He steps back, still frowning in thought. “With a little attention, your appearance will be acceptable.”
“What sort of attention?” I ask warily.
“Maybe a bit of self-tan, although you seem to have naturally golden skin. Then a trim to your hair so you look a little less like a Hobbit, eyebrow shaping, a manicure, a pedicure, and waxing.”
“All that this year?”
He ignores me. “You will look okay in clothes.”
“What do you mean? I’m already wearing clothes. Don’t I look good now?” I say indignantly.
He gives me a pitying look. “It’s probably best not to mention the monstrously awful athletic wear you seem to favour. I’ll get my tailor to come round. You’ll need a suit.”
“Will I?”
“Did you really think you’d go to the type of event I just talked about and wear your Levi’s and those old Adidas trainers?”
Panic stirs. “But I can’t afford anything new.”
He waves a careless hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll use my card, and Mister X will pick up the bill.”
“You can’t dothat,” I say, scandalised.
“Of course I can.”
“What if he finds out?”
“The tailor is my contact. I’ve used him for years. He’ll keep his mouth shut, and Mister X will think I’ve just bought another suit. Besides, I’ll need a new one too, if I’m attending the event.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
He studies me for a long moment and then winks. “That’s my business. Okay, strip.”
“Sorry?”
“I hope you’re better at taking orders than this.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Maybe we’d better say you’re a little touched in the attic. Some men like that.”
“Why have I got to strip?”
“I need to see if there are any potential problems.”
I blanch. “I can assure you that therearen’t,” I squeak.
“Do hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”
“Is this your bedside manner in operation?” I shake my head and strip off my clothes, my skin pebbling in the air conditioning.
I cup my hands over my groin, and he rolls his eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake. It’s like stripping a nun.”
“Have you done a lot of that?”
“Release the cock.” I sigh and let my hands fall away as he nods in approval. “Lovely. I’d guess it’s seven inches when erect, yes?”
“Correct.”
“I’m very rarely wrong.”
“Or modest.”
