Page 197 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

He tips his head toward the reception desk and the sound of the phone ringing. “You wanna get that?”

Flustered, I jump to my feet. “Yeah, sure.”

I answer the call and tell the young woman that we have a three-month wait list which she isn’t happy about, but I take her information and book an initial appointment for her. I know the guys are falling behind with taking new bookings because I’m still in training and a pang of guilt makes itself known in my gut. If Linc had hired the other applicant, he wouldn’t have had to delay these appointments, but then I wouldn’t be living my dream. Ken motions for me to come over to him, so I head in his direction.

“Everything okay?” I look at him in confusion. “The phone was ringing for a while and you didn’t notice.”

Shit! “Uh, yeah. Everything’s okay. Sorry, I didn’t hear the phone. I was so caught up watching Lincoln work I must have zoned out.” Ken nods and returns to the back tattoo he’s working on—a gorgeous angel wearing a bloodied cape and wielding a giant sword above her head with two hands. The expression on her face is fierce and I can feel her power emanating from the image. I decide to take a break from watching Lincoln and pull up the spare chair to watch Ken work for a while. “This is stunning work, Ken.”

He grins but doesn’t take his eyes off his work. “Thanks, doll.”

* * *

I spin my fork around in my pasta and raise it to my mouth.

“We were going to stop by and say hello after school today, but I had a plot bunny I needed to get down on paper. It came to me as I was collecting James from the bus stop and I was worried I’d forget. Maybe we’ll stop by another day.”

The pasta goes down the wrong pipe and I choke—coughing and spluttering so much I can’t catch my breath. James quickly jumps from his seat and pats my back while Dad pushes my glass of water closer—Shit! What if they’d turned up? My secret would be out and Dad would demand that I quit the most perfect job in the world—and I finally get myself under control to take a sip.

“You okay, sweetie?” Dad studies me like he’s waiting for me to collapse.

I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah, the pasta went down the wrong pipe.” I take a long drink and swallow. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to visit me at work yet. I haven’t even been there a month and the boss can be grouchy about visitors during work hours.” I have no idea if that’s true.

Creases form between Dad’s brows. “I hope he’s not grouchy with you. You don’t deserve that sort of treatment. Don’t put up with that.” He jabs his fork in my direction.

“I haven’t given him a reason to be grumpy yet and I intend to keep it that way.” I take another bite of my pasta and swallow. “I would appreciate it if you waited a little longer before you visit.”

He nods. “Okay. We can do that, can’t we, James?”

“Sure can.” He pushes away from the table to take his empty plate to the sink. “Can we have ice cream tonight? I ate all of my dinner.”

I smile at him. “Have you done all of your homework?” Since I get home at dinner time now, I have to check that he’s doing what he should.

He nods his head like a bobble doll. “I have. I even did some extra math, didn’t I, Grandad?”

Dad smiles, his gaze full of pride. “You sure did.”

“All right. Once we clean up the dishes, I’ll fix you an ice cream cone.”

He cheers as he returns to the table and I tell them all about Jenna having her baby girl today.

“A baby is such a beautiful blessing. I’ll say a prayer for them tonight before bed.”

I smile softly. “That’s very kind of you, Dad.”

He’s never wavered from his faith, even though he lost the love of his life and the use of his legs in a train wreck. From what I’ve researched about it, the accident was horrific. I was only two at the time; too young to remember Mom or the tragedy of losing her. Dad had a meeting across town with a prospective publisher, so we caught the train with plans to enjoy lunch afterward. During the ride home, a truck driver crossed the track, causing the train to derail. That day, five people, including Mom, lost their lives, and many others, including Dad, sustained severe injuries. I have a scar that runs from my breastbone to beneath my breasts, but no memory of the event. I only know of it from the few times Dad’s spoken about it and news articles I’ve seen online.

Before I climb into bed, I grab my phone and text Lincoln the address of Beyond the Fringe. I think it’s best if I keep my distance. No point making things harder for myself.

Nine

Lincoln

I step onto the porch, my eyes lingering on the spot where my sister last sat all those years ago. I hate that Mom still lives here, but she refuses to move in case Elizabeth somehow finds her way back to us. I knock once and jam my key in the lock, then open the front door. “Hi, Mom!” I call as I place the cake I brought on the table.

“In here!” Her voice comes from the back of the house, and I know exactly where I’ll find her before I take my next step. I fucking loathe it when she’s in there, but it’s the same thing every year on my sister’s birthday. She spends the day cleaning it from top to bottom, washing all of my sister’s little girl clothes, the bedding … even the damn curtains.

Standing on the threshold of the doorway, I dig my hands deep into my pockets and refuse to take another step. I trace the jungle-inspired walls and decor with my eyes. It’s the perfect room for a three-year-old girl who was crazy about tigers. A little girl who hasn’t been around for over thirty years. Bile rises from my gut and I swallow quickly, trying to stop its pathway up my throat. “Mom, I brought cake. Let’s have a slice.” I need to get her out of this room before I throw up.

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