Groomzilla (8 page)

Owen saw Daniel’s jaw drop.

“So this is the main space,” Owen said breezily, as if they weren’t wandering into a showplace. “Kitchen’s through there.” He led Daniel past the pool table, around the twenty-foot-high bookcases and tableau of heavy leather sofas. “Living room over there”—because it was hard to miss a ten-by-ten brick fireplace. The open staircase—leading up to the roof or down to the bedrooms—seemed to catch Daniel’s open-mouthed gaze.

“It’s, uh….”

“Yes, it certainly is.” Owen stopped them at the bottom of the stairs. “Used to be a garment factory for many years. They renovated the building after it sat empty for a while—Victor snatched up the penthouse, right under Sting’s nose.” He smiled ruefully. “At least that’s the story you’ll hear.”

“This place is fucking huge,” Daniel said, as if he couldn’t stop himself. The words seemed to surprise him; he seemed to grow overly interested in staring at his feet.

“And you haven’t seen all of it.”

Daniel looked up, eyebrow arched.

“There’s a gorgeous rooftop—a glass-walled gym, an outside dining area. And oh God, the bedrooms. The bedrooms are as decadent as a whorehouse,” he rattled on until Daniel cracked a charming, dimpled smile.

“Is this where you invite me to see Victor’s etchings?”

“Victor’s etchings have nothing on mine.”

“Mr. Grainger!” a disembodied voice called up from below them.

Owen leaned over the side of the slick silver railing, reluctantly pulling away from Daniel. “Syndie?”

“Yes!” Feet pounding on the stairs gave way to the violet-haired top of Syndie’s head, her bright smile appearing a second later. “Hello!”

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” Owen said, returning her perky grin.

“For you, anything.” She directed her cat’s-eye-framed gaze toward Daniel. “Oh, is this our doll for the day?” Her voice filled with delight.

“Daniel Green, Syndie Fink, our stylist coordinator.”

“Nice to meet you.” Daniel extended his hand as Syndie raised her own from her stance on the lower stair.

“Pleasure. You are darling—look at that bone structure! Those twinkly eyes! This is going to be so much fun!”

Owen laughed at the slightly terrified glaze that fell like a curtain over Daniel’s expression.

DOWNSTAIRS IN
the main guest bedroom, Syndie had set up shop. Lucias handled grooming; despite looking like an extra from a prison performance of
Sweeny Todd
, he was charming and full of dirty jokes. Nadine did tailoring on the spot, draped in tape measures and attached cushions of pins, chalk and scissors like weapons in her apron. She was silent but deadly—stand still too long and she’d hem your pants.

Across the cream duvet lay packages of collared shirts and sleek underwear, splashes of colorful socks, and an array of ties. Two rolling racks sat catty-corner to the bed, near the floor-to-ceiling windows, boasting an array of suits in a rainbow of distinguished hues.

Daniel looked lost in the chaos. Owen made introductions, then nudged the younger man toward Syndie’s open arms.

“Come to me, gorgeous.”

“Where do you want me?” Owen asked, relinquishing his gentle touch at Daniel’s back. Owen caught Daniel’s eye as Syndie pulled him toward Lucias’s chair; he hoped the friendly smile did something to ease his nerves.

“In the chair, near the window. It’s good light for you to judge the looks,” Syndie said, all business. “Good call on his measurements, by the way.”

Owen dropped into the chocolate brown slipper chair near the window, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt and sweater as he did. “It’s a gift,” he called teasingly. “I can always tell a man’s inseam.”

Daniel was ten feet away, with Syndie stripping him out of his sweater, and Owen shifted in his seat. Because even with the flush still on his cheeks, Daniel’s adorable smirk and steadfast gaze were fixed in Owen’s direction.

At the inseam remark, Daniel snickered.

“We’re going to start with a trim and then we’ll get him into… what do you want to start with?” Syndie called, standing back to look at Daniel with a critical eye. “Suits or casual wear?”

“Suits—casual and colorful, then we’ll work our way up to formal.”

Daniel’s smirk morphed into confusion. “We don’t have the tuxes figured out yet.”

“Tuxes are for the wedding. You’ll need suits for the various parties surrounding it—engagement, shower brunch, rehearsal dinner,” Owen rattled off. “The casual suits will be for the actual planning.”

“We already had their engagement party. A booze cruise to nowhere.”

