“I thought I was supposed to be working for you.” While she meant her phrase to come out businesslike, she realized it sounded like it could have meant something else and wrinkled her nose.
He raised his eyebrows and laughed. “First, I have breakfast.” A bag appeared from behind his back. “You haven’t lived until you had one of these muffins. Mitch down the street makes them.”
A heavenly lemon scent wafted from the warm bag, almost as good as Shane’s soap. Not wanting to think about that, she looked at him, squinting when the sun hit her in the eye.
“That brings me to my second item.” Like magic he reached behind him once more and a pair of sunglasses materialized. He slipped them on her. “You must have these when you live out here, the UV rays are stronger.”
The thoughtful gift left her speechless. She kept meaning to get a pair but couldn’t decide on a style.
He adjusted them and then patted his hair in the glasses’ reflection. “Perfection.” He winked and adjusted her collar. “You look great.”
“Thank you?” It came out as a question, but she wasn’t prepared for the way her mouth dried up when his fingers brushed her neck. She swallowed. It was imperative for her to gain control over the situation. “I made a list of things we have to review.” She retrieved notes from her desk. “This way we can move fast and I can collect anything I need.”
He snatched the list, glanced at it and handed it back. “That brings me to item number three.” He motioned for her to come with him. “Which is actually part one of our journey together.”
She lifted her hand to stop and tell him that this couldn’t be a journey, it was only a short road trip, when he captured her fingers, dragged her outside and over to his apartment.
Powerless to resist, she was thrust into his abode. She removed her glasses and smiled when his place was precisely as she’d pictured. Almost an exact duplicate of her apartment except it was flipped. In contrast to her cream colored walls, his were white, with one painted black. His furniture was mismatched and well worn.
However, the artwork strategically placed on the black wall caught her eye. These colorful canvases were amazing pieces depicting landscapes, seascapes and an interplanetary scene all with a flair for being a little abstract and left of center. Drawn to the art, she took a step toward it, shocked out of her trance-like state when Shane tugged her.
“Here’s exhibit one.” He flipped the cushion off the couch.
“Oh no!” Exactly as she had with the spider, she lunged toward the first thing that represented safety in the face of danger, namely Shane.
“We really need to keep meeting like this.” He put his arm around her and turned her face away from the couch. “Don’t look directly at it. I don’t want you to burn your eyes.”
She pushed back from him, ensuring she would not get any wafts of soap. “We need to look directly at it.”
“No.” He took a step away.
“You need to look directly at it.” Head raised, she collected the envelopes from the IRS from the couch. Of the more than twenty letters, less than half were open.
“Maybe you shouldn’t touch them.” Shane stayed back, looking like he’d just tasted something really bad. “No one should have to.”
“It’s all right. I’m an accountant and that makes me immune.” She held one up that appeared drenched in some sort of liquid and dried out.
“Soda may dissolve your insides, but it doesn’t do a thing to those letters.”
She recalled an envelope bursting out of a first aid kit while she lay bleeding, and she put her hand on her hip. “Where are the rest?”
He frowned. “How do you know?”
She stood her ground with a tap of her foot.
With his head hung low, for the next five minutes Shane walked around his apartment and collected stray letters. The stack grew and she found a bag and followed him.
“This is like trick or treat.” He lifted a dead plant, retrieved another envelope and dropped it in the bag.
“Is it the trick or the treat?” She pressed her lips together.
The letters were everywhere, in his silverware drawer, under the sink, between his mattress and box spring, in the medicine cabinet and in a cereal box.
He tossed the box in the sink. “I never liked that cereal.”
“So you added your own special prize?”
With a wide toothy grin he tried to be cute, but she couldn’t allow it. “At least you didn’t add milk.”
“See, that counts for something. Right?”
She blinked. How he could live knowing the letters were there and multiplying? Her job wasn’t to psychoanalyze him, only to get his mess in order. She tied the bag shut and headed toward the door. “I’ll meet you at your store.”
“Shop.” He dashed after her. “I’ll drive.”
“I’ll follow you over.” If she let him drive, she wouldn’t be able to leave when she wanted.
“I really don’t mind.” He followed her to her apartment.
“I may have to run an errand or two so this will work out better.” In a race, she rushed down the stairs and got inside her car just as he came up to the window.
“Follow me and don’t get lost.”
She won. She felt like she should get a trophy. “No problem.”
Shane patted the roof of her car indicating for her to get going, and she turned the key only to have the vehicle let out a sick clatter.
He crossed his arms.
On her second try her engine light illuminated and she pumped the accelerator. “Hold on.”
“Don’t flood the engine.” He leaned back on his heels.
When her third attempt didn’t net her a favorable result, she leaned over, opened the glove box and took out the owner’s manual.
He bent down. “Open your hood.”
“I think I read about this.” She thumbed through the pages.
He stuck his head into the car. “You highlighted your owner’s manual?”
“Of course, this tells you everything you need to know about operating this car.”
