Page 29 of Ink & Desire

He eyes me for a long moment as if trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. Finally, he gives a small nod.

“Fine.”

Surprised, I blink at him. “Thank you,” I say, my surprise clear in my tone.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I can be reasonable.”

I just nod because I’m afraid that if I speak, I’ll say something sarcastic. Corbin has shown himself to be many things over the last few days, but reasonable isn’t one of them. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice my disbelief.

He eyes me for a moment. “Do you have any tattoos?”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

He huffs out a laugh that somehow manages to sound condescending, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he asks, “Why do you want to become a tattoo artist?”

I was afraid of this question. It’s one I’ve barely been able to answer myself. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, he’d want to know.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, still watching me with those intense, dark eyes that seem to see through me. For some reason, I want to tell him. I want him to understand this thing that I haven’t really voiced aloud to anyone else. Even Cass doesn’t really understand it. She has my back and will do anything to help me achieve my goals, but she doesn’t really get it. Taking a breath, I try to tell him what I haven’t been able to tell anyone else.

“My life has been laid out for me since before I was born,” I say, dropping my eyes to the sketchbook in my hands rather than meeting his gaze. “I’m not complaining, because I know I’ve had a good life. I grew up with money. I never had to worry about financial issues like most people. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful for that.

“But it’s never really felt likemylife. Everything has been planned for me with no input from me. I’ve always known I wouldn’t be able to choose what I wanted to do with it, even after I moved out on my own. So, it’s never really felt like mine. I’m just doing what’s expected of me, what everyone else dictates. The only thing that’s ever felt truly mine is my art. Me being an artist isn’t a result of rich parents or good breeding. It’s all mine. I’m good at it because I work at it. And I love it.”

I stop short of telling him the real reason my art is so important to me. The real reason I feel like I need to turn it into something meaningful. My dad died, and I woke up with a talent I hadn’t had before. It’s a shitty trade, but it’s what I’ve got. It’s sort of all I have of him. I need to do something amazing with it. Something lasting. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug.

“The idea of sharing that with people makes me happy. I don’t want to make art that’s going to hang on someone’s wall so they can show it off to their rich friends. I don’t need to be immortalized that way. But the idea of someone choosing to put my art on their body?Something I created to permanently mark their skin? I don’t know. It feels like it means something.”

I sigh. “I’m sure that sounds ridiculous.”

“Not really.” He surprises me with his response, and I risk a glance up at his face.

He’s studying me again in that unnerving way, but this time it feels uncomfortable for a different reason. It still feels like he can see into my thoughts. Only this time, I almost want him to. And that’s something I shouldn’t want.

Corbin doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, and I almost worry that I said too much. He probably thinks I’m just a spoiled rich girl who wants to take a walk on the wild side. I shouldn’t have said anything about having rich parents. I don’t want my family to influence this part of my life. They’ve had too much influence over every other aspect of my life. I want this to be mine. As much mine as my art.

“Okay,” he says, finally. “But you should know that I don’t tolerate dishonesty. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt when you say that’s not who you are. That’s more than I give most people. But I don’t know you any more than you know me.”

I nod. “I get it. You don’t trust me yet. Fair enough. But—”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t trust anyone. But especially not someone whose first meeting was built on a lie. Don’t come into this with the idea that we’re going to become friends. I don’t have friends. I havecolleagues and business partners. You and I aren’t ever going to be friends. But if you prove yourself, you can become a colleague. Right now, you’re on probation.”

I bite back a smart reply, knowing it will only make things worse. I like to think I’m capable of reading the room when it comes to what to say and when, but something about Corbin’s holier-than-thou attitude makes the filter between my brain and my mouth go haywire. I finally force myself to nod.

“Understood.”

He eyes me as if he doesn’t trust my easy compliance, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Your schedule will follow mine. You work when I work. You get here on time or don’t bother showing up. I’ve never taken on an apprentice, so this is new for both of us. But we’re going to start off with the basics. Think of it like being in school. There’s going to be a lot to learn in a limited timeframe.”

I nod, feeling more at ease now. I’d expected him to be serious and no-nonsense when it comes to the apprenticeship.

“I know I have a lot to learn,” I say. “Thank you—”

“Don’t thank me,” he says, interrupting me. “I’m not handing you anything. This is a trial run. I’m giving you 90 days to prove you have what it takes to become my apprentice. Most tattoo apprentices don’t even start tattooing until a year or more in. This isn’t something you can just learn in a few months. It takes years tobecome good at this job. Even longer to make a name for yourself.”

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