Owen winced, then shook his head.

“I wore jeans and a sweater,” Daniel added dryly, his smile blooming back into place. “And Converse sneakers.”

Lips pursed, Owen laid his hand over his heart. “Ouch.” And delighted in Daniel tipping his head back and laughing.

THIS HAD
to be a dream.

Of all the things “reality show wedding” had activated in his mind, a surprise makeover had not been on the table. He figured he’d have to dress nicely and use hair product, but not this. Never this. Never tipped back over the sink, having his hair washed by a chatty man whose left fist was approximately the size of Daniel’s skull.

Those giant hands massaged his scalp through a storm of lemon-and-honey-scented shampoo, sending Daniel into spasms of joy.

Were they going to bring him up to Ander’s level? Or just pretty enough to make it into the shot?

“So you’re going to cut my hair?” Daniel interrupted, ending Lucias’s chattering one-way discussion of a club called Diablo in the Village.

“Yes, we are,” Lucias said, artificially white teeth gleaming in his smile. “You have great hair, but, honey, it’s got no shape, no plan, and it’s doing nothing but lying there looking bored.” He winked as he used the sprayer to rinse Daniel’s hair. “Sort of like my last date.”

“Nothing crazy,” Daniel said nervously, loud enough to be heard over the water.

Lucias winked again.

An actual barber chair sat just outside the bathroom, next to rolling tables of hair-care tools laid out on white towels. Lucias walked him to the chair, one meaty paw securing the towel to Daniel’s head, the other at his back. It didn’t feel like Owen’s—a fact that made Daniel seek out the other man before being maneuvered into the chair.

Owen had lost his overcoat and was now sprawled in the chair by the window, posed like a model under the beam of light. He’d pushed up his sleeves, leaving his forearms to flex as he stretched his arms over his head.

Good God.

“Looks like a fucking model,” he muttered under his breath, only to be startled by Lucias’s booming laugh behind him.

“In another life, he sure as hell was.”

Daniel’s ears perked up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Imagine that at seventeen.” Lucias met Daniel’s eyes in the oval mirror. “Let’s take a moment, shall we?”

“Damn.” Daniel whistled.

“Google him. I’d recommend a box of tissues and some sports drinks to rehydrate you when you’re done.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide.

Owen Grainger, teenage male model? Did this guy fall out of a dirty romance novel or something?

“Let’s make you prettier,” Lucias announced, arms stretching out, scissors in one hand and a comb in the other. “Gonna highlight those features, pluck a few hairs, and dazzle everyone in the room.” The waggle of eyebrows he shared with Daniel clearly indicated one of those people.

Lucias went to work with his scissors, his bulk blocking Daniel’s view, bits of hair flying past Daniel’s vision. Too much? How much hair did he have to sacrifice for television-worthy beauty?

“I’m giving you some products to use,” Lucias said, leaning back to take in his work. “I want you to swear you’ll use the moisturizer—I have feelings about crow’s-feet on guys under thirty.”

Ouch. “I forgot to use sunscreen. For like, twenty years.”

Lucias’s round face morphed into a painful rictus. “Oh, sweetie, no, no. Even olive complexions need care. Not just us hot blonds.”

Daniel’s eyebrow rose with a mind all its own.

“It’s natural,” Lucias said before going back to snipping at Daniel’s hair. “And don’t sass the man with sharp objects.”

“Mmm, I’m just glad we aren’t having this conversation while you’re waxing my balls.”

Lucias tipped his head back and howled.

Feeling pleased, Daniel settled back in the chair. Was Owen watching? Was he feeling as horny as before?

“So you do this a lot for them? Make the people on their show look better?” Daniel asked, curious as all hell.

“Oh yeah. We do the publicity events—parties, red carpet, whatever Owen needs.” His tone on “Owen” was positively fluttery, something Daniel understood.

“But not the show?”

“No—they’ve got some folks for that, though we get pulled in for the wedding. So many faces to blot, so many lines to fill,” Lucias stage-whispered. “Craters, actually—a future I don’t want for you.”

“I will use your products faithfully and stop going out into the sun.”

“Good boy.” Lucias patted his head. “Oh, and by the way? Owen’s been staring at you like you’re a freaking lobster dinner after a fast.”

Daniel’s grin threatened to overtake his face. “Don’t tease.”

