Page 3 of Take the Blame (Seaside Mergers #3)

Chapter Two

AUGUSTUS

I knew she wouldn’t tell me.

Even if she hadn’t already looked at me with those big brown eyes full of exasperation or wore the tight little frown she’d been giving me and only me since I met her, I still could have told you that she wasn’t going to admit to me what had gotten her so worked up.

Why?

Because Alta Fernandez hated me.

To anyone who knew the girl, this might sound like a gag.

A joke. A hoax. Because to the casual bystander, Alta wasn’t capable of hating anyone.

Everything from her perpetual smiles to her angelic presence to the way she looked concerned for every single person she came across, she was through and through a sweet girl.

It wasn’t just the way she looked either. I’d only known the girl for less than a year and already, I’d seen her be so kind to people. Other people.

In winter, she brought in hats for the homeless to display near the front desk, “just in case.” In the Spring she organized Easter Sunday meal drives in front of the stores.

In the summer she could often be seen flagging down dog owners to offer them the free biscuits I tried to tell her were for customers only , passing out treats for simply walking by.

And now that it was fall, she’d already peppered me with pitches for some costume party ideas and events to raise money for her sister’s new charity. Again .

And if that wasn’t enough, the girl was incapable of seeing the bad in people.

I once intervened in a conversation between her and a mouthy customer in my chair asking her inappropriate questions.

It was okay when he was just asking her if she had any tattoos, I was even okay when he followed it up with the next plausible question in this industry, “what about piercings?” Her distracted “nope” had somehow pleased me even more as she was too focused on taking photos of his tattoo job to pay him close attention.

But my irritation immediately sparked when his eyes turned leering as he watched her, and my vision turned red when he had the gall to ask, “Waiting on someone special to stick you?”

I was too professional for my hand to slip while I was holding a tattoo machine, but not enough to stop myself from saying, “Hey! Don’t fucking talk to my people like that, man.”

Customer or not, I didn’t play that shit.

But you know what she had to say about it? “Don’t be rude, Mr. Harper. He’s just curious.” And then she answered his disgusting question, unperturbed.

I had to have a talk with her later about innuendo and how she should brush up on it, stat .

So if she was that nice, and that selfless, and saw that much good in everyone—how the hell had she come to hate me?

Well, I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the first day we met.

It all started when, on an otherwise normal morning in my tattoo shop, in blew this bustling, shivering little thing in a pencil skirt and heels straight out of the snow and onto the front mat.

She had her back to me, giving me a view of long wavy hair that reached far enough down that it guided my eyes straight to her round ass in that skirt.

And though it was magnificent, her body didn’t hold my attention for long.

Not when she was looking at herself in the glass of the front window and giving herself a pep talk.

She was whispering, so I didn’t hear much of what she said. But I did manage to catch remnants of “you can do this” and “c’mon, Al” and “be brave.” Audible encouragement to the point that I was sure when she finally did turn around, I would be met by a complete whack job.

That’s not what I got.

When Alta Fernandez finally turned her big doe eyes on me for the first time, I was met with a visceral shock to my senses.

Suddenly, I sat up taller, my arms crossed tighter around my chest, and my every awareness was on high alert at the sight of an absolute angel standing right there in my doorway.

Everything about her called to me. From her round face that was red from the conditions outside, to her lean, defined body that was more visible now that she’d faced me head on. I even liked her soft expression as she skated curious eyes all around my shop.

But just as well, nothing about her belonged in my tattoo shop where pictures of skulls, pin-up girls, grim reapers, and blood decorated almost every drawing hung up on the walls.

She seemed to glow in her spot at the doorway, looking all innocent and happy and sweet, while one step inside—closer to me—could instantly taint her.

She was probably in the wrong place. Or lost. Or something . She couldn’t have wound up here on purpose. A girl like that would never come looking for a guy like me. And if she was, she’d never stay long.

It agitated me, that for even a millisecond I let myself think she might. Which is probably why my eyes cut at little miss happy-go-lucky, goody-goody, business-professional in my doorway and I said, “You lost or something?”

“No. I-I meant to come here.”

Oh hell.

Hearing her voice was no better. It was sweet and simple. Melodic even in her hesitancy to speak to me.

