“Well?” Philo said, striking his best cover-of-GQ pose.

Tran looked him up and down, eyes narrowed in concentration. With hands on hips and head slightly cocked, she didn’t look pleased.

“What?” It was the first thing he’d ever owned that hadn’t come off the rack (and the discount rack, at that). Crafted by Tran’s own personal tailor and made from Italian silk imported specifically for use in her fall collection, the suit did things for Philo that he didn’t know clothing could. It made him feel confident and, more amazingly, attractive.

“You don’t like it?”

His voice snapped her back from her mental critique.

“No, darling,” Tran said, her voice like silver chimes on a summer breeze. “It’s divine. It’s just a bit much for tonight.”

Philo still had no idea what they were doing, only that it was going to be a “big night.” Maybe he could lose the tie and trade the slacks for a pair of jeans. That would make him feel more comfortable anyway.

“Should I take something off?”

“Yes,” she cooed. “My blouse.”