Page 98 of Ink Me Three Times
She wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place.
But here she is, everywhere. And she’s distracting the hell out of me.
Freddie invited her, and I didn’t want to get involved.
At all.
But now?
I’m getting tangled up in something that feels like it’s going to pull me under. Everything is impossible when she’s around, smiling, laughing, drawing me in…
So I’m doing what I always do. I keep my head down. Focus on the work.
But the whole damn place feels different with her around. It’s like there’s this tension in the air, a pull between us that doesn’t make sense.
I try to block her out. Do what I’m here to do. But I can’t stop glancing at her, the way she talks to people, the way she smiles even when it looks like she doesn’t want to.
I swear, the minute I turn around, she’s there.
Even when I’m in the zone, tattoo machine humming in my ear, I feel the weight of her eyes on me. She’s not even doing anything. Just standing there, talking to Penny, moving through the crowd like she belongs. But it’s hard to ignore the fact that she doesn’t belong here. Not really.
It’s weird, and it doesn’t sit right.
Then, right as I’m trying to pull my shit together, a guy in a suit walks up to me.
A rep from one of the big studios.
Iron Lotus.
Yeah, I’ve heard of them. They’re huge. People kill to get a spot there.
He’s a sharp guy, well put together. Clean cut, polished shoes. He’s got the look of someone who’s been handling business, not tattoos. Doesn’t fit in at a convention like this, but then again, maybe that’s the point.
He hands me his card like it’s a peace offering, or maybe a threat. "If you’re ever ready to leave the small town grind, give me a call."
I look at the card. The logo’s embossed, high end stuff.Iron Lotus. Big letters, bold. It feels weighty in my palm, almost like it’s expecting something from me.
I’ve never had an offer like this before. A real offer.
Not some local guy wanting a tattoo from the "guy in the back of the shop." This is a chance to do something bigger.
Tobesomeone bigger.
I stare at the card for a moment, but the guy doesn’t leave. He stands there, watching me. Waiting.
"That’s a hell of an offer," I finally say, keeping my voice flat. I don’t want him to think I’mtoointerested. "You’re sure you’ve got the right guy?"
The guy smiles like he’s heard this before. A rehearsed, easy smile. "I don’t offer these to just anyone, Mitchell Everett. We’ve been following your work. You’re talented. You’ve got potential."
I don’t know if I should be flattered or suspicious. A guy like this doesn’t show up unless he sees something worth cashing in on.
I glance over his shoulder at the hustle of the convention floor, trying to shake off the sense that this whole situation is too easy.
"So, what? You came here for me?" I ask, trying to keep it casual. I’ve learned to be wary of offers that seem like they’ve got no strings attached.
He chuckles. "Notjustfor you, no. But let’s just say your work’s caught our attention. Your designs have edge. Real craftsmanship. People would kill for the kind of opportunities we offer."
There it is. The hook. People would kill for this. It’s exactly what he wants me to hear.
