“Why, so you can keep an eye on me?” she teased.
“Yes, kind of” I admitted. “If you’re going to be here, I’d like you to be close so that if you do happen to get an asshole client no one starts any trouble with you” I added sincerely.
“Do I have a choice?” she asked, finally relaxed and smiling.
“Not really” I smirked back with a wink.
“Then it’s settled” she replied with a cheeky raise of the eyebrows. “What do you need me to bring?”
“I have everything here that you’ll need. Maybe bring some framed pics of your designs. Anything from this—“ I said handing her the folder, “will be perfect”.
The crimson glow again reached her cheeks, a sure sign she was affected by my compliment and a bittersweet knife in my heart as I again reminded myself that I couldn’t take this any further despite my every sense and thought begging me otherwise.
CHAPTER THREE
Opening day went off with a bang; we'd opened early and figured we'd work through until the last customer left. I'd asked everyone to tee up appointments with their existing clients to make sure we were busy over the first few days. Perception was key; if we looked busy, we looked successful—that's as cutthroat as the tattoo business is.
The first few days were manic; by day two, I'd gone from being worried we'd have no clients to having to call Roman and ask him to send one of his men over to help us out.
Everything had gone to plan. Everyone was getting along and most importantly Inta had fitted in perfectly to the all-male team. Valenti had been a little pissed off at first that we had a female on staff but had instantly cheered up when Inta walked through the door. She had that effect, but I'd naively hoped that somehow the other guys wouldn't notice, hoped that I wouldn't have competition from them for her attention.
Inta seemed to take it all in her stride, barely acknowledging the added attention, though Valenti had gone all out this week—bringing her drinks, carrying sterilisation gear back to her booth, and any matter of odd jobs to get her attention. She'd been friendly in return and I kinda hoped she was just being nice, but as the week wore on, Valenti's attentions had grown and I had to wonder how long she would resist his persuasive ways.
Though I'd insisted on Inta taking the booth next to me, it was almost bittersweet being so close to her. Working next to Inta was incredible; her ideas were amazing and her attention to detail was spot on; constrained in a way that exuded an enviable level of discipline and control.
All day, the smell of her perfume lingered in the air; a rich vanilla scent that served as a constant reminder of happier times spent with family back in Italy. It amazed me that such a simple smell could bring back such memories, could command feelings of comfort and security within me. As each day wore on, it became more clear that what I’d initially thought was lust for Inta was turning into something more; I wanted to know more about her.
Watching her day after day, I was starting to recognise her quirks and designs, so much so that as each new client walked through the door, I could spot Inta's designs almost instantly. I'd spent so much time watching her work over the past week that I felt that I knew her in some kind of strangely intimate way. She always became so invested in her work, so deep in concentration, that she'd drift away into an almost sub-conscious state; mostly she seemed peaceful, other times I’d spy what seemed like a spark of anger, maybe resentment. It was hard to tell; she held her cards close to her chest.
She reminded me of a guitarist I'd once watched; the guy had changed the way I heard music. Seconds into one particular song, I'd been drawn so deeply into his rhythmic push and pull as he commanded the guitar that it felt like I was hearing music for the first time. His investment in the song and music was so intense that it brought with it a level of intimacy that felt voyeuristic to watch. By the time I shook myself back to my senses, I'd realised a hush had fallen across the entire audience; we'd all been sucked into his performance. Watching Inta was very much the same. She drew me into her; watching her smooth and purposeful methods, recognising her characteristic quirks, appreciating her unwavering dedication and constraint.
Tattooing wasn't something that came naturally for me. I'd started out as a mediocre drawer and though I'd always been interested in drawing, it wasn't until Roman sat me down and taught me the finer details, like how to create a polished and finished design that I'd really appreciated the talent I had. Years and years of perseverance and guidance from Roman had given me confidence in my ability and I'd always looked to him as the pinnacle of perfection when it came to tattooing. But seeing Inta in action was something else.
The first time we met, I knew she had a uniqueness that I couldn't quite pinpoint. After a week of working next to her, I wanted in on her secrets—she drifted off to somewhere and, yes art was an escape, but wherever she was drifting off to and whatever had her attention, now also had mine.
CHAPTER FOUR
Off the back of a busy week and an even busier Saturday night, I'd dragged myself into the studio early on Sunday morning to catch up on paperwork when Inta’s text message came,
“Dominic, are you at the studio? I want to set up some frames, will need a hand. Inta”
“Can’t stay away from me huh Miss Inta? Drop in anytime” I text back.
Five minutes later I heard her arrive at the back entrance; a closed car door followed by an almighty smash.
Dropping the paperwork I’d been working on I rushed out the back door and saw two large frames lying smashed on the ground and Inta resting her head against the car, clearly struggling to maintain her composure.
“Inta, babe, what are you doing?!” I called, already on my way over to help her.
Turning to face me and quickly straightened up, she looked worse for wear. “I can’t believe I did that. They’re the only ones I have” she spat out.
