Trouble Page 2

  Nat’s eyes went so round they could’ve been eyeball donuts. “Fired! But, you never fire anyone. And your dad liked Jeffo. I mean, he’s not exactly reliable, but—”

  “Nat, we have to do something about this. I’m in charge of the show now, and if I don’t make the tough decisions, nobody will. When he eventually rolls through that door, you send him to me.” God, hopefully it wouldn’t be when the Current Exec turned up to talk shop.

  Get Ink’d was a legend in Chicago, and that was probably why SBC had approached us, but part of being a legend was being outrun by all the new up-and-comers in Chicago, particularly in the Lakeview area.

  “OK, so he’s fired,” Nat said.

  “Yeah.” I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “No more Jeffo.”

  “But that still doesn’t solve the problem of who’s going to do his tattoos for today.”

  I exhaled.

  “We could call Kelly and ask her if she has anyone who could fill in for the day,” Nat said.

  I lifted my palm. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t suggest that.”

  “I know she’s, like, your archenemy or whatever—”

  “It’s not an option, Nat. You know what she did.”

  “I know, but she was your friend at one point.”

  “Discussion over.” I dragged my hand through the air, crossways. “We’ll just have to—”

  Nat’s gaze drifted to the doors behind me, and she blinked. Her expression brightened.

  “We’ll just have to—have to—Nat, are you listening to me at all? Are you even in here right now?” I laughed, but it came out squeaky and forced because I truly was frustrated with this situation.

  It wasn’t usually like this. I was the happy-go-lucky one in our family.

  “Not really,” she replied. “Boss, can I ask you a question?” Her focus still hadn’t left the glass front doors behind me, which provided a view of the street outside.

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s not like we’re in the middle of a crisis or anything.”

  “OK, well.” Nat finally looked at me. “If you’re not going to sleep with that guy, can I?” She pointed to the front doors.

  I rolled my eyes at her—she certainly had a unique way of indicating she was interested in a man—then turned toward the front. God, hopefully it wasn’t the current exec, here early. Not only was I not prepared for a meeting now, but I’d have to likely glue Nat to her chair to stop her from hitting on the dude.

  Another thing, I couldn’t aff—“No,” I whispered.

  “What?” Nat asked behind me.

  It was him. He was here! Why the hell was he here?

  The last time I’d seen the man on the other side of the glass, he’d been butt naked and sporting the biggest, ahem, equipment I’d ever laid eyes on. He’d also been infuriating and drunk and irresponsible.

  And he happened to be my father’s business partner’s son. My first crush in middle school.

  Cain Foster grinned at me—that same I’ll fuck-your-brains-out grin he’s always had—and ran his hand through his espresso-colored hair. His hazel eyes glinted. He’d tattooed two thorns at the base of his throat since I’d last seen him. The new ink was small, and if anything, it made him more attractive.

  Not that that was possible.

  Cain Foster was sex on legs.

  He was trouble.

  He was my polar opposite.

  And he was damn well not coming into this shop.

  “I’ll open for him,” Nat breathed.

  “No,” I said. “Leave him out there.”

  “I can hear you, you know,” Cain said, through the glass.

  “I know,” I replied.

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  “Oh my god,” Nat whispered, “even his laugh is sexy. I’m going to have to take a cold shower after this.”

  “Thank you.” Cain winked at her. God, he was incorrigible. Couldn’t he behave for five seconds?

  “What do you want?” I called out.

  Behind him, people walked down the streets, cars cruised by, and the business on the opposite side of the road—a beauty salon—flicked its sign to OPEN against the door. I literally did not have time for this.

  “Scratch that,” I said. “I don’t care.”

  “Let me in,” he replied.

  “No.”

  He rapped on the glass and rattled the door, his fist huge, the scars on his knuckles white with the skin pulled tight. “This glass is fragile. Wouldn’t take much to break.”

  “Now you’re threatening to vandalize the store?”

  “Who said it was a threat?” He pulled back his arm and Nat sucked in a gasp bordering on a moan.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” I said. “I’ll let you in.” I pointed back over my shoulder at my receptionist. “You go change your underwear or take a shower or something.”

  Nat shuffled off behind me, likely reluctant to miss out on the show. Or the opportunity to throw herself at Cain. My chest tightened at that thought, which was ridiculous, of course. Cain and I were nothing and never had been.

  We’d been friends at best. At worst… Well, we’d fought like cat and dog, simply because we’d had to spend time together growing up. Business partner dads—at least, they’d gotten along.

  I strode toward the front door, the keys to it jangling on my belt, and kept my gaze on the lock instead of on the man waiting for me.

  Man wasn’t the right description.

  He was something else.

  He was every woman’s dream made flesh. Bad and addictive, and funny. God, he was cocky, and he gave to charity. But he was also a train wreck and I wasn’t in the business of fixing people.

  Only drawing on them.

  And love? Fuck that. Not after what I’d been through.

  “You take forever to unlock a door,” Cain said, his voice a deep, rumbling growl. Clear today, no booze this time, at least. “Don’t stall on my account. I’m more than happy to break something to get your attention.”

