“Three warnings, my ass,” I muttered. “This is grounds for instant dismissal.”

I didn’t care the men’s department hardly ever covered the extravagance it cost to run with its cashmere imported material and on-site tailor from Savile Row. This was Belle Elle, and it had severely let my company down.

“What’s the manager’s name again?”

Sage snuffled into my neck.

“You’re no help.”

She meowed.

No matter how many racks I charged down, looking for a victim wearing a Belle Elle nametag and noticeable lavender work shirt, I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.

Where on earth are they?

There should be at least three to four staff manning this section at all times.

My eyes fell on the brightly lit sign for the changing rooms.

I shouldn’t.

Women weren’t permitted in there. But surely, the boss was.

Tilting my chin with authority, I marched through the archway and slammed to a stop.

If I thought the shop floor was a disaster, the changing rooms were a catastrophe.

Clothes everywhere!

Thousands of dollars of merchandise on the floor and piles drowning the leather-studded ottomans.

“What is the meaning of this?” I placed my hands on my hips as four men—who I paid a decent hourly wage and should be on the shop floor enticing people to buy—all gathered around something of utter fascination.

Something I couldn’t see.

The floor manager swiveled in place, his mouth falling open. “Oh, hello, Ms. Charlston. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”

“You didn’t see me because clothes are everywhere. It looks like a World War Ten started in here.” I motioned to the pyramids of expensive suits just crumbled on the floor as if they were five-dollar t-shirts. “Clean this mess up, immediately. And get your staff at front of house. There’re no assistants out there.”

“Of course, Ms. Charlston.” The manager nodded; his identification tag showed his name was Markus. “Right away.” Clicking his fingers, he snapped, “George, Luke, get back out there. Ryan and I can finish with Master Steel.”

Instantly, the two younger staff members dropped the shirts looped over their arms onto the already overflowing ottoman and dashed past me with respectful, apologetic smiles.

I didn’t watch them go. I couldn’t. My gaze glued to the little human I hadn’t seen thanks to staff and shirts surrounding him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t know I’d interrupted something.” I glanced at Markus. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you’re right, ma’am. We don’t need four attendants to dress one child.”

I eyed the kid who stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, swimming in men’s trousers and a blazer that came to his knees. I gave him a quick smile, moving closer to Markus. “Why is he in the men’s department and not in children’s wear? He’ll never find anything to fit him.”

The boy looked at me in the mirror, not bothering to turn around. “I’m not a kid.”

I startled at the sharp staccato of his adolescent voice. The pinched look in his cheeks and wildness in his gaze spoke of a child running out of patience and either close to tears or temper. I hadn’t been around many kids, but I guessed he was nine or ten.

“I want a suit. Penn said I could have a suit. Like him. I want to dress like him and Larry.”

Sage squirmed on my shoulders, squinting at the boy. Just like me, she wasn’t used to bossy children. Not equipped to reply to a sentence I had no way of understanding, I looked back at Markus. “Can you explain?”

Markus grinned at the boy. “Of course. This is Stewart. He prefers Stewie, though, don’t you?”

The boy nodded. “Stewie.” He poked a finger into his chest. “That’s me.”

“Okay...” I smiled as if it was a perfectly acceptable name and not a thick-type soup I found utterly unappetizing. “And Stewie wants a suit.”

Stewie grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth where a baby tooth had fallen, and an adult one had yet to appear. “Yup. Penn is helping. He said all men have to have at least three suits. One for a wedding, a funeral, and business.”

“A funeral?” My heart sank. “Is that where you’re going?”

“No.” Stewie brushed chestnut hair away from his face, eyeing his rosy cheeks in the mirror and ears that slightly protruded. “But it’s better to be prepared. That’s what he and Larry always say.”

I moved forward, my hand sliding upward to scratch Sage as she hissed at the small creature. “And who are Larry and Penn? Your fathers?” The world was an open society these days. Larry and Penn could be married. Or they could be his uncles or teachers or just friends. Or brothers. Hell, Larry and Penn could be generous kidnappers for all I knew.

Stewie screwed up his nose. “Ha, that’s funny.” His mirth faded. “Wait...I kinda suppose they are. Now, I mean. I never had a dad before.” His angular face brightened. He wasn’t chubby like some children of his age were. He had a hard edge about him that couldn’t be tamed, even in the ridiculously huge suit with cuffs hanging over his hands like penguin flippers.

I glanced over my shoulder to Markus. “Where are his fathers? Why are you and my staff playing babysitter?”

“Um, he’s only here with one gentleman, Ms. Charlston. And he just popped out for a moment. Urgent phone call, I believe.” He shuffled. “But he made the mess, not us. He and Stewie tried to find something smaller—smaller belts, socks, ties—an entire wardrobe, you understand. We settled on agreeing that Stewie would pick a suit he liked, and then we’d send it to be tailored to fit him.”