Scott saw the demented fear his father inspired in the meek glittering in Toby’s eyes and knew this wasn’t a drill. “Christ, what does he want?”
“I have no idea. He looks mad, though. Do you…want me to tell him to leave?”
Toby looked terrified at the idea. He was a good kid, fresh out of uni and eager to please. The last person Scott wanted getting a collateral chewing out from his father. He pulled out his wallet and extracted twenty bucks. “Tell you what, send him in and then grab us both a coffee from down the street.”
Toby smiled gratefully. “How does your dad have his coffee?”
“I’ve no idea. I meant the two of us. Can you get them to put that peppermint stuff in mine?”
“Su—”
There was a loud knock on the door. “Scott, I know you’re in there. Bloody well let me in!”
Toby shot the door a nervous look. “Two lattes, one with peppermint?”
“That’s right. Take your time.”
His assistant had no sooner opened the door than his father burst in, almost bowling Toby over. “They’re refusing to negotiate with me,” he said, by way of introduction.
Scott waved Toby out of the door and into the safety of the main office. “Who are?”
His father dropped his arse into the visitor’s chair. “The DaSilvas. Edgar’s wandered off somewhere, the business is going under and they still won’t negotiate with me on the house.”
“Dad, why the hell did you go and see the DaSilvas? I told you they weren’t interested in selling.”
“They are interested. I’m getting that bloody house, Scott. It’s going to be mine.”
Scott stared at him in horror. He couldn’t believe this. He’d always known his dad was determined to a fault, but this was insanity. “Dad, what does Marina think about all this DaSilva house stuff?”
“Don’t you speak to me about that woman.” His father’s black eyes were hot with anger at the mention of his second wife. “I came here to talk to you about the house. You lied to me. You said the oldest girl was the one running the tattoo business and the others aren’t around.”
“They aren’t!”
“Then why was the other one there? The little one?”
“Tabitha? Tabitha DaSilva was at the tattoo parlour?”
His father shot him a filthy look. “I don’t know her name. I wanted to speak to the older girl about the sale and the little one threw a bloody cat at me.”
Scott stared at his father, mentally adding another line under the tally ‘going insane.’ “She threw a cat at you?”
“Yes,” his father snapped, as though this question was incredibly stupid. “I want you to go to Brunswick and talk sense into those females. You said the oldest one was interested in selling and I’ve been reading the reviews—the business is still tanking. I need you to give her my new offer. Make her see sense.”
“You…want me to talk to Samantha again?”
“Right away.”
Two powerful desires rose inside Scott—to see Samantha without resorting to borderline stalking behaviour and to discourage his father from pursuing whatever madcap vendetta he had against their old neighbors. He closed his eyes and saw Samantha smiling at him over her pint. Maybe if he just saw her one last time, he could figure out what he was supposed to do next?
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll meet with her one more time. But if she says they’re not interested in selling—”
“Excellent, thanks, boy.” His father produced a manila folder from nowhere and placed it on the desk. “I’ve upped our proposed settlement to four million. It’s all here. Show her the paperwork and call me when you’re done.”
He stood, pushing his chair back.
“You’re going?” Scott immediately felt stupid for asking. Of course, his father was going. He’d asked for his favour, what else was he going to do? Stay for a coffee and a chat?
“Yeah, I’ve got a busy morning.” His dad glancing at the door. “How’s…work?”
“It’s fine.” Scott stood up and walked him to the exit, putting them both out of their misery. As he watched his old man stride toward the elevator, he felt the familiar mingling of relief and regret.
“So that’s your dad?” Toby asked, when he returned a full thirty minutes later with their coffees.
“Yup, that’s him.” Scott took a long swallow of caffeine and minty sugar before relaxing back into his office chair. “What did you think of him?”
Sheer panic overtook Toby’s features. “He’s…uh…he seems…”
“I know he’s an arsehole.”
“Oh, thank God. He seems very tense.”
