Chapter 5
Lainey
We pull up to a nice building on the outskirts of Connecticut. The sign on the front reads “Porter Brothers Suits Co.”
The red brick building looks old but charming. I’m sure it looks absolutely beautiful in the summer, but right now the bricks look dull after being covered with snow, and the sidewalk is covered in brown slush. Still, the place has an expensive feel to it.
Holland gets out of the car first, and I watch as he moves in front of the vehicle, coming to my door and opening it for me. My eyes narrow before stepping out onto the pavement.
“Since when are you a gentleman?”
I ask. Holland runs a hand through his shaggy hair, a strand falling in front of his eye.
With a teasing smirk, he says, “I’m always a gentleman. Give me a chance to show you,”
he leans in closer, whispering in my ear. “In bed.”
His breath against my ear is warm, and it causes a small shiver to run through me, and not because it’s like thirty degrees outside.
He pulls back and winks at me, the asshole. He’s always making sexual jokes and giving me things to envision in my head. Like his face between my legs, or him behind me as he…okay, Lainey. That’s enough.
Holland and I will never be a thing, even though I can admit that the guy is seriously attractive. Why’d he have to grow up to be hot? It would really make my life a whole lot easier if he were ugly.
The way his sexual comments now make me feel things in my vagina make this whole thing more complicated. Because I find him annoying, and arrogant, and occasionally sweet and protective, and God damnit. I need to stop.
I shake my head and roll my eyes, hoping I look more unaffected than I actually am.
“You’re disgusting,”
I tell him, pushing his chest so he backs away from me and starting toward the building. It’s cold as shit out here and if I don’t get inside now, I’m going to freeze to death.
I can hear Holland’s deep chuckle as we come into the foyer of the luxurious looking men’s warehouse.
Immediately when you walk in, you can feel the energy change. This isn’t your typical suit and tux shop.
This is where fancy, rich people come to get five-thousand-dollar suits and accessories.
People who have more money than they know what to do with.
I can’t say much because I grew up wealthy. Really wealthy, to be honest. At any major inconvenience in my life, my parents would send me extravagant gifts like a new car, or a trip to Cabo. But I never used any of that stuff to make myself look better.
No one at school knew how wealthy I was, even though the school consisted of many wealthy families from around the area. I never advertised that I had money. It wasn’t really important to me. It wasn’t what I wanted, or what I needed.
What I needed was for my parents to actually be there, to actually give a shit about their only daughter. I didn’t care about fancy cars or clothes, big houses or crazy vacations. All I wanted was to be a family.
But that wasn’t what I got. So, I took what I could get. Eventually I stopped fighting it. I started accepting their gifts and accepting the fact that I would never have the family I wanted. Life was less disappointing that way.
To the right of the large foyer, a large, beautiful mahogany desk sits with a young, well-dressed gentleman behind it. His black hair is slicked back with too much gel, and he looks kind of uncomfortable in the suit he wears. He’s typing on a computer, and when he notices us, a friendly smile appears on his face.
“Well, hello there,”
he greets us in a voice that could only be described as ‘customer servicy.’ “Welcome to Porter Brothers Suits Company. I’m Marcos. What brings you in today?”
Holland gives him a polite smile.
“I need a suit for a wedding. Black, please,”
he tells the man. Marcos continues to smile, and I’m surprised his cheeks don’t hurt from smiling so much. I don’t think he’s stopped since he saw us.
“Right this way,”
Marcos says, leading the way to a large room. The large chandelier that hangs from the ceiling is incredibly beautiful. There are two brown leather couches in the room, with two accent chairs sitting the middle edge between them.
Suits, ties, and shoes line the surrounding walls, and it smells like cedar, leather, and man. The place looks wealthy and almost exclusive. I’d almost feel bad for sitting on the decadent furniture, but then I remember that’s what it’s there for. So I take a seat while Marcos shows Holland all of the options.
I catch myself watching as Holland walks around the spacious room, noticing his muscular legs from years of playing rugby, his huge arms in the long sleeve shirt he’s wearing, his megawatt smile as he talks to Marcos.
I grab my phone from my hoodie pocket and see a missed text from Ellie.
Ellie Bear
Ellie Bear
Did you get abducted?
Do I need to call the cops?
Me
No, I’m fine. Did you
know that your idiot
brother hasn’t gotten
a suit for the wedding
yet?
