Free Groomzilla by Tere Michaels

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