Nightingale

by Keri Armstrong

  “For what?” I knew it was futile to argue, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  He hissed through his teeth and tried to get up in my face. It was laughable. I was at least three inches taller.

  “Insubordination, poor customer service….” His mouth worked silently for a moment as if he were at a loss for words. He pointed a trembling finger up at me, his face mottled, his breathing rapid and harsh. I could only hope he was having a heart attack.

  “Fine. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” I yelled, jerking at the apron strings behind my back. My fingers, clumsy from anger, nearly tore the fabric.

  “You… you… you don’t have a legal to stand on,” he spat at me. “This job is at-will.”

  Really, the guy was a joke. There was no way I was in a position to sue him and, even if I could, I wouldn’t waste my time. I only worked there because I was desperate.

  My stomach clenched. I couldn’t think about that now.

  I pasted on a fake smile and turned to the gaping staff.

  “Well, kids, I guess I’m outtie. Nice knowing ya, Suckas.”

  I tossed the apron in the trash bin then hurried to the locker room behind the kitchen to get my purse. All the while ignoring Eric who screamed I would pay for everything.

  I finally sprinted out the back door and across the parking lot to my car. I was fumbling with the card door when Jeff came up beside me. “Al, honey, if you need anything, anything at all, let me know.”

  I nodded and gave him a quick hug. “I know,” I whispered around the tight knot in my throat. “You’d better get back inside before he comes for you.”

  He hugged me once more and then reluctantly returned to the restaurant.

  I watched him go inside then jabbed the key into the ignition and turned it. As if the night couldn’t get worse, the car’s engine coughed up a death rattle right before it went silent.

  “Goddamn rotten car and goddamn stupid, rotten, lying mechanics!” I hated them all.

  I turned the key several more times to try to resuscitate the engine. When I was about to call time of death, the car sputtered back to life. I hit the gas and roared out of the parking lot.

  Like a madwoman, I drove fast and furious, with no idea where I was going. I couldn’t go home yet for fear of running into Mrs. McClure, and Phoebe was out still out of town. Since Sara and Caleb seemed to have gotten much closer and were spending all their time together, I didn’t want to bother them. Apart from Jeff, there was no one else. So, I just drove until I feared I would run out of gas before I ran out of tears.

  By the time I pulled over, my sight was blurry from tears. I swept a hand over my eyes to clear my vision and get my bearings. A tingle of excitement crossed my skin when I saw a small sign in a nearby window.

  Help Wanted.

  Two

  My excitement grew when I saw the bright blue neon sign that splashed color onto the building’s dark surface.

  Midnight Ink Tattoos and Piercings.

  Caleb worked there!

  I grinned, but it died quickly when I realized I probably looked like ten miles of bad road. Twisting the rearview mirror, I inspected the damage: eyes were a little red and puffy, but not beyond the help of a little powder.

  Speaking of powder…. I rubbed off the makeup camouflaging the tattoo on my temple. Without thinking, I wiped my hands on my pants, and then grimaced at the makeup streaking the black slacks. My white uniform blouse was also spotted with grease and a few drops of blood. I checked out the back seat and got lucky. I grabbed my jacket, which would at least cover the blouse.

  Too bad I was still wearing my cheap, plastic waitress shoes instead of boots.

  A strong odor of seafood hit me as soon as I opened the car door and fresh air poured in. Damn. That smell permeated my clothes. I did a quick rummage in my purse but came up empty-handed. Desperate, I tore off the vanilla air freshener hanging from the mirror and rubbed it over my clothes. I got out of the car and walked around outside for a minute, hoping some of the smell would dissipate before I went in the building.

  Chimes and a strobe light marked my entrance. Two tall men stood talking quietly behind a counter. The taller of the two had long blond hair; the other, a dark, military-style cut. They turned simultaneously when I approached.

  My pulse jumped. They were both gorgeous, and both stared at me intently. The blond’s brows rose slightly, but neither of them spoke.

  I cleared my throat. “Is Caleb here, by any chance?”

