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I stop walking to inhale a lung-filling breath of air. After calming down the mad beat of my heart, I turn around to face mynewly acquired stalker. “Doodle?” I arch my brow as I glare into Clara’s stormy eyes. “You think Idoodleon people?”
Even though a pinch of fear clouds her impressively stern eyes, she ignores the grim expression on my face and nods.
“It’s called art, Princess. It’s not fucking doodling.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snaps, glaring at me with her well-worn bitch façade firmly in place.
“Why? Don’t you like your name,Princess?”
She crosses her arms under her chest, hoisting her mouthwatering breasts higher in her tight, fitted shirt. “I’m not a princess, so why call me one?”
I shrug. “It’s either Princess or Stuck-Up Bitch… The choice is yours.”
The veins in her neck thrum as anger lines her face. “My name is Clara. Why don’t you just refer to me as Clara?”
“I gave you your choices.” My tone warns of my wavering constraint. I’m close to blowing my top.
Her mouth gapes, no doubt shell-shocked at my bluntness.
While scraping my hand over the stubble on my chin, I fight to rein in my anger. Although I’ve reached my quota of dealing with idiotic people for one week, Clara doesn’t deserve to solely cop the wrath of my fury. She may have an icy personality, but my poor mood was lingering hours before she arrived on the doorstep of Inked.
“Look, you’ve had your fun, so can we please cut the shit? It’s been a long-ass week, and I’m too fucking beat to be dealing with more crap right now.” I try to keep my tone sincere, but when her eyes slit into thin lines, I realize she isn’t buying my attempts at sincerity.
Deciding I’ll never win a battle of words against a woman with a fierce tongue like Clara’s, I issue my farewell with an emotionless smirk before continuing with my original endeavor.
I make it halfway to my bike before I hear, “What time do you want me to arrive on Monday?”
Fuck me, this woman is worse than a leech.
I don’t bother turning around. “I’m not hiring you.”
My hands shoot up to massage my throbbing temples when she asks, “Isn’t it illegal to advertise under false pretenses?”
After exhaling a large puff of air, I spin around to face her. “What have I falsely advertised?”
“Your sign said you needed help.” She stares into my eyes while running her hand down the front of her body. Even in my irate mood, I can’t miss her budded nipples braced against her fitted shirt. “I’m here, willing to help, but you’re refusing to hire me. I’m not a lawyer, but that sounds illegal to me.”
While dragging my eyes away from her chest, I clench my fists into tight balls. It’s the only defense I have to fight the urge to scream my frustration into the street. “You’re not qualified for the position advertised. If you were, I’d hire you,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Then give me a chance to prove I’m qualified.”
I arch my brow. “And how exactly can I do that?”
“Put me on a trial basis. Day-to-day agreement. No contracts. No paperwork.” She impresses me with her on-the-spot negotiation skills.
I nearly take a minute to contemplate her recommendation before reality smacks into me. I don’t owe her a damn thing. She should feel lucky I didn’t have her ass thrown to the curb the instant she stepped foot into my shop after the less-than-stellar rant she unleashed during her last visit.
I lock my eyes with hers. “You’re not qualified to work at Inked, but we thank you for taking the time to submit your application,” I quote, giving her the same comment I’ve given every unqualifiedapplicant before her.
She cocks her hip out and glares into my eyes. “You either hire me now, or I’ll show up every day until you do.”
After straddling my bike, I drift my eyes back to the teeming-with-sass blonde. “So no matter what I say, you’re gonna rock up here Monday, ready to work?” When she smiles and nods, I inwardly chuckle. “All right. Good luck on Monday.” When her plump lips lift into a broad grin, I realize my attempt at sarcasm was lost on her. “We aren’t open on Mondays. If you had done your research on Inked before applying for the position we have advertised, you would have realized that.”
Clara balks for the quickest second before stuttering, “Tuesday, then.”
I scrub my hand over my clipped hair. “I get it, all right. You’re on some soul-searching mission, hoping a few good deeds to those less fortunate will fix some of the fucked-up things you’ve done in your life, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.” I twist my body to the side and point down the street. “There is a women’s shelter three blocks over. Go and offer them your charity.”
She mumbles something under her breath, but she’s so quiet, I missed what she said. After rolling her shoulders, she fixes her icy-blue eyes with my dark brown gaze. “I’m sorry for wasting your precioustime. I hope you have a pleasant evening,” she says before spinning on her heels and stalking back to the street.