by T Gephart
“Yeah, I can do that.” Tidying might not be my favorite thing to do but I wasn’t a diva either. “Can I change things around a little? Like around the shop?”
I might have been asking politely, but in my head I’d already decided. Their system—if you could call it that—wasn’t great. And if it was one thing I’d learned from working at the gallery—besides walking on high polished floor boards in heels and not landing on my ass—it was organization.
“Sure, if you think you can find a better place for things, then do whatever you want. As long as you don’t rent out the space for a nail salon or something crazy like that.” Josh’s face lit up with a panty-melting grin. “So that’s it, the grand tour.” His outstretched arms filled the narrow hallway.
It had been a busy hour or so walking around and exploring the shop. Josh did a wonderful job providing commentary, and I listened intently to every single word. Like discovering the secrets of the Illuminati, I was hypnotized, and I couldn’t look away. The way his mouth moved so seductive, that voice of his should have been illegal.
It was sooooo manly. Deep, and rough around the edges, like a piece of hammered heated steel. He didn’t get hung up on articulating every syllable, his words more relaxed in his throat. I liked the cadence, and the tone—it was both hard and soft all at the same time—and it made my skin tingle when he said my name.
“Eve.”
I spun around, unsure if he’d asked me a question or if I’d been caught with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. Possible, considering his blue T-shirt looked like it had been spray-painted on. No one should look that good in cotton. No. One.
“Hmm?”
You’re not here to learn every hard plane of his body, Eve. You’re here to learn from him.
“I asked if you need me to go over anything again?”
A reasonable question, pity I wasn’t feeling very reasonable.
“No, no. I think I got everything.” I nodded. “Phones, tidy, talk to walk-ins and notify both you and Dallas when your next appointment arrives.” I listed my daily tasks on my fingers like a moron. “I think I can manage.”
“Well, I have my first client coming in about thirty minutes so I’m going to go set up. You good?” He checked again, obviously not convinced by my stellar reassurances.
“Yep, all good.” It wasn’t the job I was worried about.
“Great.” His face lit up with another smile. “Yell out if you need anything.”
“I’ve got this under control.” My fist lamely pumped in the air. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I actually had anything under control.
He hesitated like he wasn’t sure if he should leave, probably wondering if he was handing over control of the shop to a crazy person. Not far from the truth. But with nothing more to say, he nodded and turned. And holy ass, Tattoo Jesus!
I had snuck a peek earlier but hadn’t been prepared for all of its unhindered brilliance. Those jeans were definitely fantastic.
It wasn’t like I was intentionally checking him out, like a pervert with a zoom lens through his drapes. But I honestly couldn’t help it. The course of the tour had completed at the supply closet at the end of the hall, with his room further toward the front. So unless he had special abilities to travel through walls or there was an escape hatch in the floor, he had no choice but to walk back down the corridor from which we’d come. Which meant I had no choice but to watch as his long powerful legs and firm ass took him in the opposite direction. My admiration extending to his back, his muscles flexing under that superb T-shirt. Cotton was my new favorite fabric.
Crap.
I needed to focus.
After making sure the coast was clear—Josh’s sexy ass and the rest of him safely in his room—I took the journey myself down the hall to the front of the shop, mentally making a list of what I was going to tackle first.
Their over-packed message bank wasn’t an issue. It wouldn’t take long to listen in and transcribe them onto paper. Even if I did it slowly, I would be done in a few hours. There’d be one less message to worry about considering mine wasn’t going to need a call back. And because I knew it was going to be my least favorite thing to do, I decided to do something more interesting to start with. My first order of business was the walls.
While they were covered with gorgeous and breathtaking pictures of both Dallas’s and Josh’s work, the groupings made no sense. Photo-realism was butted up next to cartoonish looking characters. Flowers mixed in with portraits. And scripts and lettering littered all over the place. There was no flow, no cohesion to any of the display. It looked like the ceiling had vomited, and tattoos had randomly splattered across the walls. Don’t even get me started on the pictures not even being mounted straight. It hurt my eyes just to look at them.
So without wasting time, and accepting Josh’s carte blanche permission to change things—no danger of a pop-up nail salon—I got to work. I turned on the laptop at the front counter and got a crash course on the various styles of tattoos, which was facilitated by the university of Google. Style was one thing I understood.
In less time than I’d anticipated, I had a good handle on what was what and then started to group the pictures from the walls.
Some styles were easily identifiable as their roots were in traditional styles, like typical art. But the other stuff wasn’t too hard to grasp either. And by the time the first person walked through the door I had already stripped the walls bare and was ready to start over.
When Josh said he and Dallas were fully booked, he wasn’t kidding. Person after person walked in, most needing to take a seat and wait before their appointed artist was ready.
Appointments, I came to find out, were really just loose time frames with the previous person sometimes running a little over.
But not one person complained. Sitting happily in reception with me until it was their time to be led down the hall. Every single one of them was polite and courteous, which wasn’t what I was expecting. Not because my head was up my ass and I was profiling. I hadn’t expected assholish behavior because I was at a tattoo shop in Queens, but because customer service generally had the capacity to be miserable.