  Irritation flashed through me as I was subjected to a head-to-toe scan by two pairs of eyes.

  “What do you need?” The shorter one’s tone and expression were flat.

  Memory of tonight’s fiasco stopped the sass waiting on my tongue.

  “I’d like to speak to him about the ‘Help Wanted’ sign.”

  That seemed to pique their interest. “Did he ask you to come by?” Tall, Dark, and Dangerously Handsome asked.

  For a fraction of a second I almost said yes, thinking I’d clear it with Caleb later, but thought better of it. Not because I was raised to believe honesty was the best policy, but because my cell phone was an old cheapy, and I didn’t want to risk not being able to warn him in time if they checked.

  I raised my chin a little. “No, but I saw the sign, and since he’s a friend of mine, thought I’d ask him about it.”

  A glance passed between them before the brunette turned back with a sharp gaze. “What position are you applying for?”

  Not the first time that night, I inwardly cursed my stupidity and impulsiveness. I knew better than to apply for a job without preparing, but forged ahead. “What ones do you have?”

  My fingers clenched as they gave me the head-to-toe again. I swear they even sniffed. Blondie’s nose wrinkled as if he’d smelled something bad.

  My face heated. He probably had—fried fish oil stained my clothes—but I stood my ground. I’d been through worse humiliations than this before.

  The dark one pinned me with a long stare before he spoke, his voice carrying a slight accent I couldn’t place. “I’m not sure this is the place for you.”

  “How would you know that? At least tell me what you need, or let me speak to Caleb or the manager—”

  “Caleb isn’t here and I am the owner.” He glanced down at my cheap, plastic work shoes then nodded toward the blond. “However, Laurent here needs waitresses at his place if you have any experience.”

  Wow. Arrogant much? And did Blondie have to look appalled at the suggestion?

  I squared my shoulders. “As a matter of fact, I do. But I want something different. Sorry if I wasted your time.”

  I knew I didn’t sound a bit sorry as I stalked toward the door.

  “Wait,” the owner called out in that strange accent.

  I hesitated. “What?”

  “Why did you try to hide your tattoos and piercings before coming here?”

  The question took me by surprise and I turned around. “I didn’t. I had to tone it down for my current job.” I crossed my fingers quickly, hoping I wasn’t lying by calling my job “current.”

  “And what job is that?”

  Gah! But no point in trying to cover it up. “I’m a server at Captain Fisheye’s.”

  The blond smirked.

  I mean-mugged him in return. He seemed surprised by it, yet held my gaze until it became an intense battle to see who would blink first.

  And damn it, I did. I consoled myself by believing it wasn’t him, but a trick of the light that did me in. I could have sworn his eyes had flashed gold for a second.

  I was brought back to the present the other guy asking, “Do you have any art background?”

  Caught off guard, I turned quickly and shook my head no.

  His face appeared a little friendlier now that it carried an expression of secret amusement.

  “Piercing?”

  “Only my own.”

  “Cash register?”

  That was firmer ground. “Yes
, lots. At other restaurants and grocery stores.”

  “Captain Fisheye doesn’t trust you with his money?” Blondie spoke for the first time and I found myself unwillingly mesmerized.

  Smooth voice, slight French accent. Different from the owner’s accent, but more appealing.

  Shame he was such a dick.

  “I’m a server, not a cashier.” I put as much frost and dignity into it as I could, which to be honest, was all bluff and all three of us knew it.

  I mean, really, Captain Fisheyes?

  “What’s your name?” the owner asked, dragging my attention away from Tall, Blond, and Prickly.

  “Allie. Allison Baker.” I held out a hand for him to shake. “And you?”

  Eyes sparkling, he encompassed my hand in his large, pleasantly warm one.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Allie. May I introduce you to my business associate?” He gestured toward the other man. “Jean-Marc Laurent, but everyone just calls him Laurent. He owns ‘Nightingales’ on State Street.”