Scott smiled. He liked Toby. At times he seemed more Labrador than person, but his heart was in the right place. “Tense is as polite a way to say ‘rude’ as I’ve ever heard. Congratulations.”
Toby blushed and swigged his latte. Someone had drawn a love heart next to his name on the cup, but the kid clearly hadn’t noticed. Scott fought back a grin. Despite being six-two and handsome enough to draw the eye of every woman in the office, Toby was charmingly oblivious to the way girls looked at him.
“So what did your dad come here for?”
“He wanted me to do something ridiculous.” Scott glanced at the manila folder his father had given him. “Have you ever had feelings for someone you shouldn’t?”
A blush crept up the sides of Toby’s neck. “I…not exactly.”
“Sorry, that’s hardly an appropriate question for a personal assistant, is it?”
“It’s not that, Mr Sanderson—”
“Scott.”
“It’s not that, Scott. It’s just I…don’t have a lot of girl experience.”
The blush on Toby’s neck spread to his cheeks. Was he gay? Scott considered asking and realised that was incredibly inappropriate. “What have I got left on this afternoon?”
Toby looked slightly disappointed but obligingly opened up his phone. “Not much, just a conference call with Mr Feldman.”
“Reschedule. I’m heading out early.”
“Are you going to see the woman you have feelings for, but shouldn’t?”
“No. It’s for…something else.”
Toby didn’t look like he believed him.
The whole way to Silver Daughters Ink, Scott mapped the visit in his head. He would look Sam in the eye, give her his father’s new and undoubtedly bonkers offer and tell her he’d moved to Melbourne but he wouldn’t be around anymore. He needed a fresh start and he wasn’t getting one panting after the same girl he’d had a crush on since he was eight.
He parked his BMW in a two-hour zone and headed for the studio on foot. The place was open late on Thursdays and he could have gone home and changed into something a little less formal than a suit, but he didn’t want to. This was who he was, dammit. He was a posho and wore suits and worked in finance. What was the point of pretending he was anything else?
Scott’s hands were clammy as he pushed open the door to the studio. A loud lion’s roar sounded and a girl with bright blue hair looked up from the reception desk, grinned and then bobbed a terrible curtsey. “Hello good sir, how mayeth I help you today?”
He wondered if she was making fun of his accent, then realised he hadn’t said anything yet. “Ah, I’m here to speak to Samantha DaSilva?”
The girl’s mischievous face brightened. “Oh right-o guvner! Samantha, you say? Yeah, she ain’t in right now and she don’t have a personal tellyphone, but I can take ya numba and give ya a bell when she gets back in, yeah?”
She was combining several British accents—all of them terrible—but there was no mistaking she was now, officially, making fun of him. Scott cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that in a slightly less mocking sort of way?”
The girl grinned. “Sorry, your accent is lol. Plus, I’m bored. Why do you want to see Sammy? Does she do your work?”
Scott was briefly confused then realised she meant tattooing work. “No,
I don’t have any tattoos.”
The girl looked him up and down. “That’s a shame, you’re rocking a pretty solid rig under that outfit, guvner.”
She gave him a mock-lascivious wink and Scott attempted to smile in return. He never knew what to do with outlandish flirting and he especially didn’t know what to do when it was coming from this girl. Everything about her was energetic—her hair color, her bright red swing dress, her voice. Her tattoos were so large and colorful she looked as though she were carrying a whole children’s book on her skin. Scott was about to make an excuse and beg off when he noticed the incredible blue of the girl’s eyes. “Tabitha?”
“Whoa! How d’you know my name, brah?” She looked down at her chest, as though she might be wearing a name tag she didn’t know about.
How could he have missed it? His dad had said she was here and, blue hair be damned, she looked exactly the same. “I used to live next door to you. I’m Scott Sanderson?”
Tabitha’s bubble-gum pink mouth fell open. “Galahad?”
“I…yes?”
“Oh wow! My sister used to fucking hate you!”
Scott grimaced. “Yes, she did, you all did, as I remember.”
