13 Chapter 15
Chapter 15 – Intimate Measures and Unspoken Ties
I stared up at Damien, his tall frame towering over me as I clutched my a
nino tape like lifeline. The solarium suddenly felt warmer than before.
“Yes, Mr. Sterling–I mean, Damien,” I stammered, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “If you have time now, I can take your measurements.”
He smiled, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. “I always have time for important Ms. Ashworth.”
matters,
Cherry approached with her tablet. “Should I note the requirements for Mr. Sterling’s suit,
Hazel?”
“Yes, please.” I was grateful for her interruption. It gave me a moment to compose myself. “We’ll need a formal suit, so we should take complete measurements.”
Mrs. Sterling rose from her seat. “Let’s give them some space, ladics. Perhaps we can move to the east drawing room for more tea while Hazel works.”
I shot her a panicked look. Was she leaving me alone with her son?
She caught my expression and laughed softly. “Don’t worry, dear. Cherry will stay to assist you, of course. And Damien doesn’t bite.”
“Not unless requested, he murmured, so quietly that only I could hear.
My cheeks flamed as the women filed out, leaving just Cherry, Damien, and me in the vast
solarium.
“Where would you like me?” Damien asked, his tone perfectly innocent despite the double entendre that my overactive mind immediately conjured.
“By the windows, please,” I said, desperate for better lighting as an excuse. “The natural light will help me see the details better.”
As he moved to stand where I’d indicated, I caught Cherry giving me a knowing look. I shot her a warning glance before joining Damien.
“I’ll need you to remove your jacket,” I said, trying to sound matter–of–fact.
He complied without comment, shrugging it off in one fluid motion and handing it to Cherry. Without the jacket, his broad shoulders were even more apparent under his crisp white shirt.
I unspooled my measuring tape. “I’ll start with your shoulders, then chest, waist, and hips.
“Whatever you need,” he replied, standing perfectly still, arms slightly away from his sides.
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I stepped behind him, glad he couldn’t see my face as I placed the tape across his shoulders. The expensive fabric of his shirt couldn’t hide the firm muscles beneath. I cleared my throat.
“Forty–four inches, I called to Cherry, who dutifully recorded it.
Next came his chest. I had to reach around him, bringing my arms to either side
of his torso. I was close enough to catch his scent–something subtle and expensive that reminded me of sandalwood and fresh air.
“Forty–two inches,” I said, my voice coming out slightly higher than normal.
Cherry raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing as she continued taking notes.
For the waist measurement, I had to stand directly in front of him. My fingers trembled slightly as I wrapped the tape around his middle, careful not to touch him more than necessary.
“Thirty–four inches, I announced, stepping back quickly.
“Is everything alright, Ms. Ashworth?” Damien asked, his dark eyes studying my face.
“Yes, perfectly fine. I lied. “Just…concentrating
Now came the part I was dreading–the hip measurement. I knelt down, eye–level with his thighs, and wrapped the tape around the fullest part of his hips.
“Thirty–eight inches,” I said.
As I started to stand, disaster struck. My fingers slipped, and the measuring tape dropped. Without thinking, I reached out to catch it, and my hand accidentally brushed against his lower
abdomen.
I froze, mortification washing over me in a hot wave.
“I’m so sorry, I blurted, snatching my hand back.
Damien didn’t even flinch. “For what?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
Was it possible he hadn’t noticed? I glanced up and caught a flicker of something in his eyes- amusement mixed with something warmer–before his expression returned to neutral.
He was pretending not to notice to spare my embarrassment.
“Um, dropping the tape, I mumbled, grateful for his tact.
“These things happen,” he said smoothly. “Shall we continue?”
I nodded, regaining some composure as I measured his arms, then had him sit to measure his Inseam–letting Cherry handle that part while I recovered.
“Cherry can finish the remaining measurements,” I said. “I’ll just check these numbers and start thinking about fabric options.”
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“I trust your judgment completely on the fabrics, Damien said. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be perfect.”
Once we completed his measurements, I spent another hour with his female relatives, discussing their commissions and taking additional measurements. By the time we finished, I had orders from eight Sterling family members–enough work to keep my atelier busy for months and enough money to wipe out the debts I’d accumulated after canceling my wedding.
Mrs. Sterling reappeared as we were packing up. “You must stay for lunch, Hazel. Our chef has prepared something special.”
“That’s very kind, I said, genuinely touched by the invitation, “but I have appointments back at the studio this afternoon.”
“Another time, then,” she said, clearly disappointed.
Damien, who had been speaking with one of his cousins across the room, approached us. “Mother, I need to head back to the office as well.
Mrs. Sterling brightened. “Perfect! Damien, you can give Hazel a ride.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued, “I insist. It’s on his way, and those rideshare. apps can be so unreliable.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose- I began.
“It’s no imposition, Damien cut in. “I’d be happy to drive you.”
And just like that, I found myself walking alongside Damien Sterling through the grand hallways of his family’s estate, Cherry having been whisked away by Mrs. Sterling’s assistant to discuss delivery schedules.
When we reached the entry hall, I remembered something. I reached into my purse and pulled out his monogrammed handkerchief–carefully cleaned and pressed.
“I wanted to return this to you,” I said, holding it out. “Thank you again for your kindness that
day.”
He looked at the handkerchief but didn’t take it. “Keep it.”
“But it’s yours. And it looks expensive.”
A small smile played at his lips. “Consider it a token of goodwill between us.”
I reluctantly returned it to my purse. “If you insist.”
As we walked toward the main doors, I gathered my courage to ask the question that had been bothering me. “May I ask why you were at my wedding? Or rather, my non–wedding?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his stride never faltering as we stepped outside into the bright sunlight. His car–a sleek, midnight–blue Bentley–waited at the bottom of the steps.
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“Coincidence,” he finally said, though something in his tone suggested otherwise.
“That’s a pretty significant coincidence, I pressed gently.
“Life is full of them, don’t you think?” He opened the passenger door for me. “Some more fortunate than others”
Islid into the butter–soft leather seat, wondering if I’d ever get a straight answer from him.
He walked around to the driver’s side and got in, the engine purring to life with a gentle turn of the key. As we pulled away from the Sterling estate, I couldn’t help but feel I was being drawn into something much bigger than a simple business relationship.
Just as we reached the gates, he glanced over at me. “Miss Ashworth, we are peers. There’s no need to use honorifies with me; it makes me feel old
The request hung in the air between us–an invitation to step across a boundary that, once crossed, could never be reestablished.
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