“Oh, honey, I am not teasing. If he licks his lips one more time, I may have to go over and apply some balm.” His voice dropped even lower and Daniel ran his tongue over his top lip.

Slowly.

“Unless you are offering, put that thing away,” Lucias said, fanning himself dramatically. “And for God’s sake, don’t do that to Owen. He’ll burst into flames.”

“So I shouldn’t tease?”

Lucias put his scissors down, then reached for a tall green bottle. He flipped open the cap and poured a bit of gel into his hands. “No, no teasing my boy,” Lucias said without conviction. “None of those runway sashays or flashing him that nice bottom of yours.”

“That would be terrible,” Daniel murmured as Lucias tousled his hair. “Rude.”

“He might fall out of that chair onto his knees and do unspeakable things to said bottom,” he said under his breath.

“Ugh,” Daniel said, except it came out as a near moan.

Lucias snickered. “Would it be too much to ask for pictures?”

SYNDIE HAD
already arranged for drinks and snacks to show up; a portable buffet table sat in the hallway outside the bedroom, with pitchers of mimosas, platters of cheese, fruit and crackers, and cookies the size of Owen’s head. He wandered out and filled up a water glass with orange juice and champagne, bypassing the slender flutes. His stomach pinched as he looked over the spread of food, so he took two crackers, then returned to his seat.

Lucias had Daniel facing the other direction, so as Owen settled down, he caught glimpses of the back of Daniel’s head as Lucias moved around. They were talking in low murmurs while Syndie and Nadine discussed outfits over by the bed, replacing ties and socks over and over again.

Owen ate his crackers, tilting his head to catch Daniel’s profile as Lucias moved the chair again. He’d started grooming Daniel’s beard, tiny scissors snicking as he leaned in.

“He’s cute,” Syndie mouthed, catching Owen’s eye.

“The audience is going to love him,” he answered, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Lucias wiped Daniel’s face with a towel, then stepped back to look over his handiwork. Owen had known Lucias for a long time and knew he was the right person to find Daniel’s best look without turning him into something else.

“Time for the big reveal,” Owen called as Syndie and Nadine turned their attention to where Owen’s had been pinned for some time.

Humming a flourishy tune, Lucias stepped back and let everyone get a full view of Daniel. Gone was the straggly too-long hair; now it was trimmed and neat, parted to the side in a sweep that drew attention to his chocolate brown eyes. His beard and moustache were thin, enough facial hair to accentuate his jaw- and cheekbones nicely.

And that mouth.

Owen took a sip of his mimosa, unable to hide his grin.

“Oh, honey, I’m going to start your fan page now. The girls and boys are going to be head over heels for you,” Syndie said with delight, clapping. “Come on, let’s get you into some clothes so we can blow their minds.”

Daniel got out of the chair, a little dazed-looking but smiling. He caught Owen’s gaze, the corner of his mouth curling up higher.

“Okay?” he asked, sinking his hands into his pockets.

“Fabulous,” Owen answered, tightening his grip on his glass.

It was a good thing there were so many people in the room.

Syndie directed Daniel away from Owen’s gaze to get him into a suit, so Owen concentrated on emptying his glass. The tendrils of alcohol snaked through his blood, searching for some food to hang on to and finding only crackers. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by champagne and sunlight and possibly also the fact that Daniel was naked on the other side of the room divider.

A whistle rang out and Lucias laughed loudly.

Owen opened his eyes and was faced with a mouth-watering sight.

The Ermenegildo Zegna double-breasted wool suit, gray with a red overcheck, fit Daniel like a glove, nipping in at the waist and accentuating his broad shoulders. The gray checked tie and red pocket square completed the look—professional yet youthful.

Daniel walked down the stretch of cream carpet from the room divider to where Owen sat, mesmerized. Cheeky—in his too-long pant legs and navy blue socks—he did a hip-cocked pause when he came within a foot of Owen’s post.

“Good?” he asked, wide-eyed and innocent as he cast a glance at Owen’s lap.

Owen pursed his lips, then did a little “twirl” wave with his fingers. Daniel did as directed, slowing down when he showed off the rear view.

“I think the seat of the pants needs to be taken in,” Owen managed as Daniel pulled up the jacket just enough to flash him.

Syndie fanned herself from the other side of the room as Nadine snapped her tape measure like a whip.