Tabitha DaSilva’s buoyant expression was suddenly severe. “You threw my Polly Pocket roller skates over the power line!”
Scott had forgotten about that. He’d forgotten most of the things he’d done to the DaSilvas, forgotten or forced down out of guilt. “I’m sorry.”
She pointed a pale bejewelled finger at him. “I loved those skates!”
“I mean, you did spray paint my bike pink?”
“That’s not even close to being the same thing! You could still use your bike; I had to look up at those skates, day and night, knowing I’d never use them again. It was heartbreaking.”
She was saying all of this very loudly. Scott could see this was all theater to her. All play. The kind of girl who loved to raise the stakes in any situation.
“You put spackle in my hair,” he reminded her. “I had to get my head shaved. Everyone at school thought I had lice.”
Tabitha doubled over laughing. “I forgot about that! That was hilarious!”
“I’m glad you remember it fondly,” Scott said, working hard not to smile. “I missed a week of school.”
“Amazing.” Tabitha wiped an imaginary tear from under a heavily mascaraed eye. “So, you’re like…British now?”
“I was always…” Scott decided not to bother. “Yes. I’m British now.”
“Good for you. And you still want to bone my sister? Is that why you’re here?”
Scott felt his blood temperature shoot upward. “No.”
“Don’t lie. You two were weirdly obsessed with each other. Also, didn’t you take a pair of her—”
“No,” Scott interrupted, a hot prickle spreading over the back of his neck. “I don’t want to…I’m not here because of that, I’m here because of a business offer. I think my father already came by about it this morning?”
Tabitha’s blue eyes widened. “Oh my God! Oh my fucking god! I forgot that nut-brick is your dad! Where is my head at right now? I guess it has been ten years since we had to deal with you, in fairness. Your dad moved away right after you left, yeah?”
“Yes, but he still owns the house next door.”
“Right, wait, hang on. Sam said you were back in London. What the fuck are you still doing here?”
“Tabby!” A tall black-haired woman strode up to Tabitha, her pretty face drawn into a snarl. “What have I told you about talking to customers?”
Scott’s heart clenched but it wasn’t Samantha, but Nicole. The silk shirt and lack of visible tattoos made differentiating the twins a breeze but he’d always been able to tell them apart. They moved in different ways. Nicole moved cautiously and Sam danced. Even her walk was a dance.
“Hello, how are you?”
“Good,” she said, without any sign she recognised him. She turned to her younger sister who was leaning against the reception desk like a colorful Han Solo. “What on earth is going on? I can hear you yelling down the hall. I told you, when we have clients you have to talk—”
“Yeah, yeah sure,” Tabby interrupted. “Only it’s not a client, it’s Scott Sanderson.”
Nicole’s pale brow furrowed. “What? Oh my God, Scott! Hi!”
“Hello,” he said, feeling even more like a tit. “I uh, didn’t know you were working here.”
“Tabby and I are just down for a couple of weeks to help Sammy out. I live in Adelaide these days. My fiancé and I have a house there.”
She said the word fiancé with a noticeable pride. “That’s great, how are you finding South Australia?”
Nicole launched into a short but clearly well-established speech about how the weather was nice and Adelaide wasn’t Melbourne, obviously, but it was lovely. As she talked, Scott marvelled at how different she’d become. She and Samantha had always been chalk and cheese personality-wise but it was clear the chasm had grown even wider over the past decade. She’d developed that smooth, Adelaide way of talking that made her sound nearly as posh as he did.
“Adelaide’s shit,” Tabitha interrupted as Nicole waxed poetic about the wineries. “There’s no nightlife and it’s full of middle-class edgesters who say the word ‘dancing’ wrong.”
The two sisters glared at one another, not hostile, but not entirely friendly. Just as Scott decided to excuse himself, Nicole turned to him again. “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask. What can I help you with?”
“He’s here to get a tattoo,” Tabby interrupted again. “I’m thinking the reaper wearing Polly Pocket roller skates.”
