by Shandi Boyes
My brow arches. “You’re advising me that you're going to lunch?”
My eyes follow Clara’s hands as she runs them down the front of her dress before she nods.
“Why? You’ve never bothered the past two weeks, so what’s changed today?” I question, dragging my eyes away from her petite frame. It’s a hard-fought battle.
She stiffens. “I was just trying to be polite.” Her brows stitch together tightly. “I guess it was imprudent of me to believe manners held any place in a tattoo parlor.”
With a sigh, she spins on her heels and saunters to the door. Just before she exits, she peers back at me. “You need to make a decision about converting my trial basis to a permanent position soon. It is highly unprofessional to leave such an imperative decision until the last minute.” Although her words come out stern, the bitchy smear of her tone can’t hide the desperation in her eyes.
“Actually, Diesel and I were just in the process of discussing your inclusion in the Inked family.” I gesture my hand to Diesel, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Clara’s ass since she entered my office.
Although my statement is slightly deceitful, it isn’t a total lie. Before our conversation veered off course, Diesel and I were discussing the possibility of extending Clara’s appointment at Inked.
Clara’s breathing quickens, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse as her wide eyes shift between Diesel and me. “And?” she eventually squeaks out, unable to harbor her curiosity any longer.
I quirk my lips. “I haven’t reached a conclusion yet. How about we extend your trial to a day-to-day basis until I’ve had time to make a decision?”
Anger spreads through Clara’s veins, giving her skin a red hue. The veins in her neck pulse so furiously, they nearly burst. When she glares at me in disdain, I’m primed and ready to cop the wrath of her fury. So you can imagine my surprise when she holds back her usually bitchy retaliation and storms out of the office without a single word seeping from her lips.
I balk and turn my shocked eyes to Diesel. “What the fuck did I just miss?”
“A prime opportunity.” Standing from the couch, he stretches his legs before striding to my open office door. After closing the door, he spins on his heels to face me. “She just gave you an in, and you shot her down like she has the clap.”
I stare at him with bewilderment all over my face. “She didn’t give me an in. She's just sucking up as she's worried about her position. Today is the last day of her trial.”
Diesel throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, right.” He steps closer to my desk. “‘I’m grabbing a quick bite to eat’ is a bunny’s way of saying ‘will you please fuck me over the lunch table?’”
I can’t help the smirk that crosses my face at the way he changed his voice to mimic the women he usually spends his weekends with.
“Maybe for a bunny that might be true, but Clara isn’t a bunny.”
There's no way in hell Clara is a bunny. That name is solely reserved for girls who have no problems hopping from bed to bed. I may have called Clara a few choice names the past two weeks, but a bunny will never be one of them.
Diesel glares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I knew you were off your game, man, but I had no clue it was this bad. Every woman is a bunny. Rich or not.” He shifts his hazel eyes to mine, his expression changing from cheeky to serious in a nanosecond. “How long has it been since you graced a woman’s womb with your seed?”
Glaring into his eyes, I pretend I don’t have a clue what he's referring to.
Not believing the phony look on my face, Diesel continues, “I haven’t seen you take home a bunny once the past two weeks. Not even one of the high-class ones I saw sniffing around last week.”
“That’s because the shit’s gotten old. The game is overplayed,” I interject with an edge to my voice. “My dysfunctional cock has nothing to do with the fine tail that just left this office. It’s just tired of the game.”
Diesel bows his brow. “The only shit that’s gotten old is you, Brax. The game will never get old. Your dick gets cold; a bunny warms it. Your dick gets lonely; a bunny cuddles it. Your dick gets—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. A bunny on my cock is the answer for everything.”
Diesel nods. “You’ve just got to decide if you want the high-class bunny your dick has set its radar on, or if you’re going to settle for something a little less fancy, but a shitload less complicated.”
“My cock and its goals are no concern of yours.”
