“Do you shop on your own? Like . . . hey, I feel like hitting the mall today for some new jeans. Or does he procure your entire wardrobe?”
“The truth is, I don’t enjoy shopping. My style would be much different if I had to find pieces at menswear stores. I’m aware how fortunate I am to be able to outsource that task. Q has full access to my closet. Before we meet, he goes through my clothes and pulls the pieces that have outlived their usefulness or are out of style. Then he finds replacement pieces or full outfits and I try them on to check fit, et cetera. I choose what to keep and he returns what I don’t buy. All my suits, and shirts for those suits, are custom tailored, which is different than ready-to-wear, because creating a look from scratch takes more time.”
“What happens to your old clothes?”
“Higher-end pieces he consigns with a boutique group that operates all over the U.S. The rest are donated.”
Gabi stared at me.
“What?”
“This is just a whole other level. I mean, I work for Jax and I can be at ease with him now and think of him as just Jax, not THE Jaxson ‘Stonewall’ Lund. I know he has money, but besides his penthouse apartment and his various businesses, I don’t see his wealth. But seeing you with Q? That’s when it sinks in that you are part of one of the wealthiest families in the country. This is normal for you. It won’t ever not be normal for you.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Her tone hadn’t been accusatory or laden with jealousy. Either of those attitudes I could deal with. What had thrown me? Was it the sense that this was the first time she’d had to remind herself today that she’d stepped foot into my world, and that made her see me in yet another light? And she’d yet to decide whether that was a favorable light.
Q returned with clothes draped over his arm. “All right, Gabriella. Into the dressing room with you.”
“I’m fine stripping where I stand.”
What the actual fuck? Was this her way of poking me for asking earlier if Q wanted her to strip?
That even caught Q off guard. “I assumed—”
“Let’s clear those assumptions up. Does this place have walk-in clientele?”
“No. The side entrance you two initially used has been locked.” He sent me a reprimanding look.
“Then we’re good. It’d be a waste of time for me to troop into the dressing room, get dressed, troop back out here so Nolan can weigh in, then return to the dressing room out of some false sense of modesty. I’ve been on hockey teams since I was eight years old. The one issue I don’t have is being undressed in semipublic. Since I won’t be getting totally naked at any point, then I don’t have to worry about either of you leering at my lady bits. Doing all of the outfit changes right here will save a ton of time. I know you’re both very busy men and I’ve already wreaked havoc on your schedules today. So let’s do this.” She paused. “Oh, and by staying out here I have the added benefit of hearing firsthand anything good, bad or indifferent about how I look and not whispered behind my back.”
Guilt prodded me but I managed no reaction.
Q clapped his hands. “Excellent plan. Nolan, you take the chair on the right.”
Turning, I walked to the sitting area as she started to peel her leggings down her legs. After adjusting the chair, I plopped onto the cushy seat. Now I had a much clearer line of sight.
And what a sight it was.
Holy shit. I’d known Gabi had curves; I just hadn’t known they were like that.
Ka-fucking-pow curves that knocked my damn brain offline.
Muscled quads. Delineated calves. Her powerhouse shoulders, carved biceps and triceps rippled as she tossed the sweater she’d just removed onto the floor.
Thankfully Gabi was chattering to Q, which meant she couldn’t see that my focus had gotten stuck on the bands of black lace underwear that hugged those firm, round cheeks. When I looked away, my gaze snagged on the three-way mirror that showcased the front of her body. The swell of her hips. The flat plane of her stomach, which boasted a six-pack. And those lush breasts.
Not in competition form anymore, my ass. This woman had no competition. I’d