Ellie Bear
Yep. He told me this
morning. I seriously
can’t believe him.
You know what, yeah, I
can. He’s a dunce. Did he
kidnap you?
Me
Yup. Sitting at this
really nice men’s shop
waiting for him to
pick a damn suit so I
can go the hell home.
Ellie Bear
Tell him to hurry up. I
need you.
Me
What’s wrong? Are
you okay?
Three dots appear as Ellie begins to type back, but before I can see what she said, Holland walks out of the dressing room dressed in an elegant black suit that makes me feel some type of way.
“Well?”
he asked, spreading his arms dramatically.
“Do I look like someone who has their life together?”
I can’t help the snort that comes out of me.
“Sure, if your life is about attending business meetings and arguing over spreadsheets.”
“Spreadsheets are important,”
Holland states, turning to inspect himself in the three-way mirror.
“How else would I keep track of my growing empire?”
“Empire?”
I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Is that what we’re calling your fantasy football league now?”
Holland turns back to me, grinning.
“Laugh it up. You’re just jealous you weren’t drafted into greatness.”
“Oh, yeah, devastated,”
I reply, mock dramatic.
“Anyway, the suit’s fine, but it’s not you. Too serious,” I shrug.
He frowns, tugging at the lapels.
“I can do serious.”
“You couldn’t do serious if you tried,”
I tell him, leaning back with a smirk. I don’t think Holland’s ever been serious a day in his life. That’s just not his personality. The only time he can be serious is when he’s playing rugby, or when he’s threatening to beat people up for looking at Ellie the wrong way.
“Challenge accepted,”
he says, his tone dropping to an overly stern voice. He strikes a stiff pose.
“I am here to negotiate world peace.”
I burst out laughing, not able to contain it. I slap a hand over my mouth.
“Stop! You look like you’re about to fire someone.”
“Maybe I am,”
he teases, gesturing to me.
“Starting with you.”
“You couldn’t afford to fire me,”
I shot back, crossing my arms.
“Who else would tell you when you look ridiculous?”
“Fair point,”
Holland admits, disappearing back into the fitting room.
“What’s next on your list of sartorial demands, Your Highness?”
I shrug, sinking back into the couch. The suit he had on was hot as hell, but it was missing something. It wasn’t him.
“Something less funereally, more weddingy.”
Holland’s voice comes through the curtain.
“Weddingy?”
he questions. I fold my arms over my chest, even though he can’t see me.
“Yes. Weddingy.”
“I don’t think that’s a word in the dictionary,”
Holland calls back, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Don’t question me, Monroe. I know what I’m saying.”
“Woah there, killer,”
Holland says as he steps back out from the fitting room.
“Remind me why I brought you?”
he asks, his lips pulled up into a smirk.
My breath hitches, and my heart begins to race in a way that shouldn’t be possible. It was perfect. The jacket hugs his shoulders in just the right way, and the fit is much less funereally. He looks… delicious. Oh, shut up, Lainey. He’s a pain in the ass, and he’s annoying.
“Well?”
he inquires, his grin growing wider, probably because I look like I’m ready to pounce on him. Shit.
“Does this one fit your outrageous standards, Lainey Bug?”
I blink, regaining my composure.
“It’s… alright.”
“Alright?”
he repeats, his eyebrows shooting up.
“That’s all I get? Alright?”
I shrug, trying to look unimpressed.
“I guess you clean up alright.”
His head tilts to one side, like he’s studying me.
“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at compliments?”
“I’m just honest,”
I reply, standing and making my way over to him. I don’t know why I’m moving toward him, but for some reason I can’t stop myself.
“But yeah, this one works.”
When I’m right in front of him, I brush an imaginary piece of lint off one of the sleeves, and when I look up, Holland is looking at me.
The fun, lighthearted air between us shifts, and suddenly I’m very aware of how close we’re standing. He must feel the weird energy too, because he stiffens a bit.
I clear my throat and step back, shoving my hands in my hoodie pocket so I can’t make any stupid moves.
“So, are we good to go? I have to get home. Ellie needs me,”
I tell him, starting to walk out of the room.
“Uh, yeah. We’re good to go,”
he states, walking back toward the fitting room and calls over his shoulder, “I’m holding you responsible if I look better than the groom.”
“Not a chance,”
I shoot back, continuing my way back to the front of the shop to wait for him.