Chapter 2
Chapter Two
As Debra closed the door to her flat, the first thing she noticed was the silence.
At one time, silence meant peace, but now it just made her think of everything Gerald used to fill with noise.
The television blaring from the lounge or the sound of his voice on calls.
That continuous rattle of the kettle when he worked from home.
Now it was just her and the sound of London bleeding through the windows.
She dropped her bag on the kitchen island and flicked the lights on.
The place was modern, open plan, and too white for her taste.
It had come fully furnished—another one of Gerald’s negotiations—but it felt more like a showroom than a real, cosy home.
There were days when she loved the space, and others when it made her feel like a guest in her own life.
Her laptop sat where she’d left it that morning, and right now, Debra was almost certain it was encouraging her to open it. She sighed, kicked off her shoes, and poured herself a glass of wine. It wasn’t even six yet, but surely divorce granted some leniency.
By the second sip, she’d typed Brown & Co. London into the search bar and pressed enter. The website was sleek. Black, white, and very minimalist. Tailoring for women, by women. A single sentence sat beneath the name. Where form meets freedom.
Debra clicked through, scanning images of perfectly cut suits on women of all shapes and ages, looking effortlessly self-assured. Not one of them resembled the tentative creature currently sitting in her flat with half a glass of Sauvignon and a permanent crease between her brows.
Her eyes landed on the section called The Full Service.
She hovered for a moment before clicking.
For clients seeking a bespoke experience. A private consultation combining our signature tailoring with a custom lingerie fitting, if desired. Discretion assured. Confidence guaranteed.
“Confidence guaranteed,” she murmured and sipped her wine. “Now that’s a promise.”
Scrolling further down, she found reviews. There weren’t many, which made sense. The clients who could afford this sort of thing likely didn’t chatter about it online. But the ones who did had kindly left Debra the information she was looking for.
I didn’t expect to walk out feeling the way I did. Billie has a way of seeing not only your measurements, but you. The woman underneath. It was worth every penny.
Huh. That was positive.
Hands down the most empowering experience I’ve ever had. Pun intended.
Debra narrowed her eyes.
Billie Brown knows her craft. She’s very hands on. You’ll understand when you go.
Debra frowned, reading that one twice. “Hands on,” she repeated under her breath.
What exactly did that mean?
She scrolled further when her curiosity started to creep in.
It’s not just tailoring. It’s transformation. I’ve never been made to feel more beautiful.
The words made her breath catch. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel beautiful without expectation attached.
Gerald had been generous, yes, but never observant.
He’d bought jewellery and handbags and perfumes because that’s what men did, not because he’d noticed what suited her.
Billie Brown, apparently, noticed things.
Debra clicked through to the appointment page before she could back out.
There were different options depending on what you required.
Standard consultation, lingerie fitting, and the full service.
The price next to the last one made her laugh.
Maeve was quite clearly out of her mind.
She could afford it—the divorce settlement had been more than generous—but spending that kind of money on a suit she’d likely never wear for anyone but herself seemed ridiculous.
Still, her cursor hovered over the form.
She was fifty-two, newly divorced, and drinking cheap Sauvignon while debating whether to book a fitting at a tailor that catered to women half her age and with twice her confidence.
The thought made her laugh, but it didn’t back her away from the laptop.
She scrolled to the review about Billie being ‘hands on’ again.
It couldn’t mean what she thought it did. Surely not. No respectable business operated like that, not on Savile Row of all places.
Her gaze drifted to a small, candid photograph at the bottom of the page.
Billie herself, standing in front of a mirror with a client.
The client’s face was out of frame, but Billie’s wasn’t.
She had short dark hair, wore an exquisitely sharp suit, and had a tape measure looped around her neck.
She had that kind of self-possession you couldn’t possibly fake, and there was something about her expression.
Focused, but not detached. Like she understood the body in front of her wasn’t just fabric and proportion, but something far more intimate.
Debra closed her laptop halfway, took a breath, then reopened it.
Her pulse had quickened, but she tried to convince herself it was because of the alcohol, not the image she couldn’t quite look away from.
