Riding the Storm. Joanne Rock

I dress with the same care I’d use when decorating a room, since the way I look is kind of an advertisement for the business.” She moved toward a rack full of white blouses, and walked her fingers through the hangers in search of the right size. “I mean, who would trust a decorator who shows up in yoga pants and a T-shirt? Clients expect someone in my line of work to look more put together.”

      Moving through the store with efficiency, she had two shirts and a pair of pants in hand already. As she turned toward the next rack, he anticipated the move and stepped in front of her. Surprising her. Surprising himself, to a certain extent. He hadn’t planned to make his play for her here and now, but he didn’t want to wait any longer.

      The dimly lit, overly air-conditioned store created an odd sense of privacy, since the loud, pulsing music isolated them from the lone salesclerk chatting away on a cell phone at the counter in the back of the shop.

      “I hope you don’t see me as a client you need to impress.” He calculated their distance in inches. Not nearly close enough. Still, her elbow brushed his chest as she clutched the hangers to her.

      Belatedly, she retracted her arm, tightening her grip on the clothes as if she could halt the attraction between them by not touching him. He hoped like hell that trick wouldn’t work.

      “I know better than to presume anyone will sign on with me,” she protested, carefully keeping things on a safe footing. “You haven’t even seen my work—”

      Waving off her words, he shook his head.

      “Not because of that. I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. What I meant was, I hope you won’t let business get in the way of something…better.” He had to put his cards on the table soon or she’d be dressed in new clothes and penciling him into her appointment book for a sales pitch before they said goodbye.

      “Hey, hon,” the young salesclerk shouted to Josie over the loud music, one hand over her cell phone to muffle her voice. “The fitting room is in the back. There’s a place where your friend can have a seat while you try stuff on.”

      She gestured toward an archway near a shoe rack, the huge cocktail ring she wore glinting under one of the store’s blue spotlights.

      And thank you, Miss Disinterested Salesgirl. She’d just given Keith the break he’d been looking for.

      “Can we talk for a minute?” He took the clothes from Josie’s arms. “Let me carry these for you.”

      Judging from her expression, she had mixed feelings about a conversation in the dressing room. But hey, if he was going to give her a hard sell on the merits of spending more time with him, better to do it in a public place where she knew she could walk away, than on the boat, where she might feel trapped.

      He led her under the arch near the shoe rack. A love seat had been situated near a small table holding a coffeepot and a pitcher of water. The sofa sat across from a three-way mirror. A smaller room with a bench inside was visible beyond a half-drawn velvet curtain.

      Behind him, Josie’s flat shoes clicked double-time to keep up. He used his lead to deposit the clothes she’d chosen in the fitting area, then he backed away to sit on an arm of the love seat so he didn’t look like some loser in the market to catch a view of her naked. Not that he wasn’t in the market, per se. But he had every intention of waiting until she offered that opportunity to him freely.

      “I’m not sure—” she began.

      He rushed to cut off that line of thinking.