flawed too. I still couldn’t understand that.
Especially now. Now only confirmed my incompatibility with this man.
‘Come on. Tell me
exactly why you are being so mean to
my poor defenceless shirts and ties.’ Seeing my face, he hurriedly continued:
‘I’m only teasing you, you know. I know I’m a little clueless in the fashion
stakes but it’s how all the other chaps dress. In all seriousness, what’s wrong
with them?’
How could I resist those eyes? Those gorgeous brown eyes
with the unfair long eyelashes framed perfectly by his quizzical eyebrows. How
could I let him ruin these gorgeous features through poor clothing decisions? I
couldn’t. I had to tell him for his own sake but where to start?
Piers was wearing a pink and white vertically-striped shirt.
No, I don’t mean baby pink. Bright pink. I know. His suit was gorgeously made, that dark navy that’s almost black,
but it had a faint dark navy pinstripe to it. As you can imagine it clashed terribly
with the shirt. The tie… Oh, the tie was the worst. I’m not talking character
tie bad but it was horrific combined
with his shirt and suit. It was a fat, red and navy-blue striped tie. More stripes. It did look silk and
expensive, probably Herm è s recalling the ties Mum bought
Dad, but it looked ridiculous with the rest of his outfit. It would have looked
devastatingly lovely with a nice, plain, light-blue shirt and the suit he was
wearing, but with this shirt? No way!
What did he see when he looked in the mirror? It was
apparent to me his mirror either was not been used and he was grabbing clothes
at random to wear, or perhaps it was one of those funny carnival mirrors.
Yikes. But, how could I put it nicely, diplomatically ?
To prepare him for reality as gently as I could by making sure my blabber-mouth
didn’t blurt out the potentially soul-destroying truth that he should never be
allowed out in public with his current clothing choices.
‘Can I be completely honest?’
‘Of course, Arielle.’ He looked like he was going to whip
out a notepad and take notes on my very important words.
‘Well, answer this. Are you colour blind?’
Ah, not so tactful then. He roared with laughter though. ‘Do
I really look that bad?’
‘You look like you’re suffering from colour vomit.’
There really was no nicer way I could have put it because he
needed to hear the truth. He needed to stop for his own sake but also to stop
offending the public at large. It was my civic duty to tell him. He laughed
even more at that, not seeming the slightest bit offended by my remarks.
‘Yes, I have been told that before,’ he mused. ‘Although not
as wonderfully as you’ve just expressed it. You really are something else,
Arielle Lockley.’ He grinned, causing me to blush again and for Piers to grin
even more. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you be in charge of my wardrobe
choices, shall I? You can be my wardrobe mistress .’
He was flirting with me. More blushes.
‘In fact,’ Piers continued, ‘I’ll remove the offending
garments so you know what you’ll be working with.’
I thought he was teasing me with his removal remark, that he
was only laughing off my remarks because that’s the sort of polite, nice
gentleman he was. I knew City boys’ egos could be fragile underneath their
ghastly attire – but slowly, like a stripper – not that I’ve ever seen a
stripper in my life, let me quickly point out – he took off his suit jacket and
threw it onto me. Dior Homme. Nice.
‘Piers.’ Something like a squeak escaped me. Surely he was
teasing? He wasn’t really going to
strip? I couldn’t run away with my ankle either so I would have to sit and
watch him if he was... Oh .
He ignored me, loosening his tie instead. Pulling it off, he
placed it around my neck. I was too transfixed to check the label because
slowly, and very deliberately, he was unbuttoning his shirt. All protests
rushed out of my head as he removed the offending shirt and
Especially now. Now only confirmed my incompatibility with this man.
‘Come on. Tell me
exactly why you are being so mean to
my poor defenceless shirts and ties.’ Seeing my face, he hurriedly continued:
‘I’m only teasing you, you know. I know I’m a little clueless in the fashion
stakes but it’s how all the other chaps dress. In all seriousness, what’s wrong
with them?’
How could I resist those eyes? Those gorgeous brown eyes
with the unfair long eyelashes framed perfectly by his quizzical eyebrows. How
could I let him ruin these gorgeous features through poor clothing decisions? I
couldn’t. I had to tell him for his own sake but where to start?
Piers was wearing a pink and white vertically-striped shirt.
No, I don’t mean baby pink. Bright pink. I know. His suit was gorgeously made, that dark navy that’s almost black,
but it had a faint dark navy pinstripe to it. As you can imagine it clashed terribly
with the shirt. The tie… Oh, the tie was the worst. I’m not talking character
tie bad but it was horrific combined
with his shirt and suit. It was a fat, red and navy-blue striped tie. More stripes. It did look silk and
expensive, probably Herm è s recalling the ties Mum bought
Dad, but it looked ridiculous with the rest of his outfit. It would have looked
devastatingly lovely with a nice, plain, light-blue shirt and the suit he was
wearing, but with this shirt? No way!
What did he see when he looked in the mirror? It was
apparent to me his mirror either was not been used and he was grabbing clothes
at random to wear, or perhaps it was one of those funny carnival mirrors.
Yikes. But, how could I put it nicely, diplomatically ?
To prepare him for reality as gently as I could by making sure my blabber-mouth
didn’t blurt out the potentially soul-destroying truth that he should never be
allowed out in public with his current clothing choices.
‘Can I be completely honest?’
‘Of course, Arielle.’ He looked like he was going to whip
out a notepad and take notes on my very important words.
‘Well, answer this. Are you colour blind?’
Ah, not so tactful then. He roared with laughter though. ‘Do
I really look that bad?’
‘You look like you’re suffering from colour vomit.’
There really was no nicer way I could have put it because he
needed to hear the truth. He needed to stop for his own sake but also to stop
offending the public at large. It was my civic duty to tell him. He laughed
even more at that, not seeming the slightest bit offended by my remarks.
‘Yes, I have been told that before,’ he mused. ‘Although not
as wonderfully as you’ve just expressed it. You really are something else,
Arielle Lockley.’ He grinned, causing me to blush again and for Piers to grin
even more. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you be in charge of my wardrobe
choices, shall I? You can be my wardrobe mistress .’
He was flirting with me. More blushes.
‘In fact,’ Piers continued, ‘I’ll remove the offending
garments so you know what you’ll be working with.’
I thought he was teasing me with his removal remark, that he
was only laughing off my remarks because that’s the sort of polite, nice
gentleman he was. I knew City boys’ egos could be fragile underneath their
ghastly attire – but slowly, like a stripper – not that I’ve ever seen a
stripper in my life, let me quickly point out – he took off his suit jacket and
threw it onto me. Dior Homme. Nice.
‘Piers.’ Something like a squeak escaped me. Surely he was
teasing? He wasn’t really going to
strip? I couldn’t run away with my ankle either so I would have to sit and
watch him if he was... Oh .
He ignored me, loosening his tie instead. Pulling it off, he
placed it around my neck. I was too transfixed to check the label because
slowly, and very deliberately, he was unbuttoning his shirt. All protests
rushed out of my head as he removed the offending shirt and
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