Vehn (Exotic Ink Book 1)

by LS Anders

  Andrea chose that moment to push open the break room door pulling a rolling suitcase behind her. The high color she was sporting on her cheeks made it obvious that she had overheard the conversation while clearing out her station. She didn’t look anyone in the eye as she spoke only to Evana.

  “Hey, I’m done. Thanks again, E, for the recommendation.”

  Callie had no idea why Andrea felt compelled to say goodbye to Evana in person when she could have simply sent a text. Obviously, the girl wasn’t too bright. Either that or her gratitude had overridden her sense of self-preservation and she’d come looking for Evana to thank her for the letter of recommendation she had been kind enough to write.

  Sheesh! She had to have known Callie would be gunning for her. Why the hell she didn’t pack her stuff and leave as quickly as possible was anyone’s guess. Callie really didn’t care about the reason, because this afforded her the opportunity she had been waiting for all freaking day.

  When she'd opened the break room door and spied Callie, the look on Andrea's face had been fucking priceless. It was like watching one of those old black and white cartoons where the character was suddenly startled, levitating off the floor, eyes popping out about a foot away from their face and hair standing straight up on end.

  Callie snickered to herself, her mind morbidly entertaining her with snapshots of various looks on Andrea’s face ranging from shocked horror to gross panic when she realized Brent was lying dead on top of her.

  Once Andrea said her goodbye to Evana and turned to leave, Callie was up, out of her seat as if she had been prodded in the ass with a red-hot poker. Avie followed tight on her heels, her mile-high stilettos clicking on the black and grey variegated marble flooring as they all made their way past the individual artists’ rooms that flanked both sides of the hall ending at the reception area.

  Avie took up residence on her cushy chair at the receptionist desk, and Callie knew she wasn’t there to greet clients, since the studio had been closed the day before, that day and the next so employees could mourn Brent’s passing. She was only there to witness the action between her and Andrea.

  No need to keep her waiting!

  “What? No goodbye, kiss my ass, or nothing for anybody else? No, ‘Sorry I fucked your friend’s husband’?” Callie started in on her, moving in close, causing Andrea to quicken her pace. Once they reached the locked entrance, Andrea turned, backing up against the glass panel. “Good riddance, you low-rent piece of shit. Tell me something, Andrea, did you drop directly out of Satan’s butthole or was your fiendish behavior learned later on in life? It blows my freaking mind how you could do something like that to sweet Rayna. She has never done anything to you except befriend you when you first came to work here, and that’s how you repaid her kindness? By screwing her husband? You are despicable. Do you even possess a minuscule amount of morality?”

  Andrea seemed to be trying her best to ignore Callie, keeping what little dignity she had left, so she didn’t return any of the insults being hurled at her. The girl was looking over Callie’s shoulder as if she was reminiscing about her short time working there.

  Well, she could take her nostalgia someplace else because it wasn’t welcome there anymore, and neither was she. But the lost look on Andrea’s face was making Callie feel like a bully, which she wasn’t. Kind of like the bullies that picked on her in high school, and she did not want to be categorized with any of those dirt bags.

  Andrea’s unwillingness to fight back was quickly draining the heat out of Callie’s well-rehearsed hate speech, but for Rayna’s sake, she had no choice but to finish. Her insults went on auto-pilot. She had repeated the heated monologue so many times over and over in her head that she could have said it in her sleep, but she wouldn’t feel sorry for Andrea. She couldn’t! Rayna’s pride wouldn’t allow it. She had to defend her friend, because she knew Rayna would never do it for herself.

  What the hell! Chewing her ass was nowhere near as much fun as she'd imagined it would be. The girl had taken Callie’s insults and let them roll off, her feathers not even a little ruffled from the onslaught, and Callie was using some of her best fuck off material. The other girl wasn’t even attempting to retaliate.

  “…and try not to darken our doorway again, bitch,” Callie said, ending her verbal assault.