  I blinked. Even I’d heard of that fancy place. It seemed strange that he was hanging out in a tattoo shop. Since he clearly wasn’t impressed to meet me, I didn’t bother to raise my hand again. Nor did he. We nodded at each other.

  Gabe ducked down for a second behind the counter as “Laurent” and I re-engaged our silent battle of wills; once again, mine being broken first as Mr. Lara came back up and handed me an application.

  “Please fill this out. You can do it now, or bring it back tomorrow.”

  I chose option one, and they left me to it as they went toward the back of the shop. I did my best to eavesdrop, but between the music that had become louder and their distance, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Even as I fretted over the paperwork, I kept them in my periphery vision. They seemed pretty intense.

  As I wrote down Phoebe as my emergency contact, my phone rang. I jumped a little, heart speeding. As stealthily as possible, I pulled out my phone.

  A tiny stab of disappointment: not a mystery caller.

  But it was still a call that caused excitement. I glanced again at the two in the back and saw them watching. Gabriel nodded for me to answer the phone before turning back to Laurent.

  I took the call, and made arrangements, smiling. I might have two dates this weekend if let myself.

  Still content, I finished the application, hoping they wouldn’t peer too closely into my background. The state of Illinois accepted homeschool diplomas, and I hoped Midnight Ink would, too. The rest of my ID was professionally made, so I was less worried about that. It wasn’t like I was applying for a bank job.

  I gathered the paper and pen I’d been given and walked toward the back. For the first time, I noticed a tattoo artist working on a customer behind a small screen. Like Gabriel Lara, he was tan with dark hair and eyes that probably came from a Latino heritage. He barely glanced at me as I passed by.

  Attempting confidence, I strode toward the other two men. I didn’t know if Laurent was a co-owner of Midnight Ink since he was Gabe’s business partner. I hoped not. It didn’t seem likely he’d hire me. And even if he did, I wouldn’t want to work for him. He didn’t seem as skeezy as Eric and was much better dressed. Much better looking, if I was honest, but still seemed to have a very large stick up his ass.

  While they were talking, I did a quick comparison of the pair. Gabe was tall, but Laurent was taller. At least six-six. Lean but not thin. Broad shouldered and elegant. Striking, aquamarine eyes that I could have sworn were sometimes gold. They were set above high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and full lips that might have been feminine on anyone else, but were completely masculine and right at home on his face.

  I frowned, realizing one of the things that had been nagging at the back of my mind since I’d walked in. He somehow seemed… familiar. I shook it off and moved to the one I’d hoped would be my new boss. Gabriel Lara.

  He was just as handsome but in a much more rugged way. He had the appearance of a former Marine, and from his last name and complexion, probably a Latino heritage, though his strange accent wasn’t really Hispanic. I couldn’t put my finger on what made his voice unusual. It was deep, husky, yet oddly monotone. I mentally shrugged. Maybe that’s all it was—a lack of inflection. It didn’t detract from his appeal, though, and neither did the peculiar glasses he wore. He looked like scholar.

  A rogue scholar with tattooed muscles and pierced eyebrows.

  “All ready?” he asked.

  “As can be,” I said, handing him the papers and silently praying my meager work history would still be enough if I could also get Caleb to vouch for me.

  “Well, I guess I should warn you that it doesn’t pay much,” he said.

  I deflated a little but, given what I currently made, it surely couldn’t be much worse. “Oh?” I steeled myself.

  And then I had to stifle my excitement as he named a figure that made me try to keep the desperate hope off my face. “I think I can work with that.”

  Three

  MIDNIGHT INK

  Laurent ignored Gabe’s smirk and held out his hand for the girl’s application.

  He snapped the papers out of his partner’s hand and read through it, frowning.

  The handwriting suited her. Bold, slashing, and messy. She had courage, no doubt. She’d even tried to stare him down tonight. It hadn’t worked, of course, but the fact that she’d tried told him there was far more to her than she appeared.

