Page 18 of Pretty Mess

He steps back, still frowning in thought. “With a little attention, your appearance will be acceptable.”

“What sort of attention?” I ask warily.

“Maybe a bit of self-tan, although you seem to have naturally golden skin. Then a trim to your hair so you look a little less like a Hobbit, eyebrow shaping, a manicure, a pedicure, and waxing.”

“All that this year?”

He ignores me. “You will look okay in clothes.”

“What do you mean? I’m already wearing clothes. Don’t I look good now?” I say indignantly.

He gives me a pitying look. “It’s probably best not to mention the monstrously awful athletic wear you seem to favour. I’ll get my tailor to come round. You’ll need a suit.”

“Will I?”

“Did you really think you’d go to the type of event I just talked about and wear your Levi’s and those old Adidas trainers?”

Panic stirs. “But I can’t afford anything new.”

He waves a careless hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll use my card, and Mister X will pick up the bill.”

“You can’t dothat,” I say, scandalised.

“Of course I can.”

“What if he finds out?”

“The tailor is my contact. I’ve used him for years. He’ll keep his mouth shut, and Mister X will think I’ve just bought another suit. Besides, I’ll need a new one too, if I’m attending the event.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

He studies me for a long moment and then winks. “That’s my business. Okay, strip.”

“Sorry?”

“I hope you’re better at taking orders than this.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Maybe we’d better say you’re a little touched in the attic. Some men like that.”

“Why have I got to strip?”

“I need to see if there are any potential problems.”

I blanch. “I can assure you that therearen’t,” I squeak.

“Do hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

“Is this your bedside manner in operation?” I shake my head and strip off my clothes, my skin pebbling in the air conditioning.

I cup my hands over my groin, and he rolls his eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake. It’s like stripping a nun.”

“Have you done a lot of that?”

“Release the cock.” I sigh and let my hands fall away as he nods in approval. “Lovely. I’d guess it’s seven inches when erect, yes?”

“Correct.”

“I’m very rarely wrong.”

“Or modest.”