Diesel continues talking like he didn’t hear a word I said. “If you decide it isn’t the latter, let me know, and I’ll take a step back. But if a diamond-encrusted pussy isn’t what you're chasing, step aside and let a real man show you how to seal the deal.”
Not giving me a chance to reply, he strides into the corridor, closing my office door behind him.
Chapter Six
“Charity, I’m heading out to grab some food,” I advise, striding down the hallway at Inked.
Charity lifts her brown eyes from the Lotus tattoo she’s drawing on the shoulder of a long-time client and locks them with me. “Bring me back something sweet.”
"If you want pussy on a platter, you should go and visit Keke," I suggest with a cheeky wink.
Charity’s pupils widen. “I’ve already tried to tap that, but for some reason, she’s adamant her dinner dates must have dangling bits between their legs.” She shrugs her shoulders. “But, hey, I gave it my best shot.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “I meant Keke’s establishment. Not Keke herself.”
Although the crew at Inked has no problems swapping bunnies, we draw the line at any other type of sharing. Since Keke isn’t a bunny, I’m somewhat shocked by Charity’s admission.
A beading of sweat forms on Charity’s brow when she notices my surprised expression. “Oh, sorry, man. My bad?” Her eyes dance between mine. “I thought things between you and Keke had cooled since you’ve got Ms. Sweet Thing over there.” She nudges her head to Clara standing behind the counter drinking some funky green concoction.
What is it with everyone assuming I’m knocking boots with Clara? I’m not knocking boots with anyone, let alone Clara, and my cock is not fucking happy.
Charity sighs loudly before drifting her eyes from Clara to me. “Why do all the beautiful women in this town only like cock?”
Any anger bubbling in my veins dampens from Charity’s assessment. Charity has the mouth of. . . well, a tattoo artist, but she's downright gorgeous. Dark hair styled in an alluring short cut, rich brown eyes, and flawless skin accentuated with a collection of tattoos I designed specifically for her. She’s proof not all the beautiful women in this town are solely cock lovers.
I shake my head, bringing my thoughts back to the present. “Something sweet?” I confirm, deciding Charity’s attempts at seducing Keke aren’t worth burning the solid bridge we’ve formed the two years Charity has worked at Inked. Although Keke is a great girl, we both know our kinship isn’t going any further than two sexually compatible companions sharing a bed for a few hours.
Charity grins a knockout smile as she nods.
“Alright. I’ll be back in a few.”
Charity returns her focus to her client as I pace to the counter.
“You’ll turn into a vegetable if you keep drinking that shit.”
Clara lowers a glass of ghastly green liquid from her mouth. “There could be worse things I could turn into.” Her icy blue eyes lock with mine. “I could end up like you.”
I smirk at the horrified expression on her face. “I walked straight into that one, didn’t I?”
She screws up her nose before nodding. “Yeah, but you can’t win them all. Especially when you're fighting a battle you’ll never win.”
A breathy chuckle rumbles up my chest as I continue for the door. Just as I'm about to exit, Clara calls out my name, halting my fast escape. When I crank my neck, I balk. For the first time ever, she appears genuinely nervous.
"Have you given any more thought on extending my position here?"
The bells above the door chime when I close it and amble back to stand in front of her. Her stance is solid, but her eyes are giving away her real concern. She's petrified.
“Yeah, I have. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”
Holy fuck! Did I just ask her on a date using her employment at Inked as leeway? I’m so getting sued for workplace harassment.
Clara freezes. “I can’t. . . I don’t think that would be a good idea, Brax.”
“Why not?”
Her refusal to dine with me has more impact on my gigantic ego than the time she tried to strike me months ago. Especially since I've caught sight of Diesel watching our exchange from the corner of the room. His face is laced with humor, and his whole demeanor screams of arrogance.
“I don’t think we should mix business with pleasure,” Clara replies, dragging my focus away from Diesel’s smug face.
“It is a meal, Princess. There's nothing pleasurable about it.” I rake my eyes over the curves I’ve been ignoring for weeks. “Unless certain items are on the menu?”
