“It’s a sportscasting position at Wolf Sports North. Regardless if it’s doing on-air analyzing or if I’m commentating for games, my look needs to be camera ready.”
“What sport?”
“Women’s hockey.”
That’s when he sized me up. “You play?”
I nodded. “And I coach.”
“And she’s won Olympic medals, international and national championships. Come on, Gabriella, don’t sell yourself short. Sell yourself.”
“Why would she need to when you’re doing it for her?” Q said.
Yeah. This was going well.
Not.
Nolan’s phone rang. He swore under his breath and said, “I need to step out for a moment,” and then disappeared.
Jerk.
Q studied me and I sensed he didn’t like what he saw.
Too bad. I met his hard stare straight on.
“So how long have you and Nolan been together?”
I leaned forward. “Let’s be honest with each other, okay? Nolan and I aren’t involved. I’m sure that doesn’t come as a shocker to you, as I am not even freakin’ close to Nolan’s type.”
“You think I would know Nolan’s type . . . how?”
That surprised me.
“I spend a lot of time with Nolan during the course of a year, yet I wouldn’t call us friends. In the years I’ve been his stylist, he’s never once brought a woman with him. Not for her opinion on his clothes. Not to help her choose clothes. So the urgency in this visit has me scrambling for a number of reasons. I’d appreciate it if you’d finish filling in the blanks.”
“I work for Jax at Lakeside Ice Arena and know Nolan by default. He has the kind of style that money can buy and the type of class that can’t be bought. I needed his style expertise because my other fashion-conscious friends were unavailable, and I sort of . . . bulldozed my way into his office and demanded his help.”
“And he just agreed?”
“He agreed to swap favors. I’m helping him with his LCCO mixer for LGBTQ youth on Saturday and he’s helping me with this.” I rubbed my sweaty hands on my sweater. “You should also be aware that I have a budget.”
He smirked. “A foreign concept for Mr. Lund.”
“Exactly. So I’m asking you, Q, to make sure that Nolan doesn’t try and pay for anything else.”
“Else?”
“I’m guessing he’s paying your hourly rate as his part of the favor.”
“You guessed correctly.” He cocked his head. “What’s your budget, dear?”
“No more than one thousand dollars.”
“That changes a few things.”
Dammit.
After a pause, Q said, “You asked for honesty, and here it is.” His eyes gleamed. “I love this challenge. While I adore working with clients who don’t bat an eyelash at the cost of fashion, your monetary constraints will force me to get creative.”
I blinked at him. “And that’s good?”
“Very good. Plus it’ll be fun.”
“Thank you. Seriously. I’ve been worried about this money sitch.” I pulled my wallet from my purse and fished out a credit card. “Payment in advance?”
“Not necessary. I’ll give you an itemized bill after we’ve made final selections. But I’d like for you and me to strike a deal also.”
“What kind of deal?” I asked, returning my wallet to my purse.
“If you get this job, I want to be named your stylist, officially credited at the end of Wolf Sports North programming—Gabriella Welk’s wardrobe courtesy of Jacques Andres Designs. I realize this is all a bit premature, but that is one career bucket list item I haven’t attained.”
I offered him my hand. “You have a deal.”
“What kind of a deal?” Nolan asked as he strolled back in.
“Just finalizing the payment option for Miss Welk.” Q gave Nolan’s outfit a once-over.
Today Nolan wore a dark gray suit paired with a black shirt, and topped off with a silver tie dotted with tiny red diamonds. A little more somber than his usual attire, but the man looked delectable, like James Bond—the Brosnan years.
“There’s lots more color in men’s summer fashion than in years past,” Q continued. “Trend is to match the socks to the shirt. Which won’t affect you.”
“Since I don’t wear socks with my suits during the Minnesota winters, I won’t wear them in the summertime.” Nolan’s gaze zeroed in on me. “You ready?”
Hell no. “Yep.”
Thirteen
NOLAN
Gabriella’s nervousness surprised me.
She oozed confidence in every situation. Even after her boyfriend had dumped her.
I’d intended to ease her into this process of getting styled, but now I decided the fewer decisions she’d have to make, the better it’d be all around.
“Do you need her to strip to get her measurements?” I asked Q.