  After all that anticipation, after holding all her adrenaline at bay until this very moment, it had all been a gigantic build-up to one big fat fucking let-down.

  Andrea turned to unlock the door when Callie’s last comment must have finally hit home. She whirled back around taking a step forward, nearly running face-first into her.

  “You know what, Callie? Fuck off! Did you ever stop to think that Brent is just as much to blame as I am? It just happened, okay? I didn’t plan it. And, truth be known, he was pursuing me and had been for a long time. If I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t have slept with him. I feel guilty enough as it is. I’ve been punished enough already. I don’t deserve to be treated this way by –”

  Andrea recoiled when Callie raised her hand. Apparently, she thought Callie was going to hit her, but she was merely interrupting.

  Callie had no interest in hearing Andrea's side of the story. She had to hold onto the belief that Andrea was a villain. Even one ounce of forgiveness felt like a betrayal of her friendship with Rayna, but Callie couldn’t help feeling a smidge of respect for her after she had just stood up for herself. It would seem the girl did have a backbone after all. And she had made a valid point. It did take two to tango but, no matter how you sliced it, Andrea was still part of that wrong done to her friend.

  “Ok, so you’ve got a point. Brent should take fifty percent of the blame,” Callie conceded.

  For the briefest of moments, Andrea looked hopeful that maybe she would be forgiven, until Callie smiled her signature shit-eating grin and moved to open the door.

  “But since he’s not here, you’ll just have to shoulder the entire thing. Here, let me get the door for you. I wouldn’t want it to hit your skanky ass on the way out.”

  Andrea glanced over at Avie, but was meet with cold indifference.

  “Deuces,” Avie said holding her hand at an angle, displaying the peace sign.

  Andrea smiled a sad smile and took that as her cue to leave.

  Callie remained at the front entrance with the door propped at her back, squinting against the glare of the sun reflecting off the yellow cabs as they passed. She stood there enjoying the view of Andrea’s retreating form as it grew smaller and smaller the farther away she got from the studio. Her mood began to lighten once that nasty piece of business melted in with the rest of the crowded city sidewalk.

  “Hey, Avie, your man’s here.”

  Cale came sauntering in through the open door, his blue-grey eyes immediately locking onto Avie.

  “Thanks, Callie. You’ve restored my faith in chivalry. I thought that shit was dead.”

  “Chivalry only refers to men, dickhole.”

  Cale smirked at Callie’s comment but his eyes remained glued to Avie. “Why’s she holding open the door?”

  “Oh, she’s just taking out some trash,” Avie quipped as Cale pulled her into a hug.

  Callie stepped back into the studio letting the door close quietly behind her. She relocked it, checked the positions of the closed sign and black ribbons, then took a moment to observe the pair of love birds. It was kind of sickening in a really cute puppy love kind of way how the two of them would get lost in one another. With Cale’s shoulder-length dirty blond hair and his tatted-up skater boy vibe coupled with Avie’s pixie-like stature and long purple hair, they made an adorable couple. The perfect complement to the other.

  Callie smiled at the two with their heads together, silently wishing she had a relationship where she was so in tune with someone else. Not for the first time, she wondered if she ever would be. Guess she’ll have to settle for her fantasy boyfriend, Vehn Mathieu, the most gorgeous male model to ever exist
on the planet. Make that the entire universe.

  “You two love birds need to get a room,” Callie griped, but neither one commented, completely wrapped up in each other, as always.

  Finished with being ignored, Callie made her way back down the hall to her private work space. Her hip-length curls bounced off her bottom as she walked, her mood improving with every step.

  She adored having her own separate work space instead of the typical half-walled booth of most studios. Plus, every artist room was outfitted with a pocket door that could be closed at the request of the client who required more privacy. Some people were shyer than others when it came to baring their bottoms in a public place.