“Don’t worry about it. We can save the actual design and we’ll just put them in new frames. I’ve got some spares inside that’ll fit these” I said, carefully picking through the broken glass to save the designs. As she turned to move, she narrowly missed stepping on a large shard of glass, “Inta, stop. You’re going to cut your foot open with those ridiculous shoes on” I said, before swiftly standing and throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her over to the back door.
I’d expected her to be thankful; I mean I had just saved her from slicing her foot open which in shoes like hers would've resulted in a gash requiring stitches but instead she was pounding her fists into my back and hurling filthy abuse at me that I’d rarely heard outside of a bar. Her feeble attempts at being angry were laughable but as I set her down on the back step, her wild expression of anger mixed with her earlier tears stopped me in my tracks.
“Who do you think you are Dominic? I don’t need saving. I don’t need some knight in shining armour going all primitive male and swooping in to save me. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help” she shouted back, though her tough, strong façade was fading by the second.
“Sit” I replied calmly but firmly.
“What? You seriously think you can order me around? Get stuffed Dominic.”
“Inta. I’m not asking, sit. Here—” I said pointing to the back step.
I watched as my challenge to her registered, and her eyes again flashed with fury. I readied myself for the next barrage of mouthiness, but instead she sat down, all the time maintaining my eye contact silently daring me to push her any further.
Convinced she was calming down; I headed back to the pile of smashed glass. Carefully, I sifted through the glass and successfully extracted the pictures from the mess without causing them any damage, before pulling the bin closer and throwing in the broken glass and frames. I purposely worked slowly, knowing it'd be making her angrier by the minute. Considering she'd just landed a handful of hits on me, I'd take any opportunity I could to get back at her.
Besides, I needed a minute to regroup. No one had dared hit me in yea
rs; my physical size was the main deterrent, something Inta clearly didn’t care about given her petite size. What she lacked in physical size she clearly made up for in feistiness.
Once the mess was cleaned up, I grabbed her handbag and rifled through for her keys to lock the car, knowing that the intrusion on her space would be pissing her off even more. Carrying her handbag and design pictures I walked back to where she was sitting and helped her up.
“I am not trying to save you Inta. I was trying to help. That’s all, just help. As far as I can see, you needed some help and it’s only right that I oblige.”
“Sorry” she whispered.
“What was that Miss Inta? Did you say something, because you’re going to have to speak up if that was an apology you just offered” I teased.
“I said I’m sorry, ok? I’m having a bad day, a bad month, a bad year. Fuck it, ok, I’m sorry” she spluttered, tears springing to her eyes.
“Ssshh… come inside Inta.”
“I’ve only got one chair; I haven’t quite gotten around to finishing my office yet” I admitted as I guided her to my desk chair, laying her designs out on my desk before leaving to grab some drinks. When I came back she was sitting exactly where I’d left her, completely unmoved though she had stopped crying. That was a good start, surely.
Opening a bottle of water and handing it to her, she took it unsteadily and for a split second I thought she was going to drop it, “What’s up Inta?” I asked curiously, something was definetly wrong but whether she’d open up to me was another thing.
“Nothing, really, I’m fine”
“Ha! The old ‘I’m fine’ line" I laughed mockingly, "Wow, Miss Inta, you really do take me for a fool. I kinda thought we'd, you know, make out or at least date for a little while before you sprung that line on me!".
“I’d rather not talk about it, really, I want this job and the last thing I need to do is to muddy the boundaries before I even start. Wait—you thought we'd date?"
"Thought? No, Inta, I think we will".
"Are you serious? Is that the only reason you employed me?" she replied, her temper starting to shine through yet again.
"Oh Inta, give me some credit. I employed you for your talent, your design talent to be clear. You might've had asshole employers in the past, but don't bundle me in with them".
We sat in silence for a few minutes before she finally broke the silence, "Dominic, those frames were the only ones I had, do you really have some spares?“ she asked.
“I do. Leave them here; I’ll get it sorted for you this arvo. Why don’t you go home and have a rest?” I offered.
“Why? Because I cried? I cry so now I need to go home and rest? Seriously Dominic, I’m not made of glass, I’m not going to shatter into a million pieces just because I cried.” she shouted, her temper once again taking hold.
It was more than any sane man could take, all I could do was walk away. She might’ve been beautiful but she was sure as hell more of a firecracker than I’d anticipated. Maybe if she wasn’t quite so gorgeous when she was flying off the deep end, I'd be able to resist her, but right now; the temper, the chase, the excitement—it was killing me not to take her then and there.
“Where are you going? You can’t just walk away; we’re talking” she shouted after me.
“No Inta, we’re not talking. You’re shouting at me, and being completely irrational, all I’ve done today is try to help you. You’ve hit me more times than I can count, hurled abuse like a drunken sailor, and argued with me every step of the way. You’re lucky I’ve been this patient and you’re damn lucky I’ve held my temper, which is more than I can say for you. So, if you’re not going to let me help at least give me some goddamn peace!”
Stomping away to the front desk area, I silently prayed that she wouldn’t leave but at the same time I’d had just about as much as I could take. All this time I’d wanted a woman who’d keep me on my toes and now my wish had been granted, but I couldn’t have her. Damn these employer-employee boundaries, they were messing with my life.
