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Summary
"Breathe normally," I murmur, keeping my voice professionally light and gentle around the edges of vocals. "The measurement will be off if you hold your breath."
"Is that possible?" His voice catches slightly. "Breathing normally. With you standing this close?"
I allow myself a small smile, defusing the moment with practiced ease. "Most clients manage. Though I admit some find it more challenging than others."
"Hold still," I murmur, and watch him forget how.
Or: Charles Leclerc is a third-generation master tailor with steady hands and a spotless reputation as Max Verstappen arrives with new money and a Provence vineyard under his name. When Max walks into Maison Leclerc seeking suits for the season, he expects fabric and formality. What he gets instead is a fitting room with three mirrors and a man who measures him like he's memorizing scripture. A touch that lingers far longer than professional necessity allows.