Page 4 of Ink & Desire

Jessie turns to look at me, a smirk on her face. “This one’s yours, boss.”

I stand and make my way over to the counter as Jessie walks back to her station.

“Miss Scott?” I ask.

She smiles and gives me a quick nod. “Y-yes,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She covers quickly, but I’d heard the little quaver in her voice. I force a small smile, hoping to put her more at ease. I’m not sure why she’s so nervous. A lot of people get anxious before getting a tattoo, especially the first timers. But today is just a consultation. We’re just going to discuss her idea for a tattoo, the location and whether it’s feasible. For some reason, just being here has Avery nervous.

“Come on back and we’ll talk about what you’re looking for,” I say, gesturing with one hand.

I do my best to make my voice calm and friendly, feeling the need to soothe her nerves. I may be an asshole, but I also work in customer service. A scared client may not return for her tattoo. Which means wasted time and effort on my part. That’s not the way to run a business.

I follow her as she makes her way over to my work area, my eyes straying down to check out her ass as I do. It’s small, like the rest of her, but there’s a nice round curve filling out her jeans. It’s just a quick glance, butI can’t help but appreciate the view. She takes a seat in the chair I indicate, and I sit across from her. I’m close enough to smell her subtle perfume. It’s sweet, but not overbearing. Something floral, maybe. Whatever it is, I like it. I inhale slowly through my nose, letting the scent linger there for a moment before turning to look at her.

“So, what sort of tattoo are you thinking about?”

“I have some ideas,” she says, pulling the large bag off her shoulder and into her lap.

She takes only a second to pull out a thick folder, making me wonder just how many tattoo ideas this woman has.

“I’m not totally sure what I want,” she says. “But I have some drawings here.”

I take the folder from her and open it to the first sketch. I don’t know what I expected to see when I opened the folder, but I’m surprised by the quality of the art on the page. The first drawing is a hyper-realistic depiction of a dahlia. It's a gorgeous piece. The colors are vibrant and make it look almost as if I could reach down and pluck it from the page. The next one is another colorful piece. It's a riot of feathery wings that take up the entire page. They're done in shades of purple, blue and deep emerald. I flip through the book faster now, impressed by the skill I'm seeing.

I glance up from the sketchbook to see Avery watching me. The expression on her face is a mix of hope and nerves.

“These are good,” I say. “Did youdraw them?”

She nods, her shoulders relaxing some of their obvious tension.

“Thanks. I’m glad you think so.”

“These drawings are all very different in theme,” I say, flipping through the book faster as I talk. “Is there something particular you’re wanting from this tattoo?”

“Actually,” she says in a hesitant voice. “There is something different I was hoping to discuss.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “I wanted to talk to you about my portfolio.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, it hits me. The real reason she came here today. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. A girl like her coming to my studio, showing me a portfolio instead of a few similar designs to work with. Anger flares through me, hot and fast. My gaze shoots to her face as I close the sketchbook with more force than necessary, leaving it on the table between us.

“Solicitors aren’t welcome here,” I say in a hard tone. “I have no need tobuysomeone else’s artwork. I create my own.”

I rise to my feet, towering over her now. She’s wearing a shocked expression on her face, her hazel eyes wide with something like fear as she shakes her head.

“That’s not why I’m here,” she says quickly.

I fold my arms over my chest and look down at her. “Oh? Care to tell me why you’re here? And don’t lie to me about wanting a tattoo.”

I know I sound like an asshole, but I can’t help it. This woman came here under false pretenses and wasted time that could have gone to a potential client. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s someone wasting my time. In my job, time is literally money. So, any time wasted is money I don’t have. Avery stands to her full height, which means the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. But the added height must give her a boost of confidence because she matches my stance, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting my gaze.

“I want to be your apprentice,” she says quickly, the words tripping over themselves.

Distracted by how cute she looks standing there, trying to intimidate me, it takes me a second to realize what she just said. When she does, I almost laugh. Instead, I just shake my head before making a show of looking her up and down with derision.

“Apprentice? You? First of all, I don’t take on apprentices. Ever. I’m not starting now.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand, stopping her words.

“Second of all,” I continue. “Even if I were to have an apprentice, you wouldn’t be it. You don’t know the first thing about what I do. Do you even have any tattoos?”

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