Straight Until Him
Which was exactly the answer he wanted.
The boutique smelled of leather and expensive fabric. Rows of suits gleamed under golden lights, mannequins dressed sharper than most men on Wall Street.
“Pick one,” Micah said, lounging against a chair like he owned the place.
I tried on three. Gray. Navy. Then black.
The black one fit too well. Sharp lines, crisp shoulders, tie perfectly knotted. I adjusted it in the mirror.
“Dangerous,” Micah murmured. His eyes didn’t leave me.