He kept his eye on her as he hit the button to pop open the hood. “With these cars, when the engine light goes on we’ll probably have to take it in.”
As he finished his sentence she found the passage in the manual. “If the engine light comes on, call the dealership.”
“Oh no.” He took the book out of her hands, tossing it in the back seat. “No dealership.”
“It says …” She twisted around to retrieve the book.
“It says let me rip you off. I’ll take care of this while you take care of bigger and better things.” He opened the door for her.
“You don’t have to. I can take care of my own car.” At least she probably could, she never had to before, but she had the owner’s manual.
He waited for her to exit and grabbed her purse and muffins.
“It’s my responsibility.” She glared at him even though he couldn’t see her eyes with the sunglasses on.
“Your responsibility is to take care of me.” He slid his cell phone out of his pocket.
No, he wasn’t hers. She was making good on a favor. His fingers press the keys with lightning speed.
“Shane, seriously?”
“Carson will get Carlos, a buddy of mine.” He looked up. “I put a tattoo of a Corvette Stingray on his back. If I trust him with my baby, he’s good enough for yours.”
Everything moved at breakneck speed with him and she turned away to collect herself. She didn’t know any mechanics, and even she knew better than to go to the dealer. Also, she really needed her car. Why hadn’t she bought new? Everything she needed for California had cost more than she thought.
“Thank you.” She added yet another item in her ledger owed to Shane Elliott, and another tick against her for not taking care of things herself.
“Excellent.” He took her keys and slammed the hood down without looking at the engine.
Did he always
get what he wanted? The man seemed to thrive on her weakness.
*~*~*
“Here we are.” Shane parked his car in a small parking lot behind a strip mall. He pointed to a maroon door and climbed out of the car. “That’s the back, but since you are a first timer, we’ll go in the front so you can get the full impact.”
Her nerves overtook her at the thought of really going into a tattoo shop without the ability to leave. He led her to the main street past a row of stores, including a pawn shop, a Japanese restaurant and a small clothing boutique. An artsy area, not at all what she expected. Permanent Tattoo sat on the corner, the sign painted in the same style artwork as the pictures on his walls in the apartment.
With the windows tinted, it was impossible to see inside until he opened the door. After entering, she stood and absorbed the space, a cross between a barbershop and a fun house. Maroon walls were almost completely covered with framed art, apparently of the different tattoos one could get. Black and maroon tiles created a checkerboard pattern on the floor. What surprised her most was that the place was cleaner than she imagined.
“Let’s give you the grand tour.” He set her bag down, put his arm around her and turned her toward one wall. “The art on this wall is called flash, or stock tattoos, but in this shop we also hang custom work.”
She wanted to know why the art was called flash rather than art or samples and raised her hand.
“It’s called flash because it can be done in a flash.” He winked and motioned toward another wall. “This is Carson’s art.”
On cue Carson came bounding out from the back. “I rock it.”
“You’re learning.” Shane pointed.
“I’m also rocking your car.” Carson tapped Lindsay on the shoulder, flipped his hair out of his eyes, and held his hand out to Shane who tossed him the keys. “What do you think?”
Carson’s artwork was precisely what she would expect of a tattoo artist, consisting of skulls and pinup girls. “It’s very lovely.”
He raised his thumb at her and turned to Shane. “Do I get a lesson today?”
“Get her car fixed first.” Shane motioned him away.
With a salute to his brother, Carson left and Shane turned her to another wall. “This is Ivan’s art.”
“Wow.” She nodded at the incredible landscapes that looked to be painted.
Shane turned her once more. “This is mine.”
Her body tensed at the sight of Shane’s art. His pictures possessed a style all their own, and matched the front of the building and the art in his apartment, landscapes and intricate animals and portraits. Some pieces done to look like machines and even the inside of the human body, as if one could pull back the skin and get a peek.
Entranced, she walked toward the wall. “You did this?”
“All of it.”
She touched a picture of a water lily.
“Do you like them?”
Her eyes flitted from one drawing to another. “Do you do these free hand?”
“Yes.”
She studied the pictures for a few more moments. “They’re incredible.”
Shane put his arm around her shoulder. “Over here is our reception area and display case.”
“You sell jewelry?” At the mention of retail, she retrieved her list and pencil from her purse and made a notation. She tilted her head at the gold and silver earrings, some in the shape of balls or hearts, or even with little jewels.
“We do piercings here.” He knelt down with her.
“Like ears.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Ears, tongues, belly buttons, anything that needs a hole in it.” He laughed.
Her hand went to her ear. She’d always wanted her ears pierced, but it involved a needle through her flesh.
Shane moved her hair aside. “Wow a virgin.” He leaned in to get a better look.
She gasped when his breath grazed her ear.
He took her ear between his fingertips. “You have a beautiful lobe.”
Shivers overtook her. “D-do you do the piercing?”
“Absolutely.” He whispered in her ear before he stood and took her hand again. “Let me show you the back.”
