Page 6 of Chasing Sparks

“Ash?” Lucille prods, her voice more insistent.

“Let’s go speak with the client.” Grabbing my tablet with the approved design, I walk toward the young woman perched nervously on a chair, not bothering to check if Lucille is behind me.

The woman looks up, a tissue balled in one hand, her eyes red-rimmed. “Sorry. I thought this would be easier.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” I ask, squatting by her chair.

Am I praying she says yes? Damn right I am.

“Not at all. Just want to ensure it’s perfect because he deserves perfect.”

So much for that idea.

I open the drawing program on my tablet and show my client the design. “I know you already approved it with Scott, but I added a bit more shading. How does that look?”

Her eyes widen. “Can you actually make it look just like him?”

“Asher Hammond is the best photorealistic artist in the business,” Lucille states, standing on the woman’s left. “I’d trust him with my life.”

“Sounds good,” the woman sniffles.

“You’re a bit early, but I’ll be set to go in about an hour.” I stare over the client’s head, connecting with Lucille’s bright blue eyes, as any sense of equilibrium threatens to give way. “What about you, Lucille? Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” She pats the woman’s shoulder. “Back in the day, Ash and I were the dream team. Some things never change. Do they, Ash?”

Figures Lucille would bring up that nickname, even though I haven’t uttered it in over a decade. We worked together right after I opened Black Lotus and clients loved how our designs complemented each other. Despite the differences in our styles, they blended effortlessly.

Then again, at that time, so did we.

Until I learned the truth—that everything I believed in—was a lie. A carefully concocted story created by one devious woman.

A woman I now have to spend the next several hours with, in some sick sequel I never signed up for.

I realize I need to finish this tattoo and it needs to be perfect—not just for our heartbroken client, but for me, too. I need to prove to myself that I’m past the spell Lucille once cast over me.

That I’ve finally moved on and I’m free of the hold she had on my heart.

Let’s not forget, I have an exceptional woman waiting at home. A woman who makes me feel things on the same level Lucille did.

A fear clenches my heart in a vise at that unspoken admission.

What if this is some caustic reminder to keep my heart safe and detached? What if the only thing I stand to gain with Ori is more pain?

There are so many variables now, and Lucille’s sudden presence in my life has ripped open the bandages holding my emotional wounds closed.

Do I let them bleed? Do I allow Ori close enough to heal them? Or do I encase my heart in iron, so that no woman comes close to it again?

Something tells me, as I catch Lucille’s gaze once more, that there is far more to her story, and somehow, I fear I’m going to get intertwined in her web of half-truths once more.

Chapter 1

It’s Not Love. It’s Hormones.

Ori

Fucking men.

At this moment, that derisive thought is aimed solely at my infuriatingly attractive, tattooed neighbor.

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