Page 35 of Power of the Mind

“Shush. If I’m going tolook the partof a detective, I need to soften my edge with a more delicate color palette. Blues and grays. Less vibrance. And no”—he tapped the end of my nose—“sexy eyewear.”

“But I like your glasses.”

“I know, sweetie. We’ve established that. So,” he stood upright, “keeping all that in mind, do I fit the role of a detective?”

Swallowing a lump, I openly scanned him again, lingering longer on where the shirt sleeves hugged his slightly tanned arms, on how the knot of his tie sat snuggly below his Adam’s apple, cradled in the dip at the bottom of his throat. More than once, I’d dreamed about lavishing my tongue over that hollow. I stared at the leather belt circling his slim waist, knowing what was underneath. A taut abdomen. A smooth chest. Miles of pale skin.

Not once did I notice Tallus’s clothing.

“You’re perfect,” I rasped. “It’s…” I cleared the gravel from my throat. “I mean,they’reperfect… The clothes.”

“Oh, Guns.” Tallus sauntered around the desk, spinning the chair so he could stand between my legs, and cradled my face in his hands, tilting my head so I’d stare up at him. I froze, unableand unwilling to pull away. The contact was paralyzing. I could smell the lingering hints of his cologne and feel the heat of his skin. “You’re hopeless around me.”

“I know,” I croaked.

“When are you going to get over yourself and ask me out?”

“I… We’re going to be late.”

He dragged his thumbs over the rough stubble along my jaw. The touch sent a shiver down my spine and stirred interest in my cock.

“Everything will happen in due time. Trust me.” Then he winked, kissed the tip of a finger, and pressed it against my lips before pulling away. “Now, do you own a suit? Office clothes of any kind?”

Dumbfounded by the action, my lips tingling, it took another second for me to catch up.

“A suit? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” My rugged jeans and unremarkable T-shirt were comfortable. Suits were not.

“Oh, sweet lord,” Tallus said to the ceiling. “Did you miss the whole speech about the costumes and playing detectives? I can start again, but we’re short on time. I’ll paraphrase, but you need to pay attention.”

“No… I heard the… Why am I involved in this? And a suit?”

“Yes, my dear, sweet, oblivious nonfriend, nonlover, and nonpartner. For you especially. We are transforming your personality into something more approachable and less threatening. Not everyone can handle your surliness like I can. Not everyone sees the beautiful man under the scorned exterior.”

Beautiful?

“Now, hop to it, handsome. We have a date with a hypnotist, and his office closes in less than an hour.”

9

Tallus

Inever expected Diem to own a suit, so I hid my shock when he grumbled and marched into the other room to put one on. When he returned, scowling as he smoothed a hand over the wrinkled wool jacket he’d donned—something out of the late seventies by the look of it—I had to bite my tongue to stifle a reaction.

The man had no idea how attractive he could be—even in a dated suit.

The outfit was far from fashion-worthy, and the heavy wool would be killer in the August heat, but I didn’t point that out. It wasn’t a fancy name brand or unique style that had been worth keeping. It definitely wasn’t custom-made for him. The fabric strained at the shoulders and was an inch too short in the sleeves. He’d likely gotten it as a hand-me-down from his grandfather, like the fedora and trench coat he adored.

Memphis would have had something unsavory to say about how it sat on Diem’s bulky frame, suggesting he try the bigand tall section next time and stop shopping in the twentieth century. Memphis was a bit of a diva.

Oddly, what caught me off guard was not the ill-fitting suit but how the entire ensemble transformed Diem into someone else. I wasn’t kidding about clothing having the power to change how we were perceived. Diem, in worn jeans and a fitted tee, with facial scars and a shaved head, gave the impression of a fighter, someone you wouldn’t fuck with at a bar. It saidI dare you to mess with me. If you try, they’ll need dental records to identify your body.

In a suit with the same scars, lethal expression, and military haircut, Diem became mob-boss-worthy. Despite the suit’s poor cut, it gave him the professional edge he lacked. He’d gone from back-alley bar bouncer toI have an army of people in the woodwork, and if you mess with me, no one willfindyour body.

The end goal wasn’t to scare the poor doctor into talking to us, but the slight alteration to Diem’s appearance would work to our advantage. The best part was Diem didn’t have to say a word. All the guy had to do was stand there and look imposing. The narrative would write itself.

“What?” he snarled when all I could do was stare.

“You look incredible.”