Jack’s voice carried through the opening door. “Mr. Rand, your grandson is in the middle of a meeting. If you’ll just wait. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Let him in, Jack.”
His friend and longtime assistant turned with a horrified expression, his eyes wide as Jamison Senior shoved the larger man out of the way. He was yelling before he even noticed the compromising position they were in.
“Young man, do you know the trouble I went to in order to get you that date with Monica Fitch? You finally go after three cancelations and I have to hear in the country club that you were playing footsy at the table with some escort and making out in the damn parking lot. I thought I raised you better!” By the time he finish, his haggard voice wheezed.
Ciaran’s spine straightened but he drew strength from the woman sitting calmly on his lap. For all her panic, now that the crisis found them out, she held herself perfectly still. Only moving to slip her slim hand in his.
A vain pulsed at the old man’s temple as he pounded his cane on the floor. “Is this the floozy now? You brought your kept woman to my office?”
Jack made a choking sound behind Rand Senior.
Ciaran narrowed his eyes at the old man as Briar slid slowly off his lap.
“She is neither a kept woman nor a floozy. My mother taught me better manners than to speak that way about a woman, especially in the lady’s presence.” Ciaran stood and Briar moved to stand at his side, fingers still twined with his. His voice remained calm, lacking both the vitriol and malice of his mentor. “And since this is the first time you’ve set foot in the building in more than one year, this is my office. You are only a figurehead. I run this business now and I’d like to see you run it without me.”
Briar extended her right hand to Jamison Senior, attempting the softer voice of reason. “I’m your HR Director, Briar Sullivan.” He glared at the appendage as though it were covered in gore. She let her hand drop back to her side.
The old man stammered as his face turned a deeper shade of red, his eyes bulged as the thinned lips in his cragged face turned white with his increased rage. “All the years I wasted on you, boy. Only to have you turn your position into a mockery!”
Ciaran had enough. He focused his full attention on Briar. “Speed Racer, honey, how do you feel about industrial loft homes? I’m switching family businesses. Seems there are some exciting development opportunities. Ground floor on what appears to be an up-and-coming industry.”
She pressed her lips together in a tiny smile, whether from the job offer or the endearments he couldn’t be sure, but then she leaned into him squeezing his hand tight.
“Did I ever tell you my parents were in the salvage business before I helped Mother liquidate? I’d be happy to lend my experience. I formally resign my position as HR Director for Rand Enterprises.” She squared her shoulders and held her hand out for Ciaran to take it, as though they were meeting for the first time instead of being new lovers. “I’ve been offered a position with a rising development company. It’s too good to pass up.”
Ciaran used the handshake to pull Briar in until her body flattened against his. He closed the deal with a kiss, not as heated as it might have been if they were alone, but enough that Jack cleared his throat to remind them where they were. The audience didn’t matter. Jamison Senior should see exactly the loyalty he lost.
When he pulled back, she closed her eyes and a soft smile lit up her face. “Thank god, I’m not the only one of us in love.”
“I fell way before you did.” He dipped her like the heroine in a movie. “But I’m afraid I have to insist on business casual at the office.”
Her laughter was immediate, “Only if I can break the rules.”
“Baby, that’s the whole reason we’ll have them.”
Briar heard that some people—apparently Gigi was one of them—didn’t find tattoos to be painful after the first few minutes. Yes, Briar found the experience cathartic—a way to express a part of herself that she couldn’t put into words—but every second hurt. After five hours in the chair, she struggled not to squirm under the fire raging from the new ink under her skin. This called for a distraction ASAP. The novel she brought along failed at this task miserably but something had to do the trick. Her new art cost too much to spoil.
Random thoughts flashed at her through the pain like a dealer with a deck of cards until one stuck out. Monday morning—perhaps she’d wear a sleeveless dress to work. Just thinking about strutting into Ciaran’s new office—waiting to be called out—had a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Of course, he would know about the tattoo before then, since she spent most nights at his loft. But the idea of being spread across his desk Monday after a little policy foreplay took her mind off the half sleeve currently being etched into her skin.
“What’s so funny?” Declan lifted the needle from her arm and stared at her with one eyebrow raised. “Most people don’t think this tickles.”
Briar did laugh out loud at his deadpan attempt at humor. This man had something going for him, even if Ann wouldn’t admit to it. “Just thinking about breaking dress code to show off my ink.”
“Oh! Can I help you pick out your outfit?” Gigi breezed in from the gallery side, hands clapped together in mock prayer. “You know I love helping you be bad. I can call Ann and make it a girls’ day. We’ll just start at your place.”
Declan turned away at the mention of Ann and concentrated on smoothing balm over Briar’s fresh ink. Poor dude had the brooding leading man act down. Too bad his leading lady wasn’t interested—at least that’s what she claimed. Between the bathroom conversation months ago and Ann’s obvious avoidance, Briar wanted to call bullshit. Maybe a girls’ day would be the perfect opportunity to do a little recon and find out if Ann was serious about her office booty call. If something could be salvaged that might make her friends happy, it would be worth it. Both Ann and Declan were part of their little tribe, even if Briar didn’t know him well. She wanted all her friends to have the kind of happiness she found with Ciaran.
