James Barrens was a wealthy man and always had been. He was used to getting what he wanted and always did. Cliche, perhaps, but true.
His closets were perfectly lined with five smart suits for every occasion, mood, and time of year. Three smart shirts to match each suit hung alongside, consecutively; three possible tie choices for each shirt, also hung consecutively. He chose only two pairs of shoes for each general category in order to preserve modesty, a trait he believed the general public to still recognize and appreciate (however unconsciously). One pair black, and one pair brown.
He despised clutter. It stole too much time.
On the day he met Soula, he wore an off-pink shirt under his brown wool-cashmere suit. His tie was olive silk with a simple pattern of deep red and brown. His shoes were brown. James remembered this because she was staring at him; not at his face, but his clothing. He remembered because she looked gently appreciative of his efforts and therefore he had accomplished being not too strong, yet not too lax.
She was beautiful and comfortable with herself that day, James remembered. She was quiet. She listened and nodded. She smiled appropriately. She hadn’t been walking around, gossiping, squealing, like the other girls. Others came to her. Others were looking at her. She was exactly what he wanted. He was exactly who she needed. They would get along. She wouldn’t nag him. She would smile at him, reassure him. He would stroke her hair, her cheek, her lips, and all would be right. Like the perfect suit he was wearing on the perfect day that he met her.
Ah, love. So this is what it was like. It felt better than any business partnership or super deal. And he didn’t even have to be stealthy. Well, maybe he was, just a little. Said things he knew she wanted to hear to show he understood her. Did things he knew she would appreciate, to show her that he could take care of her. Yes, he had clinched the deal. He would have to thank Frank Kinds for bringing her by.