  His lips twisted. He didn’t want to be curious about her, but he couldn’t afford not to be. She might be a spy. Neither he nor Gabe had been able to get a good read on her. And the overwhelming odor of grease, fish, and pine air freshener hadn’t allowed them to pinpoint what she was. Besides annoying.

  He continued to scan the document and his eyes widened when he saw who her emergency contact was. He thrust the application back at Gabe.

  “If Caleb vouches for her, I think you should hire her.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She’s brave and for what you need her for, she’ll do.” He didn’t add that he thought she seemed desperate for a job. Gabe knew he wasn’t that altruistic.

  His companion’s expression remained skeptical. Laurent resisted the pull to pry into Gabe’s mind. The tattoo king was getting better at noticing when he did it.

  “She’s pretty light on experience,” Gabe reminded him.

  Laurent shrugged and brushed at his coat sleeve. “True. But she does have customer service and cash handling experience. Plus, she’s got a bit of that ‘tough girl’ vibe that I think some of your clientele would appreciate.”

  Gabe smirked. “Mm-hmn. Is that why you’ve suddenly changed your mind?”

  “What do you mean, changed my mind? Did I say anything against her before?”

  “You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving. You should know that.”

  “I do. That’s why I’m not buying your innocent act.”

  “No act. Hire her or don’t. Your call. I just thought I’d express my opinion.”

  “Noted. I’ll think about it.”

  Laurent gave him a cool smile. “Besides, like you said. I could always use an experienced server.”

  Gabe laughed. “Right. I’d love to see that.”

  They both turned as the city’s werewolf leader, Alejandro, appeared from behind the screen that divided the front of the shop from the back.

  “What’s this you’d love to see?”

  Gabe jerked a thumb in Laurent’s direction. “Did you notice the girl who just left? Laurent here is thinking of hiring to serve at Nightingales.”

  Alejandro grinned. “I caught a glimpse. Did I overhear her say she knows Caleb?”

  “Yeah. I remember her name being mentioned in Arizona. And she put down Phoebe as a contact,” Gabe answered.

  Alejandro sobered. “I guess we should keep a close eye on her.”

  Laurent nodded, pleased. In spite
of all the wolf had suffered at the hands of the Awakened, he was still smart and a valuable agent. The entire Resistance was glad to have Alejandro back in the field. It was even more satisfying that the shifter’s daughter, Marti, had at last been introduced to her father.

  “That’s exactly right,” Laurent said, gazing pointedly at Gabe. “She bears watching.”

  Gabe raised his hands, a half-grin playing across his face. “Never disagreed. I just think it will be interesting to see how this plays out. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated by you, which means she should be able to handle herself here.”

  Laurent snorted softly then turned to Alejandro. “See what Nia knows about her.”

  “Nia?”

  At the innocent sounding question, Laurent and Gabe both smirked. “Yes, Nia. I believe you know her rather well,” Laurent said.

  Their companion smiled. “Will do.”

  Laurent spoke to Gabe. “Get Sara or Phoebe on the phone, while I go find Caleb.”

  Four

  ALLIE

  “You mean you just swanned into Midnight Ink with no idea who he was?”

  Jeff’s astonishment was beginning to wear on my nerves. We’d met at a diner in our neighborhood for me to give him the scoop about what had transpired since I’d made my inglorious exit from CF’s.

  “I’d hardly call it swanning.”

  “But, how could you not have known?” He dragged out the last word. “I mean, you’ve got tattoos. How is it you never heard of them?”

  “Am I supposed to know every tattoo artist in the city? Do you?”

  “No, but even I’ve heard of Gabe Lara. He’s one of the best and most expensive there is.”

  I sniffed. “There you have it, then. We obviously don’t run in the same circles since my trust fund ran out.”

  His eyes widened. “You had a trust fund?”

  Clearly, my sarcasm was wasted. “God, you’re an idiot. It’s a good thing I like you or I’d been dumping this soup over your head right now. I still can’t promise I won’t.”

  Jeff shook his head. “I’m sorry, Al, but I can’t believe that you, of all people, had never heard of Midnight Ink.”