Yep, I’m definitely getting sued.
Clara’s lips thin into a harsh line. “There's no chance of that ever happening.” She glares at me through squinted eyes.
Hot anger warms my blood. “Then it’s lucky we are just grabbing a bite to eat, isn’t it?”
My sudden decision to invite Clara to dinner has nothing to do with her employee contract and everything to do with Diesel's admission that he's interested in having Clara warm his sheets, but I can't help it. The instant Diesel shone his torch on Clara, it was like the possessive switch in my body was turned on. And now that it’s been flicked on, I have no chance of turning it off. Diesel has kept his distance from Clara the past week to give me the opportunity to make a decision on his suggestion. But he's eyeballing her now like she's a prime piece of steak he can't wait to sink his teeth into. To say my feeling of ownership kicked into overdrive would be an understatement. It's turned calamitous.
In my head, I know I don't have any claim to Clara, but it is like I've stepped back to my high school days, and I'm letting my competitive side overrule my rational thinking head. I'm so far gone, I'm willing to make a fool out of myself in front of my crew just to ensure I have the upper hand in the little black book competition Diesel and I have been running since our teen days.
Clara’s eyes track me as I walk around the counter. Even though her stern gaze appears to be protesting, not a word spills from her lips. I curl my arm around her tiny waist, hoist her against my body, and guide her towards the front entrance of the shop. I don’t look back at my crew or Diesel to seek confirmation that I’ve secured their attention. I can feel their curious gazes burning a hole in the back of my head.
The hum of chatter filters into my ears when we merge onto the sidewalk. I swing my eyes to the left before drifting them to the right, seeking a suitable location I can take Clara to eat. Realizing nothing on this side of Ravenshoe will be up to Clara’s impeccable standards, I make my way to Betty’s Burgers two blocks over from Inked. You can’t go wrong with burgers and fries.
“You’re nothing but a brute.” Clara’s words are barely audible over the scuffling of her stilettos on the concrete sidewalk. “You know I can walk, don’t you? That’s what legs were invented for. One foot in front of the other. I guess beasts like you might not understand the concept since you spend half of your day dragging your knuckles on the ground.”
I stop walking and drop my eyes to hers. “If I release you, will you keep walking?”
When I spot the spark of rebellion brightening her light blue eyes, I continue walking, dragging her along with me. Clara huffs when we enter Betty's Burgers, and her incoherent blubbering continues when I walk her to the booth at the back of the restaurant and place her onto the cracked vinyl seat. I smirk when she shuffles across the plastic cladding to sit in the furthest corner of the booth. Her mouth is protesting that she wants to leave, but her actions are speaking louder than her words.
I greet Marnie—the regular waitress at Betty’s—with a wink as I snag two menus from her grasp as she saunters past. “I’ll be back to take your order soon, sugar,” she mutters, her voice as sweet as the term of endearment she regularly calls me.
"Kale, poached salmon, carrot smoothies, or whatever other shit you usually eat isn't available here, but the burgers are good, and the cheese fries are even better," I advise, handing Clara a menu.
Clara’s pupils widen more with every item she reads off the menu. “I can’t eat anything here. My trainer, Pierre, would have a coronary.” She lifts her eyes from scanning the menu. “Who eats a burger with four deep-fried beef patties? That’s just asking for a heart attack.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re nothing but skin and bones. You could handle adding at least four of those burgers to your weekly diet.”
That is a total lie. Clara is a slim build, but she has curves in all the right places. Her tits and ass have been the hot topic of many adult-only discussions in my tattoo chair the past three weeks. And I'm fairly certain she has been the source of many self-induced orgasmic experiences for the younger patrons of Inked. Even with Clara having perfected the princess-resting-bitch-face pose, her body is. . . Jesus. I slide into the booth before every patron in the restaurant sees exactly what I think of Clara’s desirable assets.
When a burning pain scorches my skull, I shift my eyes to Clara. Her face is lined with anger. “Did you just insult me?”
