Page 11

She can’t be fucking serious. Surely.
Confident I’m being pranked, I shoot my eyes around the deserted shop, fully anticipating one of the guys from my crew to be lying in wait because there’s no way this shit is real.
When I fail to detect another body in our presence, I shift my eyes back to Clara. “You’re serious?” Disbelief taints my words.
She strengthens her take-no-shit stance before nodding. “I need a job. You have a position advertised.” She places her hand on her cocked hip. “Hire me, and it will be a win-win for us both.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek, hoping it will hold back a second bout of laughter that’s dying to break free.
It’s a pointless effort.
The instant my lips tug higher, the grim expression on Clara’s face firms. “Is this how you treat all your applicants?” she grumbles, clearly unimpressed.
Smirking, I shake my head. “But I’ve never had an applicant who looks like you.”
Most women would take my reply as a compliment. Clara doesn’t. The angry spark in her eyes brightens as the groove between her brows deepens.
Feeling playful, and since I have five minutesuntil I can officially close up the shop, I play along with her little game. “Can you tattoo?” I use the same tone I used when handling an inquiry from a junkie for the same position earlier today.
Clara’s throat works hard to swallow before she shakes her head.
“Do you know how to sterilize tattoo equipment?”
“No,” she replies, her tone as abrupt as her pose.
“Do you even know how to clean?”
I am no longer able to hold in my smile when she once again shakes her head. I’d never tell her this, but her honesty does rate her application one point higher than her earlier competitor. That guy couldn’t lie straight in bed.Even with her outscoring previous applicants, not only does she not hold the skills necessary to fulfill the position, but I’m also not buying her story about why she’s suddenly arrived at Inked.
Playing my part of manager, I connect my eyes with Clara. “As part of the management team at Inked Tattoo, I thank you for your interest in working with us, but unfortunately, you have been unsuccessful in acquiring the position advertised.” I try to keep my tone neutral. My attempts are borderline.
Clara takes a step closer to the counter, engulfing my senses with her rich floral scent. “I may not know how to clean or tattoo, but I have no concerns maintaining a vigorous schedule, and I most certainly know how to handle money.”
A ghost of a smile cracks my lips. “I’m sure you do, Princess, but we are not seeking a bookkeeper. We’re after an all-rounder.”
After snagging my keys from the glass display cabinet, I make my way around the counter. Clara balks when I curl my arm around her shoulders to guide her to the door.
I flip the sign to closed, open the front door of Inked, then gesture for Clara to leave. I’m not at all surprised to spot a steel gray Audi parked a few spots up from Inked.
Only a princess would apply for a minimum-wage job with a chariot idling at the curb.
“There’s a tattoo shop two streets over called Gunned. I’m sure its owner, Tommy, wouldloveto hire a woman of your caliberto count his money.”
Tommy is a great tattoo artist—his shop is Inked’s number one rival—but he is a fucking sleaze and an even bigger idiot. If anyone on this side of Ravenshoe will be fooled by Clara’s sudden desire to get dirt under her French-tipped nails, it would be Tommy.
Clara’s eyes bounce between mine. She appears to be considering citing an objection to my request for her to leave, so I’m somewhat surprised when she releases a quiet huff before stepping onto the concrete sidewalk.
After securing the deadbolt, I check that everything has been shut down in the shop, grab my jacket off the coatrack, then head out the back entrance of Inked.
With it being February, a nippy wind prickles my torso with goosebumps when I enter the poorly lit parking lot. I throw my arms into my jacket before locking the chained security door.
Happy everything is secure, I spin on my heels and walk to my custom Harley Davidson Fat Boy parked three spaces up.
My eyes roll skyward when clicking heels on concrete jingles through my ears. I don’t need to shift my eyes to know who is shadowing me. The smell of expensive floral perfume and the way the hairs on my nape prickled is all the indication I need to know who is tailing me.
The bitch is back.
“I can keep things in the shop running, freeing up your precious time so you can…doodleon more people.”