At the gallery, where the people who walked through the doors had more money than God, was the worst. If they had to wait a minute, they were tapping their foot and shooting you the evil eye. But here, every single person smiled and said hello, some even made small talk and asked me how I was. Their positivity made me smile as I reattached the art to the walls. It was catchy, like a cold and before I knew it, my general mood—and future outlook—didn’t feel so dark.
“Whoa.” Dallas was the first to emerge, the steady stream of people dwindling a little after one in the afternoon. “You rearranged the walls?” He looked over at my various groupings.
The original photos that had graced the walls were gone. And in their place were high definition scanned copies that were printed on to high gloss paper all uniformly shaped and sized. I may have Amazon Primed a little in the morning, which meant within an hour or two I had acquired a few new pieces of office equipment. It’s not like anyone would be mad, right? I used my own credit card.
“It didn’t make sense before, you had New School with American Traditional,” I went on to explain, hoping he liked my improvement.
“Listen to you.” Dallas laughed, possibly even a little impressed. “Didn’t think you’d know the difference.”
“Well, I do.” I walked out from behind the counter and admired my work. “And now the walls tell a story, it’s easier on the eye and you don’t feel like you’re about to have an aneurysm when you look at them.”
“Wow.” Josh’s voice appeared from behind us, I’d been too distracted to notice he’d emerged from his room too. He turned slowly as he inspected the walls. “You’ve been busy.”
“It wasn’t that hard,” I admitted, proud that I had been a quick study. “I grouped them according to style as I scanned them in, and then I just printed fo
lder by folder. Layouts always came naturally for me.”
My brain just saw patterns easier than it did other things. Which is why a job that might have taken someone all day to accomplish, I was able to do in a morning.
“Not that I don’t appreciated the change, because I do.” Josh rubbed his hand at the back of his neck. “But they were grouped according to artist, chronologically.”
“Oh, I guessed that when I couldn’t find another pattern.” I smiled, assuming that there had to be a method to the madness. “And when I pulled them off the walls, there were dates and names on the backs. But if you see here,” I walked over to the closest wall and pointed at the bottom of the photo, “I added a small box border around the edge so it not only acts as a frame, but gave me space to notate the date and the artist on the front. So now when someone looks at the three Trash Polkas, they’ll know they were all done last year by you.”
He looked at the photos and then to me, confused. “How long was I in my room? How do you even know what that is?”
A small thrill ran through me that I’d hopefully impressed him. Thank you, Google University.
“I know that it’s not true Trash Polka unless it was done in Germany at the Buena Vista Tattoo Club by Simone Plaff or Volko Merschky.” I wowed him with details that had fascinated me when I’d discovered them. Art history was more than just a slight passion of mine. “But I meant the style.” I walked over to the wall where they were and examined them closely. “It’s almost Banksy, but with more noise and distortion, which I guess is the point. That’s what you were going for, right?”
“Yeah.” He joined me at the wall, the smile edging at his lips.
“Annnnnnnd, to answer your question about how long you were in there, all morning. I cleared the messages as well while these were printing.” I turned toward him, the look of disbelief still evident on his face as I pointed to the neat pile of notes sitting on the counter. “Did you want me to order lunch?”
“It’s like she’s a robot.” Dallas laughed before turning serious again. “If you’re looking for John Connor, I’m totally him. Unless you’re the T-1000 who’s been sent here to kill me. In which case, he is John Connor.” He pointed to Josh.
“Eve is not a robot, you moron.” Josh smacked Dallas across the back of the head. “And what you are seeing is called efficiency. It’s how competent people work.”
Dallas ignored his boss, his attention back on me. “He’s cranky. We should feed him, robot Eve.”
I laughed, feeling slightly ridiculous at how pleased I was they both seemed impressed. It’s not like I was performing brain surgery—but as conceited as it sounded—I loved the ego boost.
“Okay. So do you have a preference or do you want me to choose? I’m starving, and you both have a break until two.” I looked directly at Josh, waiting for him to respond.
“There’s a deli up the road, they deliver.” Josh didn’t even give me a chance to pick up the phone before he turned to Dallas and added, “Order whatever Eve wants and pay them when they get here.”
“I don’t mind ordering.”
“Why do I have to do it?”
Dallas and I drowned each other out.
“It’s no trouble, I can do it,” I added quickly. It had been my suggestion and I was happy to do it.
Josh held up his hand either to stop my protest or Dallas’s, giving his friend a loaded look. “For once in your life just do what I tell you to do and don’t argue.”
“Fine.” Dallas rolled his eyes before turning to me. “Let me guess, you want a salad, dressing on the side.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?” I responded, planting my hands on my hips. While my ass would have probably appreciated his suggestion, dry salad made me want to barf.
“Hell no, your body . . .” His eyes rolled over the length of me from my toes all the way up.
“Dallas,” Josh warned.
“Is great.” I’m not sure what his original word was going to be but great felt like a substitution. “It’s just what girls usually order.”
