“I want it today.” The man scowls at me, his hands balling into fists in a way that makes me take half a step back. We can all defend ourselves, but this is not the place for violence.
The front door opens again. A woman who must surely be lost walks in mid-tension—stops just inside, one hand still on the door, and stares at us.
What the fuck? Why is everyone choosingnowto walk into King Ink?
The tatted guy turns to leave, his fists opening and closing in tight flexes, and clips her shoulder enough that she rocks back half a step.
She glares up at him.
“Excuse you.” Her voice is polite and stern, but a blind man could see how serious she is as she stares at the man.
He stares down at her. She’s got her chin up, hands on her hips.
What the fuck am I watching? This woman is fucking impressive, though I wonder if she also has a death wish. It takes every ounce of restraint not to smile or laugh as I watch this curvy young woman stare down a man twice her size and a foot taller than her, and far more dangerous than she could possibly realize.
Something shifts in his face. He grunts and nods. “Apologies.”
“Thank you,” she says, watching him as he turns back to me. Then she turns to me and smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She is clearly in the wrong building. Creamy skin without a mark on it. A sundress that is loose but can’t hide her insanely sexy curves. She looks like she belongs in the coffee shop two doors down, not a tattoo parlor where everyone is still silent. I don’t need to look behind me to know that everyone in here is staring at her.
“Can I help you?” I ask, focusing my attention on her.
“I can help you,” she says, giving me a smile that goes straight to my groin and wakes up my cock. What the fuck? She’s not my type and everything about her screams off-limits. “But you should finish with this gentleman here.”
I turn back to the tatted guy. He’s watching her, but his hands are relaxed now. I sigh in relief that the potential violence level has returned to “probably not.”
“Tuesday at two,” I say. “It’s the first available slot.”
He turns back to me and grumbles something I don’t catch. “Fine. Tuesday. Name is Mackie.”
I write him in the appointment book as he turns and leaves. I don’t even care that he didn’t stay long enough to pay a deposit. We’ll collect when he gets here on Tuesday and call it good. Not how we usually do things, but sometimes bending the rules keeps it smoother for everyone.
Even with the music playing, the hush in the shop is eerie. I look back and everyone is watching us, even Knight.
Liam takes a step forward, his eyes going between me and the curvy woman. “Did she just—”
“Yeah, she did,” Clancy says.
“What can I do for you?” I turn to the woman, needing to get this handled so we can go back to business as usual.
She turns. “I saw your sign.” A glance toward the HELP WANTED sign in the window. She looks around the shop—the stations, the art, my guys. “I want a job. My name is Clarissa,” she says, extending her hand to me.
I open my mouth, automatically reaching for her soft hand. My cock throbs in my jeans as I hold her hand in mine.
“Carmine.”
Liam is already at the partition, leaning on it with his arms crossed. “Did you see what she just did? Hire her.”
Ford’s machine stops. “Do it.”
Clancy, from his station, without turning: “Hire her. I swear to God, if you don’t…”
Knight pulls one headphone off. Looks at her. Looks at me. Puts it back. His silence on this particular occasion counts as a vote.
She’s watching the five of us with an expression that is somehow both amused and patient.
“Okay, Clarissa,” I say, focusing on her. “You worked a front desk before?”