“Boutique shop’s that way, candy shop is the opposite. Whatever you’re looking for, we don’t have it here, sweetheart,” I said.

And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the exact moment I lost Alta Fernandez’s favor.

She must have been having a bad day, or week, or hell—year.

Because since then, I’d heard people say way worse to her and she still smiled.

But there was something about the shape of her eyes that day, as they caught onto mine without hesitation and narrowed into something not quite mean but not as sugar sweet as they’d been a second before, that let me know she was not happy with what I had just said.

Her pert little frown said the rest.

“Mr. Harper,” she began, startling me up to my full height at the knowledge that she knew my name.

She went on, giving her short little office getup one more dust off of snow before she began striding into the shop.

“I’ve been to Bonnie’s Boutique down the way and to Delia’s Bakery next door.

I’ve actually been to every business on this block and will go to every one on the next.

And just like at every one of those places, you will let me introduce myself, tell you why I'm here, and then you can decide to send me away. ”

Well, she sure had my attention now, and I shut my mouth accordingly and let her continue.

“My name is Alta. I’m not here for a job or to sell you something.

I’m not here for donations or B-to-B marketing either.

I’m here because I want to help you. I’m working on creating specified marketing campaigns for small businesses in the area to build my portfolio; so, in short, helping you helps me too.

I strongly believe we can come to a mutually beneficial partnership, or at least I did.

But if you’re so judgmental that you took one look at me and decided that I don’t belong here, then I can take my business and move on to the next willing party?

” It came out like a question which contradicted the way she was sternly setting me straight, her professional tone still maintaining a small huff.

I was impressed. But I was also a smartass, which is why I couldn’t help one side of my face from tipping up in an admittedly mocking smirk as I asked, “Practice that in the mirror this morning?”

Her eyes ignited, and I thought for sure I would get more wrath than a well-delivered business pitch. But no, she wasn’t like that. She wasn’t here to spar. Instead, she simply spun on her icepick heels and started for the door. Actually leaving , I realized.

And I’d be damned if I let her leave like that. Not when I’d been an ass on purpose–to mess with her. Not when she appeared out of nowhere and shaken me that much. Not when I didn’t even know her last name.

Striding forward, I reached the door just as she was placing a dainty hand on the black handle. Leaning on a spot above her head to stop her, I didn’t know what to do next. It was like we were both frozen, unsure of how to proceed.

But I knew then that I wanted to see her again.

“If we’re going to work together, you can’t be so sensitive,” is what I finally decided to say. Asshole .

She turned her head, looking at me from the very corner of her eye. In that small look, I could tell she was contemplating. Something about her gaze was surprised, something else elated, but most interesting was the desperation.

And even though I don’t know why I offered this to her, I found I was hanging on for her response.

She didn’t even try to hide the deep, deep breath that moved her shoulders before she turned to me with a smile so fake it was almost comical plastered across her face. She stuck out her hand. “Then, welcome to the team, Mr. Harper.”

“Everyone just calls me Gus,” I offered. When I wrapped my hand around hers, I noticed that her fingers were ice cold. I held onto them longer, hoping to warm them up. “What can I call you?”

“Alta is fine,” she said, offering me another fake smile, before slipping her hand back to her side. “And I’ll email you the details, Mr. Harper .”

Stubborn, I remember thinking right away. And damn did it not make me smile as I watched her walk out. “Whatever you say, Boss Lady.”

And ever since then she’d been just that. A boss.

She came in with the intention of revamping our online presence.

“Revamping” meaning, giving us one to begin with.

She worked on our website, setting up client calendars and online flash art booklets.

She set up our socials with easy-to-find contact details, location, and business operating hours.

She started a targeted ad campaign based on our frequent viewers.

And she came by every week to collect content for our ever growing online presence.

Alta had done enough marketing work for the shop since January to run up a major bill at any agency or freelancer in business—I’d checked.

But she was doing it all for free, to boost this “portfolio” she was supposedly working on.

And as I watched her picking her way toward the shop doors today, I assumed it was this “portfolio” that had her out here strangling my plants.

But that was the best I could do, guess and assume, because she would never tell me. Ever since that first day when I’d put my foot in my mouth, I knew she wouldn’t be as sweet or as willing as she’d been in those first few moments she stepped foot in my doorway.

But damn, was I holding out for the day that she would.