“Then maybe you should stop dating Jessica Rabbit, because real women eat.” I smiled sweetly, probably being bitchier than I needed. “I’ll have a turkey sandwich.”
“Make that two,” Josh called from behind me. “And while we’re waiting, can I see you back in my room?”
He was looking directly at me.
Shit.
Back in his room meant alone, and alone didn’t mean good things.
Firstly, because I’d spent all morning successfully acting like an adult and not a fourteen-year-old girl each time I saw him and I didn’t want to ruin my track record. It was going to take a while before I didn’t need to remind myself to suppress a groan whenever he walked by, but that would come with practice and it was only my first day.
But more importantly, alone meant someone could talk to you without an audience. Which is what happened when the gallery asked me to take leave.
“Sure.” I kept the smile on my face as I followed him down the hall back to his room.
He didn’t look angry. Surely he wasn’t annoyed about the walls? I guess I should have probably clarified, but he had said I could do whatever. I wasn’t going to ask for permission every single time I had an idea to improve things. Not small things like that. Besides, he’d called me efficient. I’d shown initiative. Those were good things.
“You want to sit?” His head tipped toward his big fancy chair, a rolling stool beside it.
“Did I do something wrong?” I’d never been patient.
“What makes you say that?” He closed the door behind us, my feet undecided if they wanted to stay standing or see what that comfy chair felt like.
“Because you want to speak to me alone. I figured you needed to say something but didn’t want Dallas to hear.”
Unless I wasn’t alone in the fantasies about pulling each other’s clothes off and making out. Wild sex before lunch sounded like a good way to work up an appetite. Extra employee benefit maybe?
Stop it.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Why don’t you sit down.”
It was the second time he asked, so I walked slowly to the chair. Might as well take a seat, it meant there was less chance of me doing something stupid. Like asking him to peel off his T-shirt so I could categorize the tattoos on his body like I’d done to the wall.
Ugh.
I needed a new vibrator.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I let my butt sink into the soft leather of his fancy chair.
“Wow, this is better than my couch.” My legs lifted off the floor as I relaxed further, easing into the softness of the leather. It was like a beauty salon’s chair on steroids. “No wonder Kitty was willing to sit here for hours.” I was momentary distracted from the suppleness of the leather as Josh lowered himself onto the stool beside me.
“Usually I’d say the chair is probably worth more than your couch but with you, I’m not so sure.” His lips twitched at the edges, “In the early days, I may have slept in it one or two times.”
Great. A sleepy, half-naked—I was guessing, maybe fully naked—Josh wasn’t a visual I would be forgetting in a hurry. Definitely needed a new vibrator, maybe even investing in one of these chairs as well.
“I’m really impressed, Eve.” He leaned forward, his sexy man scent interrupting my thoughts before they got too dirty. “The walls look really good.”
“Thank you.” Do not lean in. “I actually enjoyed it, and I have a good eye for detail. Some of those tattoos must have taken forever, all that . . . detail.”
Did it sound as dumb out of my mouth as it did in my head?
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “The details, I think you should see them up close this afternoon. I was going to wait a little longer, let you settle in but honestly, with what you did out there, I see no reason to wait.”
“Huh
?” The control I’d had over my mouth was gone as every dirty thought I’d had about him jostled for position in my mind. “Wait for what?”
“I want you to sit in on a session. Only if you want to, no pressure and we can wait till next week if you’d be more comfortable.” His fingers raked through the longer part of his black hair. “But I have a regular, Bob. And he is solid as a rock. The man doesn’t flinch and is a dream to work on. I’m doing a shoulder piece and it’s going to take a couple of hours.” He paused, his smile got a little wider. “And I’d like you to watch.”
Oh. My. God.
I squeezed my legs together pretending him asking me to watch didn’t turn me on. Or that the sentence wasn’t laden with innuendo.
“I’d love to watch.” It sounded just as pervy when I said it out loud. “As long as Bob doesn’t mind, I think I’d really enjoy watching you work.” Among other things.
Maybe he could work with his shirt off. By his own admission it was a couple of hours work. It could get hot in here.
“Bob won’t mind, he’ll probably enjoy the attention.” He gave me a wink. “Okay, great. That’s settled. Let’s have lunch, and then I get a few hours with you back here.”
Why was I being punished? With everything coming out of his mouth sounding like a dirty invitation my body was more than willing to RSVP to.
“Sounds like a plan.” My body moved to get out of the seat. “I’ll tackle the supply closet tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait to see its fate in your capable hands.” Another wink.
Jesus. This man was trying to kill me.
“My hands can’t wait to get all over it.” My fingers waved either side of my face. The it I was thinking about not his messy supply closet.
“Great. Let me get the transfer done, and we can get lunch.” His heavy boots hit the floor as he moved off the stool.
“Is there a reason you brought me in here?” I asked, joining him at his drafting table. “You probably could have asked me out there.” Where I wasn’t so close and tempted to kiss him.
“Because I didn’t want you to feel pressured in front of Dallas.” His hands moved to a beautiful sketch of a fob watch, the chain wrapped around an hourglass. “He has a habit of baiting people, and if you wanted to say no, that would have been okay.”