The door chimed to signal a new arrival. Gigi turned to head up front, but Briar reached out and grabbed her hand. “I think I can make tomorrow work. If not, we’ll do next weekend for sure.”
Gigi grinned and squeezed Briar’s hand in answer before heading up front. The buzz of Declan’s tattoo gun hummed to life again for the finishing touches—wishful thinking before she went back to work on distracting her mind.
Girl time would be good for all of them. Briar learned a few things since dissolving her marriage. First, to put energy into those who stood by you without judging—and that meant Ann and Gigi. Her love life may be on track now, but they were by her side while she was a hot mess. Second, not to lose herself. With Ciaran, the second lesson proved easy to follow. Now that she found someone who didn’t ask her to change—who valued her and didn’t treat her as an object or commodity—it made her wonder everyday how she managed to stay in a loveless marriage for so long.
“Plan for next weekend.” Speak of the devil—Ciaran leaned against the half wall that divided Declan’s booth from the others. ”I heard you girls chatting when I came in. I’ve got plans for you, but I can make myself scarce next weekend while you have fun.”
Ciaran clearly dressed for a day out. A view Briar appreciated, even if she did feel shabby by comparison in her yoga pants and a tank top chosen out of healthy respect for a day filled with pain,. Two months warming Ciaran’s bed did nothing to cool the instant lust that towed her under when he entered a room. This man made a dress shirt, jeans, and a sport coat sexy. On anyone else, the ensemble might have made him look like a yuppie, but with that five o’clock shadow and cocksure grin, he got away with it.
The buzz of the tattoo gun went silent again and Briar realized she hadn’t felt a thing as she’d been watching Ciaran. The perfect diversion. She’d have to remember that for future ink.
“All done. Go have a look in the mirror.” Declan rolled
back his stool from the old-fashioned Barber chair to give her space. “When you’re done, I’ll bandage you up and get you on your way.”
Briar eased out of the chair, her flip flops clopping on the hardwood floor as she crossed the room to the mirror. Ciaran’s following gaze burned like another tattoo without any of the pain, branding her as his. She couldn’t look any less sexy today, but for Ciaran that didn’t seem to be an issue. After her disaster of a first marriage, the idea of belonging to someone should have scared her. With Ciaran, it didn’t. She had the sense that he would belong to her, as well. Equals. What marriage should be. If anything, she valued this mutual belonging more because she knew the flip side.
Standing sideways, Briar admired the black and gray masterpiece wrapped around her shoulder and upper arm to her elbow. Shadow and light brought to life the archangel, wings spread behind him, sword raised in battle with a demon trampled under his feet. Declan captured the Italian Renaissance painting perfectly. She never should have worried about asking for such a specific piece—St. Michael Overwhelming the Demon by Raffaello Sanzio. Even with the slight alteration to make it fit her arm, he nailed it.
Her mother and ex hated tattoos. So her first sleeve of demons symbolized the negative people and events in her life holding her back. Maybe it had been a stupid reaction to divorce, but at the time it felt right, and she didn’t regret it. This new tattoo represented her triumph over those forces in her life. This life reflected her. Not someone else’s imposed ideal.
The warmth of Ciaran moving up behind her, had her body tingling, reacting as if he sent out some signal only she could feel even before he wrapped his arm around her midriff and kissed the exposed side of her neck. His dark stare met her gray one in their reflection. “It suits you, Speed Racer.”
“Yes, it does.” Briar snuggled back into his embrace, as she continued to admire her new art.
“It’ll look great in our wedding photos in Vegas.”
Briar craned her head back to look up at him. “Was that a proposal?”
“Would you say yes if it was? I mean, if you have better plans for the weekend…” he let the question hang.
She scrutinized his features. His hold on her remained relaxed and his tone easy, but the tension around his eyes and in the set of his jaw gave him away. Hell—even the way he asked showed that he was braced for her refusal. This came too soon—at least it should have been. Somehow it didn’t feel that way. This time would be different. It already was.
Briar went up on her toes, twisting enough to brush her lips against Ciaran’s before answering in a hushed voice, “Let’s go pack.”
The smile that spread across his face silenced Briar’s last whispers of doubt—which sounded suspicious like her mother anyway. His grip around her middle tightened and he spun her as he laughed. When her feet touched the ground again, Briar turned in his embrace to face him. Circling her arms around his neck, Ciaran met her halfway. His lips crashed into hers with bruising force. His joy matching her own so strongly that it might as well have been a living thing.
When Ciaran pulled back, his expression turned sober—at least he tried, but failed miserably at the attempt. “Can we get married by an Elvis impersonator? I’m having fun imagining the fit my grandfather will have when we send him a picture.”
The image that sprung to mind sent her into a fit of giggles. With her first-hand reference from the day Rand Senior discovered them in Ciaran’s office, the image was pretty vivid. “I think we have to. What are the odds we can get through the experience without a wardrobe malfunction?”
“It wouldn’t be us if we did.”
This begged the question—what should a bride wear to a Vegas wedding? Now that Briar found the love of her life, she had a dress code to break.
