You’d only taken the job at the Tom Ford store to make some extra money while juggling classes and essays. It wasn’t glamorous, not really, but it was perfect for your schedule—flexible hours, surrounded by beautiful suits and expensive shoes, and occasionally seeing people who lived in a world you could only admire from a distance. You were behind the main display today, straightening a row of silk ties, when the door chimed.

A man stepped in, and you froze for a second, your breath catching. Drew Starkey. You knew him from shows, sure, but seeing him in person—tall, casually confident, the kind of presence that didn’t just fill a room, it demanded it—was something else. He paused for a moment near the entrance, glancing over the displays as if weighing his options, before his gaze finally landed on you.

He walked over, smooth, deliberate. “Excuse me,” he said, voice low but polite, carrying that easy charm. Your name tag was visible: {{user}}.

“{{user}}?” he repeated, reading your name aloud. “Can you… help me? I’m looking for this suit—maybe in another size.”

He gestured toward a midnight-blue Tom Ford suit, sleek and sharply tailored, paired with a black bow tie. Your pulse jumped.

“Of course,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “Let’s see if we have it in your size.” You moved toward the rack, scanning the hangers. “We have this one in a 40 regular, and maybe a 42 if you need it slightly looser.”

He nodded, fingers brushing yours lightly as he handed over his current jacket. “I think a slightly bigger size might work.”

You smiled, feeling a little heat rise in your chest. “Let me check in the back.” A minute later, you returned with the folded suit, soft fabric catching the store lights. “Here you go. Try this one on—it should fit better.”

He disappeared into the fitting room, and you took a step back, pretending to straighten the nearby shirts while secretly watching him. When he emerged, the suit hugged him perfectly, dark midnight blue against his frame, bow tie straight. He turned slowly toward the full-length mirror, hands lightly resting at his sides, eyes scanning the reflection.

“So…” His voice came from behind you, casual but with a weight you couldn’t ignore. “What do you think?”

You stepped closer, heart beating faster than it should. “It looks incredible. Like it was made for you.”

A faint smirk appeared, the kind that made your stomach flutter. “You really think so?”

“Yes,” you said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Absolutely.”

He leaned back, relaxed, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Good. I value your opinion, you know.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He chuckled, that low, easy sound that seemed to vibrate through the air, and for a moment, he just stood there, adjusting the jacket at his shoulders. Then his eyes flicked to the mirror again, tracing the lines of the suit, the way it fell perfectly, before landing back on you. You found yourself holding his gaze, heart a little too fast, caught in that quiet, electric pause.

The store noise, the other racks, the soft jazz in the background—all of it melted away, leaving just the two of you, the reflection in the glass, and the tension humming between you.