  Not only that, but the studio had several prominent clients who valued discretion. Not everyone wore their permanently inked skin openly. Some preferred to keep their art to themselves, whether it was in fear of the judgement of others or simply wanting to keep their business their own. She’d bet her last dollar no one had a clue that Rayna’s regular client, the Honorable Jeremiah Satterfield, was presiding over the New York City Civil Court with a Japanese dragon covering the majority of his back.

  Callie took a seat on her artist chair before reaching for her sketch pad instead of the People magazine, checking to see if she wanted to tweak anything on a design she had been working on for a client. A good mood had begun to take shape after Andrea had left, and she didn’t want to jack it up by eyeballing Vehn’s girlfriend.

  On flipping open the pad, a beautiful zombie girl stared back at her from the page. She loved designing new school tattoos. The freedom of creativity that style afforded and the intense saturation of colors were some of the things she liked most.

  Just by word of mouth, her work had gained enough popularity that she stayed booked weeks in advance, not leaving much time for walk-ins. There was never a shortage of new clientele anyway because of the studio’s prestigious reputation for being one of the best in the city. The sooner they found a replacement for Andrea, the better.

  Satisfied with her design, she tossed the pad back onto her table and spun her chair around stopping to face her favorite piece of artwork… an oversized glossy Dolce and Gabbana ad framed in thick mahogany of none other than Vehn Mathieu.

  It hung in a place of honor above a long narrow console table made of the same rich wood as the frame. She had actually redecorated her space to match it and had used the colors from the background in the ad as accent colors.

  She’d tricked out her space with a serious spa feel. She’d created mood lighting with strategically placed shoji lamps and candles that gave the room a soft warm glow, but she did have a goose neck floor lamp she used for task lighting when she tattooed.

  She’d even captured the soothing sound of cascading water with a self-contained wall fountain, which took up most of the wall opposite the photo. Water flowed over naturally hued slate catching and reflecting the built-in lighting, disappearing into a copper basin. Other than her artist chair and her tattoo machines, it was a tranquil spa oasis.

  She had bought the 11 x 13 photograph from the raffle winner at a fundraiser for the city’s local animal shelters. Vehn had been there as a guest speaker and had donated the framed photograph for the raffle. She could only see him from a distance as he spoke to the crowd and could barely make out the features that made up his perfectly sculpted masculine face, but she could tell he had this sensuality about him just by his mannerisms.

  When he began his speech, his voice had traveled from the stage to her ear and struck her right between her legs. It was like getting lit from within. His deep resonating voice had immediately warmed her, starting in the center of her vagina and spreading slowly out like liquid fire until it burned its way to the tips of her fingers and toes, turning her bones to molten lava. She had squeezed her thighs together, wiggling in her seat, trying to find some relief.

  She tried to appear casual as she glanced around at the faces of the other women seated at her table to determine whether or not she was the only one affected by his panty-melting voice. Nope. It appeared all the ladies had that same dumbstruck lusty look in their eyes.

  She had never experienced anything like that before and wondered if it was even possible to orgasm just from listening to a man’s voice. There couldn’t have been a dry pair of panties left in the house by the time he had finished that speech.

  She had been so envious of the girl who had won, because she had gotten to meet him as well, but luckily for her, the girl wasn’t that interested in him and had been glad to take Callie’s money in exchange for the photo. How ironic that out of all the women at the fundraiser, the one that wasn’t really a fan had won, so the begging Callie was prepared to do hadn't been necessary after all.

  Her gaze locked in on the photo, mentally absorbing every nuance so she could recall the image with perfect clarity after she was home snuggled up in bed all by her lonesome. She liked to fall asleep to fantasies of her and him together on that beach.

  He was wearing fitted white swimming trunks. His back was to the camera as Caribbean blue-green water washed lightly over his feet. He was quarter-turned, looking over his right shoulder as if he had sensed someone approaching and had turned to look. This was where her fantasy always began. Imagining it was her he had turned to look at. His brilliant pale-green eyes were looking directly into the camera. Directly into her soul.

