hang it all on the rack alongside the rest—but Caine waved him off.
“Let’s get on with it,” he said, tone blunt and brooking no further delay.
I accepted the three piece suit and white shirt Clarice handed over to me with a polite smile before disappearing into one of the stalls.
It was pretty spacious, bigger than a standard changing room, but still cramped enough that I was reluctant to linger.
My attention reverted to the outfit: trousers, a waistcoat and jacket, all in a deep brownish red.
Burgundy? Maroon? Who cared? It wasn’t half bad, if a little uninspiring.
Of all the pieces I’d clocked from Caine’s selections, it was the most ordinary.
Probably for a casual dinner or a boring pack function I’d have to endure.
I didn’t know, and I brushed the thought spiral aside to put it on.
I didn’t give myself the chance to gander at my reflection and potentially find fault, just stepped out to show Caine as he’d insisted, smoothing out the non-existent creases.
Olivia guided me onto the pedestal in the middle of the room, and embarrassment clawed at my belly on principle.
I wasn’t used to being the centre of attention—and it wasn’t particularly fun—but I gritted my teeth and bore it.
“Hm, the colour suits him,” Caine commented, perfunctorily, rising from the sofa and wandering over. “But the trousers need to be taken in here—” He tugged at the loose fabric at my waist. “And here—” The inside of my legs. “To highlight his thighs.”
Clarice smiled in pleasure at the instructions. “Of course.” She turned to James. “Call Pauline; let her know we’ll need her assistance.”
James strode out of the room to carry out his task, while Caine moved on to scrutinising the blazer. “A smaller size,” he said. “He has good shoulders . . . narrow, and proportionate. They shouldn’t be hidden under excessive fabric.”
Clarice nodded along with him. “Yes, I agree.”
“He is right here,” I grumbled, finally recovering from the momentary lapse in function from having Caine’s fingers so close to my balls.
His gaze shifted to me. “What is your opinion?”
I sniffed, twisting my body from the left to the right and shaking out the sleeves—giving it the proper checks. “It’s nice. Comfier than it looked on the hanger.”
His stare was bland. “Nice?”
I shrugged.
“Take it off,” he bid before addressing Clarice. “Set items in need of alterations on a separate rack, and we’ll return to them at the end.”
She bowed and went about wheeling in another stand. I plucked the next suit from the lineup—a dark grey tweed with brown shoulder and elbow patches—and returned to the stall, changing as quickly as I could without tripping over my own feet.
By the time I stepped out onto the main floor again, the Alpha was back to sitting on the couch, his head balanced on his uninjured fingers and his thighs parted, a more relaxed posture than earlier.
It had my throat running a tad dry. I might not be his biggest fan, but fuck, he was attractive.
And the musky scent floating in the air like concentrated aftershave?
Christ.
It made me hate him a little bit more.
“I don’t like this one,” I declared before he could get up to inspect me. I didn’t even bother ascending the platform.
His eyebrow cocked. “Why?”
I bent my knees, unwedging the crotch area before it cut me in two. “The shape of the—” I gestured to the V of my thighs. “Is weird, and uncomfortable. And I don’t really vibe with the patches.”
“We could try another size, sir,” Olivia offered, talking directly to Caine.
“No, they would be too big on his legs,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Off. Try the next.”
“You’re not going force me to wear it anyway?”
“No,” he said easily. “We can’t have you ratching at your cock every five minutes in the middle of a dinner party. That wouldn’t be conducive to anyone’s appetite, I’m sure.”
I let out a disgruntled noise and spun around, peeling out of the jacket as I retreated back into my curtained-off sanctuary.
It went on like that for hours. I’d try on the formal events attire, present myself to the room like a prized cow for auction, then we’d switch over to one or two of my selections to break it up—which was my favourite part.
More than once, I’d actually coaxed emotion out of Caine with what I’d picked out, and it was gratifying as hell.
His eye would widen a fraction, his chest would inflate with an inhale, and a grave expression would settle on his face.
Poking at his composure made the whole experience slightly more bearable.