THE END
Playlist
The list of songs that shaped my words for Briar and Ciaran evolved over the course of writing this book, but they were always on auto repeat until I finally typed out “the end”. Enjoy the mood music.
Perfect – Alanis Morisette
Thunder – Imagine Dragons
That I Would Be Good – Alanis Morisette
Inner Demons – Julia Brennan
Rise Up – Imagine Dragons
Whatever You Want – Pink
Wicked Game – Cover performed by Theory of a Deadman
Break the Cycle – You+Me
You & I – John Legend
She Sets the City On Fire – Gavin DeGraw
Love Exists – Amy Lee
I Am Here – Pink
About the Author
CASSIE LEIGH writes contemporary and paranormal romance that’s more than skin deep. Before she could write, she dreamed up stories with recorded conversations for her dolls on a Fisher-Price cassette player. Now with the help of her husband, she carves out time to write while raising five children, working full time and obsessing over her laundry list of eccentric passions including MMA fighting and the vintage pinup lifestyle. Every new obsession seems to find its way into her romance world!
Want more? You can connect with Cassie Leigh online.
Facebook/
Twitter/
https://broken.typerwriter.press/
https://sassy.typewriter.press/
To get the inside track on new releases, sign up for her newsletter through the website
https://cassieleighauthor.com/
Sneak Peak
Check out the first book in the Ink & Brazen women series…
SKIN DEEP
She's looking for Mr. Right Now.
He's planning on forever.
Gigi Duval doesn’t do relationships, especially with her hear and career on the line. She values two things—her image and a good time in the bedroom. Watching men lie and cheat her whole life hardened her against “happily ever after.” When she interviews with Roman Bishop, the sexy co-owner of Ink Spinners Tattoo, she begins to wonder if he might be more than just a casual fling. Only one thing is certain: Roman is off limits. Gigi can't possibly add her best friend's brother to her trusty little pink book. Or can she?
Turn the page for a sneak peek.
Skin Deep Chapter 1
Roman’s pencil tip dug into the front desk. His mind forced back from the memory he’d been drifting in as Declan Stone, his best friend and fellow artist, yanked the sketchpad away. Roman made an ineffectual grab for the spiral bound paper.
“What the hell, man?”
Declan leaned back in his chair, holding the artwork just out of reach. “Just checking out what you’re doin’.” He tossed the book down in front of Roman and pointed at the pinup girl meticulously drawn from memory on the page. “You’ve been spaced out since that chick last night.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So forget about it. She left with somebody else.”
His friend was right. She did leave, but something about that look on her face as she had—as if she resigned herself to it but really wasn’t interested. A woman like her could have anyone, which left him wondering why she’d gone, instead of telling the douche canoe to fuck off. Ultimately, it wasn’t his place to get involved. In the rare down time he had between clients, he had better things to do than moon over the one who got away—like keeping the doors to their shop open.
Ink Spinners Tattoo & Gallery had been a dream and a labor of love for both Roman and Declan—one whose timetable moved up thanks to Roman’s ex. The old brick building was one of the last the NewBo District had saved. They closed on the purchase just one week before the wrecking ball and saved it from becoming a new urban development made to look vintage. Thanks to the local historical society, they got it for a song and spent the better part of the year renovating it. Now the shop looked as if a steampunk barbershop and a Victorian apothecary had a baby. For a couple of black sheep local boys, they were doing all right.
Roman dragged his hand over the rough stubble of his jaw. “You’re right. Not like I could find her if I wanted to.”
“Funny you should say that.” A cocky grin split Declan’s face just as the bell over the door rang.
Roman turned, smile at the ready as the girl in question sauntered through the door. “Damn.”
Her steps faltered at his whispered oath, but he couldn’t help himself. Ten seconds ago, he had no hope of ever seeing her again, let alone in his shop. Good girls like her don’t have ink. Everything about her whispered that he was right, especially the way she dressed today; a blush pink blazer, layered over a white t-shirt that she tucked into a pink and black rose patterned pencil skirt. She had tamed the dark curls he remembered from last night into a bun, and oversized pearl earrings hung from earlobes that he already visualized sucking on.
“You’re Ann’s step-brother?” Her voice held the same breathless wonder that he uttered his own curse in seconds before. When she continued, her tone was brighter, with crisp efficiency. “I’m here about the job. Ann Kennedy referred me.”
The attitude switch about gave him whiplash.
She held out her hand and as he stood to take it, her soft, slender fingers seemed swallowed up by his darker, tattooed mitt. “Roman Bishop and this is my business partner, Declan Stone, you are…”
“Oh yeah, I’m Gigi Duval.” She stared up into his eyes, leaving her hand in his for longer than necessary before she seemed to notice and pull back.
He forced down a groan at the simple loss of her warmth in his hand. She wet her pouty pink lips. When his gaze zeroed in on the subtle movement, the corners turned up, ever so slightly. This couldn’t be good. Mere moments into formally meeting her and he was already smitten. Would it be strange to propose marriage now? Oh wait—she had a boyfriend—at least she did last night.
BUSINESS CASUAL: AN INK & BRAZEN WOMEN NOVELLA Page 9