Page 4 of A Billionaire Dom

Linsey

“Getyour fucking finger away from your mouth!”

Without looking up from my screen, I took the aforementioned digit and pointed it toward the source of the order.

Kasey Lee, my best friend and roommate, let out a peal of raucous laughter, rocking back in her seat.

“I’m glad you find my anxiety amusing.” My voice was dry but without any malice. She and I had met two years ago in Denver, and six months ago, I’d come with her to Houston. The two of us, we understood each other.

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to help you stop biting your nails.” Kasey stood up and stretched her back by bending backward until her long black hair brushed the floor.

Kasey was somewhere in her early thirties, but her tiny stature always had people wondering how she was allowed to work in a tattoo parlor, let alone own one. She wasn’t just a businesswoman, though. She was an artist, and her own golden skin was covered with work of her own design. She made one-of-a-kind art that couldn’t be found anywhere else. In fact, we’d met when she’d designed and given me the tattoo that covered my back.

“I didn’t know you were going to yell at me every time my fingers got near my damn mouth.” I crumpled the piece of paper I’d been jotting random notes on and threw it at her.

She caught it and tossed it back. “What’s next on my schedule?”

I flipped through my programs until the spreadsheet for the schedule appeared on my screen. “Jessica Barker,” I read. “Consult only. She’s bringing in a design of her own.”

Kasey sighed. “I really hope it’s better than the last person who brought in a picture they drew.”

I winced, remembering the awful drawing of a dog that a rather drunk mechanic had brought in after his dog’s funeral. It’d taken fifteen minutes for us to figure out exactly what he was trying to say, and another fifteen to get him to understand that K’s Phoenix policy disallowed tattooing of inebriated patrons. He’d come back two weeks later, stone-sober, asking for her to fix what a less-than-scrupulous artist had done after he’d left here.

The phone rang, and I reached for it. “K’s Phoenix. How can I help you?”

Kasey grinned, and I flipped her off again. I worked here on occasion, and she thought it was hilarious when I had to sound polite and professional. I supposed, with my purple-streaked hair and numerous ear piercings, it was a little funny to see me acting like a secretary, but it wasn’t like we were at some country club or wealthy doctor’s office. We were in a lower middle class part of the city, at a tattoo parlor that catered to people who looked more like Kasey and me than they did a run-of-the-mill Texan.

“Yes, we have an opening tomorrow at three,” I said as I scanned the schedule. “Unless you have an artist preference.”

It took me a couple more minutes to get things worked out, and by the time I hung up the phone, Kasey’s next appointment was here, and the pair disappeared into the back. Things were generally quiet first thing on a weekday, which was why Kasey usually worked it alone. Sunday through Thursday nights, she had a second artist come in. Most Friday nights and all-day Saturday called for three people. And all of that was with me working the counter. Not bad for a shop that’d opened only six months ago.

Technically, I didn’t work for K’s Phoenix. I came in when she specifically asked or when I had time, and she paid me in cash. I wasn’t off the grid, but I was trying to stay a ghost. Employment records and tax returns made it far too easy for someone to track. Someone like me, actually.

Speaking of which, I had work to do.

I hid the program that held the schedule and appointments and then went back to my research. Saturday night, one of Kasey’s artists, Brighton, had called in and quit without warning. She’d ended up having to call in Tiarra Mendoza to cover Brighton’s shift, and no one had been happy about that. When she’d made her first hires, Kasey hadn’t asked me to look into any of her employees, and I’d foolishly left it alone because it was her shop, and I hadn’t wanted to overstep.

Fuck that.

If she wasn’t going to look out for herself, then I had to do it for her.

I would’ve seen it coming with Brighton if I’d done the work beforehand. On paper, his employment record looked good, but a little digging had uncovered a past that was less than reliable. Unpaid parking tickets from Houston to Dallas and owed child support – times two – going back more than two years. It hadn’t taken much after that to figure out his pattern of moving to a new job every time his past caught up with him, and his wages were in danger of being garnished.

Asshole.

I should’ve gone with my gut when she’d asked me what I thought of him because I’d never liked the guy. He’d been arrogant and condescending to everyone but Kasey, and only when she wasn’t around. I hadn’t said anything, though.

Now, I planned on putting everyone under the microscope and telling Kasey the moment I thought something was off.

Tiarra Mendoza had come back clean. Mid-twenties with some shadows in her past, but nothing that set off any warning bells. A military brat, she’d traveled all over the world as a kid and spoke three languages besides English. She’d be more likely to hurt herself than someone else. I’d keep an eye on her, but Kasey didn’t need to be worried about this particular artist.

Boyd Maze was on the schedule for tonight. Around the same age as Tiarra, he was Kasey’s first hire. He was a nice guy, sociable enough for people to feel comfortable with him permanently inking their skin, but not the sort of talkative person who ended up dragging out things simply because he couldn’t shut up.

He’d gotten arrested for a drunken disorderly shortly after his twenty-first birthday but had been let go with probation. Since then, he’d steered clear of the cops, with the exception of a couple parking tickets and one speeding ticket.

Kasey had been looking for a replacement for Brighton and had an interview scheduled for thirty minutes from now. I wanted to get an idea of who Mary Jo Walton was before she got here. The name alone was enough to give me pause, but I wasn’t going to judge someone by something so superficial. She could have the craziest name in the world and be the perfect fit for K’s Phoenix. I was just being overly picky.

And overly protective.

I wasn’t close to many people. One person, in fact. I was friendly to Boyd and Tiarra, but I kept them at arm’s length. Kasey was the only person who’d managed to get past my walls, and I suspected she’d probably be the only one to ever do it. I wasn’t about to let someone take advantage of her or hurt her. She said she could take care of herself, but there was no harm in giving her back-up…even if she didn’t know I was doing it.

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