  Her eyes traced over his lean, well defined musculature flaring a little as they roved hungrily over the greatest butt she had ever seen on a man. She had the worst habit of always comparing other men’s butts to his. Of course, none ever came close and probably never would.

  Moving back northward, she drank in the sight of his shoulder-length hair. She could almost feel the same warm breeze that had lifted the blunt ends caressing her cheek. Just the sight of that thick dark chocolate mane made her sigh.

  She could just imagine the warmth created by the sun where it shone bringing out the milk chocolate highlights and how the soft texture would feel as his long locks filtered between her fingers. Oh, how she loved chocolate. Only three words came to mind as she released an audible sigh of appreciation.

  De. Lish. Ous!

  “Mooning over your dream man again, I see,” Evana teased, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Don’t judge me, E. I wasn’t mooning, I was fantasizing. Wanna know what we were doing?” A wicked grin spread across her face.

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Chicken. Anyway, you can kiss my fat ass. Do you know how lucky you were to have found a man like Kyle? He was a needle in a hay stack kind of find.”

  “Yes, he was, and yes, I do know how lucky I was. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him,” Evana agreed, clearing her throat.

  It was no wonder Kyle had renamed the shop Exotic Ink after they'd met and married. The combination of Evana’s long glossy black hair and almond shaped purple eyes made her the most exotic woman Callie had ever seen. Her movements were so fluid when she walked, it was as if her bones were made of liquid.

  Callie noticed the sudden change in Evana’s demeanor. She could almost see the chill of sadness becoming a fog around her.

  “Oh, E, I didn’t mean to make you all sad. I’m just being a jealous bitch, wishing I had a real man instead of a two-dimensional one,” she said, motioning to the photo of Vehn.

  “You didn’t. I’m fine.” Evana tried to appear casual as she brushed the fall of her sleek black pony tail off her shoulder, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Did I hear Cale’s voice?”

  “Yep, the two love birds are preening each other as we speak,” Callie answered. “Jesus, those two are so freaking cute, always in each other’s faces. Almost makes me wanna barf, which would not be such a bad idea considering all that fattening shit I just ate.”

  “Please, no more barfing. And you’re not fat by any stretch of the imagination,” Evana said, giving her a worried look.

  “Says you. Last winter’s jeans tell a different
story, my friend.” Callie smiled. “So, what’s up?”

  “Just stopping by to see how you were doing after Andrea left. Oh, and I’ve already received several more emails about the job posting.”

  “I’m fine, and not to worry, Andrea left with all her limbs intact, but I feel better now that I got to say my piece. That’s great about the new applicants! Let me know if you need any help sorting through the applications. I hope there’s at least one really good artist in the bunch. I’ll keep my fingers and toes crossed that you find one soon.”

  “Me too, but I don’t need any help. Thanks though. So, I’m headed up. Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  “Yep, see you then.”

  Evana headed down the hall to her office where she would access the spiral staircase to her apartment above the shop.

  Callie rolled her chair to the edge of the door, leaning her head out into the hall. “Hey, E. I was just joking about the barfing.”

  “I know you were. I wasn’t worried,” Evana called out over her shoulder.

  Callie smiled and rolled back into her space, catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror attached to the changing room door. She stood, studying her reflection.

  It had been a year since she had kicked Bulimia Nervosa’s ass to the curb along with her ex-control-freak-boyfriend, Ryder. The latter being the main contributing factor to her low self-esteem issues that had contributed to her fall head-first into an eating disorder that took a year of professional counseling to get over. All her life she had struggled with her weight, and Ryder had discovered and exploited that weakness. She was a stronger person now, but that didn’t mean she was going to send him a thank you card any time soon.

  Her long auburn curls brushed against the fullness of her bottom as she turned from one side to the other. The long locks shimmered coppery highlights from the candles and lamplight. The large bouncy curls always reminded her of a doll’s hair, and she kept it long intentionally to weigh down the natural curl because if she didn’t she would look like Little Orphan Annie, and straightening it took way too much effort.