“No. Not at all.” I shake my head.
Her brow arches. “I work my ass off in a gym for an hour every day before my shift at Inked; I watch every minute portion of food I eat, and I skip the dessert menu six nights a week – all to have a guy who shoves calories into his mouth like they're nothing but air tell me I look like a bag of bones.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what did you mean, Brax? I’m not sure how you can mince words like that.”
When she stands from the booth, her slit eyes silently demand for me to move.
I don’t budge an inch.
“Let me out,” she snarls through gritted teeth.
When I shake my head, her anger hits an all-time high. My cock is definitely broken. The instant her spikes hackled, it turned to stone.
“You honestly can’t expect me to stay here after you insulted me! Only a fool would continue to associate with someone who ridicules them.”
“That’s sweet coming from the lady who has called me a beast on numerous occasions the past two weeks.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “If the name fits, use it.”
I glare into her eyes. “Then sit the fuck down, Princess.”
Her nostrils flare as the anger lining her face deepens. “Let. Me. Out. I'm not dining with you after you insulted me.”
“I didn’t insult you,” I fire back, my loud voice gaining us a handful of spectators.
“Then what do you call it? You pretty much insinuated that you don’t find me attractive.”
Ignoring the dozen pairs of curious eyes bouncing between Clara and me, I lock my eyes with her and mutter, “Do you wanna know the impact your hours of calorie counting and gym workouts have on me?”
The tightness of her arms braced in front of her chest strengthens before she curtly nods.
“Then look down, Princess.”
Her brows scrunch as confusion washes over her face. After delving her tongue out to replenish her dry lips, she drops her gaze. She inhales a sharp, quick breath when her eyes zoom in on the hardness my jeans don’t have a hope in hell of hiding. Feeling the heat of her furious gaze, the thickness of my cock grows. Yep, it’s definitely broken.
When Clara’s massively dilated eyes return to mine, I say, “You need to stop acting so defensive. Not everyone is out to get you. Although I could have chosen better words, I didn’t mean to insult you. If you
look more deeply into what I said, it could be taken as a compliment.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes.
I stand from the booth and move out, giving her a clear exit. “If you want to go, go. If not, let’s sit down and have a meal together. No stipulations. No expectations. Just two friends enjoying each other’s company.”
Clara’s eyes dance between mine for numerous heart-clutching seconds before she queries, “If I leave, will my position at Inked be on the line?”
My jaw muscle gains a quiver. “No. I may be a beast, but I’m still a man under this beastly disguise. I can’t offer you a permanent placement at Inked as those positions are reserved for tattoo artists, but your current position is yours for as long as you want it on a casual basis. Take it a day at a time and see where this shit takes you. Once you’ve had your fill of Inked, just let me know you're ready to move on with a few days’ notice.”
For the first time ever, a genuine smile sneaks across Clara’s thinly slit lips. “Thank you.”
I won’t lie, my heart slithers into my gut when she slides out of the booth to stand next to me.
“I like you, Brax, and I appreciate the opportunity you have bestowed on me, but we are not friends, and because we come from two entirely different lifestyles, we'll most likely never be friends. So why don’t you stop pretending you actually like me and let me get back to the job you're paying me to do?”
She doesn’t wait for me to reply. She just strides to the door and exits without a backward glance.
Chapter Seven
“So how are you finding the move? I bet your boy is growing up fast?”
Hugo, one of my regular clients at Inked, smiles a beaming grin. “Yeah, Joel is. . .” He stops talking as his eyes sheen with moisture. “He's good. So much like his mother.”
I pull my tattoo gun back from the rainbow rose I’m adding to Hugo’s vast collection of tattoos he has on his right rib and inspect my work. “So what’s the deal with this tat? Most of your pieces have some sort of connection to Ava, but this is the first time I’ve ever inked a flower on your body.” My voice comes out shaky, hindered by a small bout of laughter dying to break free.