I’d been working for a solid hour before she came to my side.
“My shoes are not ridiculous Dominic” she stated with unquestioning sincerity.
“Seriously, Inta? You’ve sat there for an hour and that’s the best you’ve come up with? How about I’m sorry Dominic for being rude, for punching and hitting you, for swearing at you, for palming you off with a pathetic one-liner” I retorted, incensed at her and at the same time finding her stubbornness a major turn on.
“You have no furniture in your office. Do you want me to order some?” she offered, completely oblivious to everything I’d just said.
“Inta. You are driving me fucking insane, you know that right?”
“No, I didn’t” she replied quietly, “I don’t know how else to apologise, I know I was out of line earlier and I’m sorry. I’d like to help you though, what can I do?”
“Office furniture would be great. I don’t really know what I need, but I was thinking at least another desk chair, a couple of armchairs and maybe a futon if one will fit in there. You'll have to measure up; there's a tape measure on my desk ” I replied, letting out an exhausted sigh.
“Consider it done” she said, turning back toward the office. “Hey Dominic, why do I piss you off so much? I know I can be a pain in the ass but you seem—“
“You piss me off because you’re the absolute pain in the ass I’ve been looking for all my life and now that I’ve employed you, I can’t have you. I’m more pissed at myself than you, but lets just say you’re not making it any easier for me.” I blurted out, surprising even myself at my directness.
“Oh. So, is this some kind of employer rule you’ve got, Dominic?”
“Something like that, yeah. Now are you going to order this furniture or not?” I retorted, desperate to end the line of questioning.
“Is this rule of yours written down somewhere Dominic?” she asked genuinely.
“No, it isn’t. I’m not much of a fan of rules to be honest.”
“Good. Neither am I” she replied before turning and heading back to my office, her ridiculous shoes squelching the entire way.
CHAPTER FIVE
We’d been flat-out again all week. I’d expected our second week to be quieter but if anything we’d actually gained more momentum. I was spending up to ten hours a day tattooing and trying to fit the operations of the studio in around that. At this rate, I’d need another artist on staff just to keep up, two more if I wanted to increase business.
Inta and I hadn’t had a chance to speak much during the past week though I’d been sub-consciously paying attention to her every move; feeling her energy with each passing moment. Without even realising, she had somehow seeped into my every thought. I woke thinking about her, worked with her next to me all day, and I drifted off to sleep preoccupied by thoughts of her. I hadn't been this tired in years, but with the studio progressing at break-neck speed I had to get the sleep whenever I could.
Even now as I lay desperately seeking sleep inside my office, the thought that she’d chosen the very couch I was now resting on had me wide-awake despite my overwhelming tiredness. Looking around, she’d chosen furniture that suited me perfectly—sleek and intimidating pieces that commanded your attention without you even realising it. She felt a connection as well; there was no other way to explain it.
If only I could grab a few hours sleep now, I’d be able to get back up and tackle the paperwork I’d not gotten to earlier. But as tired as I was, sleep was eluding me and I somehow knew that until I had Inta getting sleep and rest would be an ongoing challenge.
The knock on the door came quietly, looking at my watch; I'd been asleep for a couple of hours yet it felt like I'd only just closed my eyes. Sleep had come but it’d been restless and filled with intertwining and confusing thoughts of Inta and happier times with my family in Italy. The fusion of the thoughts left me reeling. As I woke, I knew deep down, I saw Inta as part of my fut
ure, knew I needed her in my life.
"Come in" I called, slowly sitting up on the couch, rubbing my eyes awake and reaching for my shirt. And as if I’d conjured it myself, in she walked.
“Inta, what can I do for you?” I asked, standing to pull my shirt on.
I watched as her eyes skirted across my chest and shoulders, as though she was mentally taking stock of my features and tatts. I waited as her eyes slowly made their way north to mine, and she turned a deeper shade of red as she realised I’d caught her checking me out. Not that I was bothered at all; if Inta’s attention was my reward for a decade of pumping weights and downing protein shakes, I was more than happy.
“The compass—“ she murmured.
“Roman designed it” I replied, knowing she was talking about the tattoo Roman had designed and inked on my chest. The design was typical Roman—strong lines with painstakingly delicate and deliberate detailing. I’d always considered Roman’s designs untouchable, right up until a couple weeks ago when I first saw Inta’s work.
“Dominic, do you mind—can I see it again?” she asked.
I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over it my head; I wasn’t complaining or wasting time if Inta wanted me shirtless, but I also had no doubt in my mind that she was interested purely from a professional perspective.
“Wow” she breathed, inspecting each line and detail of the tattoo, “Dominic, wow. This is amazing” she spoke softly.
She was so close that I could feel the rhythmic exhale of her breath against my skin, could smell the delicate scent of her shampoo, could feel her energy shifting my own sense of gravity and pulling me closer and deeper into her world.
Looking down at her, she’d become lost in the design. It was the same glazed-over look she got when she was deep in concentration and having that level of intensity directed at me was scintillating.
Capello Brothers 2 Command My Heart Page 2