Nicole frowned. “What are you—”
“He threw them on the power line! Don’t tell me you don’t remember? It was one of the most traumatic experiences of my young life!”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said, feeling stupid. “I can…give you some money for them?”
“Oh fuck yeah!”
Nicole clapped a hand over her sister’s mouth “Don’t be silly. She’s just melodramatic. So why are you here?”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Saying this to the cool, corporate-looking Nicole was proving almost as hard as talking to Samantha. “I’m here about the deal my father offered you earlier today.”
“Ah,” Nicole said delicately as Tabby mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘arsehole.’
“I’d like to apologise for whatever he did. My father has always been…well I’m sure you remember what he’s like.”
Nicole gave a small nod. “You don’t need to apologise for him.”
Tabby ripped her hand from her mouth. “Yes he does! He came barging up and said he needed to see Sam and when I told him she was with a client he went down the hall to the tattoo suites!”
Oh fucking hell. “He didn’t?”
“He did! He opened the door to room one and told Sam she should sell up while she still has the chance! And then Noah walked in and said he’d punch him in the face if he didn’t leave!”
For a moment Scott was nonplussed. Then he recalled the huge bloke who’d come out when Sam tackled the robber. Christ, no wonder his old man was so manic in his office. If there was one thing his dad hated more than people who didn’t do what he wanted, it was men who were bigger than him. “I’m so sorry.”
“You should be sorry, your dad’s a legit nutcase.”
Nicole prodded her sister. “Tabby!”
“What? He said I threw a cat at him!”
“I know, but you still shouldn’t say things like that!”
Scott stared at the youngest DaSilva. “You didn’t, uh, throw a cat at him, did you?”
“No! Midnight was sitting on my shoulder and she launched herself at him of her own free will!”
“Of course.” Privately, Scott wouldn’t have cared if Tabby had thrown a cat at his father. It sounded like the old bastard deserved it. “Again, I’m very sorry about what happened. I’ll speak with
my father and make sure he knows not to bother you again.”
Nicole nodded. “That would be good. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Figuring he’d better make a clean break of things, Scott pulled the folder his father had given him from his satchel. “I completely understand if you want nothing more to do with him or myself, but I should tell you, my father sent me here because he’s raised the offer on your property from three to four million—”
“What the fuck!”
Startled, Scott saw Tabby was gripping her face with both hands—hands that had orange kittens tattooed on the backs of them.
“What the fuck?” she repeated. “Four million fucking dollars? Why has no one told me about this?”
“Because it’s none of your business!” Nicole took the folder Scott was holding out. “I’ll look over this and talk to Sam, but I don’t think—”
“What’s happening here?” The big guy, Noah, had appeared in the doorway. His jaw was clenched and his tattooed hands balled into fists—he was clearly ready to threaten someone else if they needed it. Scott opened his mouth to say this was decidedly not the case but Nicole whirled around to face him. “Everything’s fine! Just go back to work!”
Noah frowned her, a wrinkle creasing the space between his brows.
“Please,” Nicole added, a blush spreading over her cheeks.
Could anyone else feel the cavalcade of sexual tension bubbling up between them? Tabby clearly couldn’t because she ran up to Noah and elbowed him in the side. “Hear the news, big guy? We could get four million bucks for selling this place. When Sam hears, she is gonna fucking die.”
“Don’t be so silly,” Nicole said, turning away from Noah and putting a pale hand to her cheek.
“Who wouldn’t be dramatic for four million bucks?” Tabby elbowed Noah. “I bet even you would freak out for four million bucks.”
Noah gave her a neutral look that said he wouldn’t freak out for any amount of money.
“Whatever,” Tabby said. “Ooh, also this is our old neighbor, Scott.”
Noah turned and gazed unblinkingly at him. “What are you still doing in Melbourne?”
“Mr Newcomb,” Nicole scolded.
Noah didn’t take his eyes from Scott’s. “He told Sam he was just here for a visit.”
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