Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“You have much to learn, little one,” Greer teased, chuckling as he turned away. Between where Ducky and Dallas stood lay a massive pile of men’s clothing. Dozens of boxes of shoes, socks, and belts. All in every style and color imaginable. They littered the available space from the floor to the countertops to the towel racks, spilling into the large closet.
The chaos represented hours of wardrobe changes. Greer had never tired, even when Ducky thought he’d found his style after the first fitting and was ready to call it done.
“Now that we know what looks the best, it’ll be easier to dress you from this point forward. You’ll stick with that cut then add seasonal trends to help keep you looking like you belong on the cover of GQ. It’s how I was taught to dress and do it every day. I like my clothes fitted and have since I first started deciding my own style. The colors and accessories keep me looking on trend,” Greer explained as he gathered various discarded wrappings. Greer didn’t tend to care about things out of place, but Ducky’s brother didn’t like a mess. That very personality trait left Dallas with little option to do anything more than push off the wall to pitch in to clean the normally tidy space.
Luckily for Ducky, he didn’t have those clean-freak sort of hang-ups. The more clutter the better to hide the mess underneath.
“You’ve done the hard part. It gets easier from here, I promise,” Dallas added, bending to sort through the different shoes dropped haphazardly into the boxes.
Ducky wasn’t entirely sure he believed either one of them as he turned back to stare at himself in the mirror. Everything he’d endured over the last few months, from working out twice a day on StreamTrainer, to hiring a health-food oriented chef to teach him how to eat better, none of it had become normal. What a ridiculous notion to have someone preparing his meals in his tiny apartment.
Maybe he was more like a voyeur, destined to look down at his life, never fully connecting. He’d been coasting, disjointed, since his and Dallas’s business had hit the big time.
As much as his own reflection in the mirror confused him, so did the idea of owning StreamTrainer, the most popular home workout device on the market today. The company had grown so big, so fast that everything else had become a blur. He had more money than he knew what to do with. Thank goodness for Greer and his investment knowledge. Except now that his money was making money….
Ducky’s armpits began to sweat, and he pushed all those anxiety-filled thoughts aside. Thinking about his finances made his stomach hurt. He had always railed against the man he’d now become…
“I think it’s time I tackle my hair,” Ducky said absentmindedly, unbuttoning his suit coat. As he shrugged it off, he stepped away from the mirror. Both Greer and Dallas stared at him. Ducky’s fingers barely caught the coat as it slid down his back, into his palms.
The astonishment staring at him caused a chuckle under his breath, understanding exactly what they were thinking. He’d hid behind the curtain of curls for most of his life. Not having a real haircut since junior high school, maybe before then. His hair only grew so far with every curl springing out like a coil. “I like the shorter sides with the hair waving out the front like Nick Champa or Pierre Bouvier.”
Greer nodded and said, “Cute couple. That style’s perfect for you.”
Ducky hung his suit coat on a nearby towel hook, grinning. For all these months, he’d held firm against cutting his hair. If this makeover hadn’t worked, then he wanted to keep the security of his frizzy mop. Dallas’s fist popped into Ducky’s peripheral vision. His brother had always been on his side. Dallas had looked out for Ducky his entire life. Maybe the only person in the world that believed Ducky had value. He extended a fist, meeting his brother’s knuckles.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, a little above a whisper. Dallas’s warm gaze met Ducky’s.
“Not me, thank you. You did this. You’ve accomplished so much.”
The weight of emotion had him ducking his head as he unbuttoned his dress shirt and turned toward the closet, his changing room for the day. Dallas didn’t let him get too far without gripping his shoulder and squeezing. He appreciated the encouragement as his phone’s alarm reminded him of the time.
He had to go. He was in a League of Legends tournament that evening. The day should have been spent practicing for the game. He hoped he didn’t fuck his team up.
The band of rebels he’d always played with insisted he’d given up his rebel card by giving into the establishment’s view of normality. He couldn’t help the grin as he shut himself in the walk-in-closet for privacy. His buddies weren’t wrong, but they also didn’t have a problem with all the sponsorships and free trips they got because of his deep pockets. Hell, most of them were employed by him these days. Capitalism couldn’t be all bad.