She quickly filled in the form and clicked submit.
Thank you for booking with Brown & Co. Our team will be in touch shortly to confirm your appointment.
Debra sat back in her chair and stared at the words. She should have felt ridiculous. But tonight, she felt something else entirely. A flutter she hadn’t recognised in a long time.
Anticipation, maybe. Even attraction. After all, Debra had been here before. Many years before she’d married Gerald. A closeted bisexual.
She shut the laptop and took her glass to the sink, reminding herself that it was just a suit and nothing more.
But as she switched off the lights and headed for the bathroom, the image of Billie Brown—impeccably dressed with the quiet command of someone who didn’t need to explain herself—stayed firmly in her mind.
It couldn’t mean what she thought it meant, but part of her hoped that she was wrong.
Billie sat behind her desk, watching the clock as it struck six in the evening.
She’d spent the last hour or so responding to appointments for the rest of the week, but her interest had piqued when she came across a booking for a new client.
She didn’t often have newcomers requesting The Full Service, but Billie welcomed them with open arms…
certain they would leave more than satisfied. And yes, she was that good.
The door opened suddenly without a knock beforehand. Nina slipped inside, looking impeccable and put together, but Billie knew exactly how she was feeling deep down. She clocked the tremor in Nina’s fingers as she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Six,” Nina said quietly, her gaze fixed on Billie’s.
“I’m aware.” Billie rose to her feet and smoothed a hand over her waistcoat. She stepped out from behind her desk and shook her head. “You’re late again.”
Nina frowned. “What?”
“It’s thirty seconds past.”
“I…” Nina swallowed, already flustered. “I waited in the corridor. I didn’t want to come in early.”
“Always thinking.” Billie sighed as she stalked towards her. “Always making decisions for me.”
Nina cast her gaze to the oak flooring. “I’m sorry.”
“Mm. You will be.” Nina’s breath hitched when Billie stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the air shift between them. “Skirt.”
Nina obeyed, gathering the hem and lifting her skirt.
As Billie’s gaze swept down Nina’s body, landing on what she desired most, she nodded. “You held it. I’m proud of you.”
“Yes. All day.”
“Did you think about me?”
A flush rose on Nina’s cheeks. “The whole time.”
“And you didn’t play even a little?”
Nina’s breathing grew shallow as Billie stepped closer. “No. I did as you asked. I didn’t touch myself.”
“Perfect.” Billie cupped Nina’s chin and tilted her face up. “You just let the ache build instead, didn’t you?” She lowered her other hand and slipped it between Nina’s legs, offering just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Because you’re so needy and desperately want to come for me.”
“Yes.”
“Well, go on. Show me.”
Nina didn’t need clarification. She lowered herself to the couch, her thighs parting as she gathered her skirt around her waist. When she spread her lips, Billie smirked and dropped to her knees in front of her.
She didn’t touch, she just watched. She let the weight of her gaze sink in deep before she leaned in impossibly close.
“Tell me,” Billie whispered as she dipped her head and gathered Nina’s wetness on her tongue. “Did it make you wet? Knowing you couldn’t have it yet…knowing I was the one who would decide when and how you’d come?”
“Yes.” Nina’s lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You’ve been perfect all day. Holding it for me.
” Billie dipped a finger inside Nina, enjoying the way she clenched immediately.
“Keeping yourself ready for my hands…my mouth…my permission.” Billie leaned back and took her in fully.
Open, trembling, and so fucking obedient.
“Taking me so well. Giving yourself to me without question…”
“Billie, I—” Nina tried to close her thighs around Billie’s hand. “Oh, God.”
“You’ve earned every second of what’s coming.” Billie slipped out of Nina and rose slowly. She popped the button on her pants, lowered the zip, and watched a range of emotions cross Nina’s face as she brought the strap into view. “You know I love ruining you.”
“And you know I love being ruined by you.”
Nina sat forward and held the strap in her hand with a devotion that made Billie’s pulse thrum harder. She wrapped her lips around the head, looked up at Billie through those long eyelashes, and took the length of it in her mouth.