All eyes were on her as they walked past the reception area into a large room with stations for each person. Again everything was spotless. “It looks like a doctor’s office in here.” At last she placed his indefinable scent. It was a mix of his soap and what had to be ink.
“We’re artists, not slobs.” He guided her through the room to a few doors. “Over here are our rooms for people who want to be anonymous, or those getting work done on private parts.”
At the visualization, she pursed her lip out.
“Sometimes people don’t want certain areas we’re working on to be exposed.”
Her mental picture of a tattoo shop completely contrasted with what he presented her, sort of like Shane himself. Not wanting to think about it, she lifted her list. “So now it’s your turn to be the client. Where’s your paperwork.”
Shane’s smile faded and the sparkle in his eyes dulled as they returned to the front. Behind the counter he took her by the shoulders, moved her back, and bent down. After a bit of a struggle he came back up with the entire bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.
She helped him put the drawer on the counter, grabbing his arm when a bunch of crumpled papers fell out. “What is this?”
“My accounting system.”
“Did you just shove everything in here?” A moot question because the answer overflowed right in front of her. She braced against him, standing on tiptoe to make out if the mess had any rhyme or reason, then she scanned the room for a computer.
“No.” He hung his head, resting it on her shoulder.
She took a breath. This had to be receipts or something. One drawer was doable, only a few hours work. “Well?”
“I shoved everything else in here.” He waved his hand over the entire cabinet.
“What?” The sting of bile stung her throat. Her stomach surged with nausea mixed with a slight tinge of excitement. “What do you mean?”
Shane motioned to the individual drawers. “Accounts payable, accounts receivable, paperwork and receipts.”
Unable to stop herself, she opened what he called accounts receivable, jumping back when more papers poured out onto the floor. “You never thought of using a file folder?”
“I thought about it.” He picked up the papers, forced them back inside the cabinet and kicked the drawer closed as if trapping an animal.
“Out of curiosity, what happened to that thought?”
“I knew I wouldn’t do it, so I just kept this system.”
“At least you didn’t set yourself up for failure.”
“Exactly.” He furrowed his brow and turned away from the cabinet.
“What have you done in the past to file your tax returns?” If he said he guessed, no doubt a vein in her brain would blow.
“I estimated with my old accountant.”
She moved her hand to her temple, pushing her vein back in. “You had an accountant?”
“Yep, he’s out of business now and relocated.”
Speechless, she paced for a moment. Part of her wanted to dig into the cabinet, tear it apart and take over. Another part of her wanted to run and tell him she didn’t sign up for this. This wasn’t her, not anymore. She was a corporate accountant who didn’t take on homespun businesses. And she didn’t play with bad boys because they were bad. She shoved her pencil in her mouth and spun back to face her new nemesis, the filing cabinet of horrors.
His phone rang. “Is the car fixed? Yeah, I know it’s only been a few minutes.”
All she needed was a strategy. When she observed his bill paying attempts, she knew this wouldn’t be an outpatient job. But this wasn’t her, she shouldn’t be there, and she stomped her foot.
While Shane talked about her car, she crept over to the cabinet and opened the top drawer. More papers and a shoebox greeted her. She ch
ewed her lip, and unable to stand the suspense she knocked the lid off the box.
For at least a full minute she stared at the contents while the shudder running down her backbone subsided. She bit the end of her pencil hard and the eraser came off in her mouth.
“If you’re hungry, we can go down to Pete’s and get some rations.” Shane returned and took the pencil. With a fast examination of the writing tool he held his hand out.
She spit the eraser into his palm and covered her eyes. Was there nothing she wouldn’t do in front of the man to embarrass herself? She sucked in a breath when he glanced down at the eraser, tilted his head and popped it in his own mouth.
He chewed a moment, nodded and swallowed. “I think I would rather have some sushi.”
Only Shane could make eating an eraser something everyone would want to try. The only way to save face was to continue. She returned to the drawer and tapped the box. “What’s this?”
He glanced inside. “Accounts payable.”
“I can guarantee, that is not accounts payable.”
He curled his lower lip in over his teeth and bit down.
“Accounts payable is what you pay out.”
His eyes traveled to the box and back to her. “That’s not accounts payable.”
“What is it then?” She clutched the edge of the filing cabinet.
“Money.”
They stuck their heads in the cabinet and stared at the box full of crumpled cash.
“Where did it come from?” She grabbed his forearm to brace for his answer.
“I made it.” He faced her.
“Not on a printing press, right?”
“No. Lots of my customers pay me in cash.”
“And …” She prayed for more of an explanation.
“And I put it in here, and when I need some, I grab a handful.”
An odd warmth encompassed her. Was this what it felt like right before someone passed out or died? “There’s … there’s …”
“Take it easy.” He rubbed her back.
“There’s no record?”
“I have a list of clients.”
She tried a different approach. “Is this for when you need money for yourself or for the business?” She met him nose to nose.
“It’s my business, so isn’t that one and the same?” His voice lowered.
Permanent (Indelibly Marked) (Volume 1) Page 5