  “Very funny,” I whispered, then swallowed. Why was my mouth so dry all of a sudden? I opened the door a crack, the keys still in the lock, and peeked out at him.

  He wedged thick fingers through the gap and pushed his way inside.

  It wasn’t so much a push, even. It was as if he simply moved everything how he wanted it to go and nothing protested. Not even me.

  I stepped back and folded my arms again, raised my shoulders. Had to keep my guard up.

  Cain was the type of guy who broke people with a glance. He wet panties and melted hopes and dreams.

  “There you are,” he said, and shut the door, turned the key in the lock with a click that was way too final.

  “Here I am,” I replied. “Now, why the hell are you here?”

  “What, you didn’t receive my email?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d always been totally averse to computers and technology growing up. If he even had a cell phone, I’d consider it a miracle.

  Cain’s lip quirked up at the corner. “I could tell you why I’m here,” he said softly, and stepped closer.

  I itched to back all the way up to the reception desk, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of backing me down. I met him gaze for gaze, even though he was two whole heads taller than me. “Then do it.”

  “It would be much more fun for you to guess.”

  “I don’t have time for games,” I said. “Or you. I have a shop to run.”

  “Without another tattoo artist?” he asked.

  Fuck, so he’d heard that part of the conversation, then. And he’d apprenticed with my dad during school vacations. He could do it. He could probably do it better than Jeffo, but he was beyond a liability.

  Trouble, trouble, trouble.

  Now, that thought made me backpedal.

  “My business problems have nothing to do with you,” I said.

  “I beg to differ,” he replied, and closed in again. This time he came so clos
e the heat from his chest practically baked me. God, he was so ripped his biceps ate his shirtsleeves.

  My body reacted in spite of my mind screaming for sanity.

  “Oh yeah? Well, that’s cute that you’re differing and everything, but—”

  He pressed a finger to my lips. “I didn’t come to offer my help as a tattoo artist, gorgeous, but I’ll do that for you as a favor. Or maybe because I like watching your nipples harden whenever I come close to you.”

  Oh Jesus, that was embarrassing. I readjusted my arms so they fully covered the girls. “Then why did you come?” I spoke against his hot finger, skin harder than I’d have expected from Mr. Billionaire.

  “To tell you that, as of this morning, I own half your shop.”

  “What? Impossible.”

  “My lawyer is sending over the documents as we speak,” he said. “I’m here to make things right for myself, Margot. Maybe, I’ll make things right for you while I’m at it. If you’re a good girl. Nah, you’re already that. Let’s make it if you’re a bad girl, instead.”

  I shook my head and tried backing away, but he caught my arms, stroked them, and elicited a full body shiver and a tightening in my core I wasn’t proud of.

  He leaned in close, closer, closer until his cheek grazed mine, stubble just below my ear, his lips hot on my lobe. “This is going to be fun,” he whispered.

  No. This was going to be a nightmare.

  Chapter 3

  Cain

  I strode down the sidewalk, turning heads and drawing stares, grinning despite the nothingness at my center.

  That was my default setting.

  Smile, even though you’re hollow. A remix of Nat King Cole.

  This tattoo shop was my last chance. My father had pretty much handed it to me on a platter when I told him what I needed. He didn’t give a fuck about my mother’s charity. But he did give a fuck about the fact that the shop had lost more money than it’d made over the past few years.

  If I didn’t do this, and present that “front” Mr. Begay wanted to see, I’d lose the charity.

  Six months out of the country, trying but failing to stay under the radar hadn’t helped.

  And now, I’d wound up working with her.

  Margot was stubborn and full of shit. She’d resisted me throughout high school and into college, then I’d simply moved on.

  She needed a damn good dicking. A moment that wiped the frustration from her so thoroughly she went cross-eyed and got the shakes. I’d be more than happy to fuck her until her comfort zone spontaneously combusted.

  Yesterday, Margot’s expression when I’d taken up challenges, tattooed things that she’d probably assumed were beyond my skill level, had been priceless.

  Christ, her panties were probably still wet from watching me ink.

  I approached the store, wiped sweat off the back of my neck, then opened the front door. The chick behind the reception desk looked up.

  “Hi,” she said and quivered all over.

  I was used to that kind of reaction. In truth, it bored the shit out of me. “Hey,” I replied, and directed my smile at her regardless. “Where’s Margot?”

  “She’s meeting with a guy in her office.”

  Anger burst into my chest. “Huh?”

  “Yeah, some guy in a suit. Kinda cute too. I mean, not like make-your-panties-dissolve cute, but cute enough.” She fluttered her eyelashes at me, fluffed her purple hair. “So, she’ll probably be busy for a while. So, by the by, ha, I’ve been thinking about getting my VCH. It’s a clit piercing. Would that be something you’re interested in?”

  “I don’t do piercings,” I replied, and dismissed her by shifting my gaze to the office door—firmly shut, gloss black, and set against the rouge walls.

  A guy? Why would she be in there with a guy? What fucking guy?

  I’d turn him into mincemeat if he—Whoa, there. What’s that about?

  I wasn’t the jealous type. Protective, sure. Yeah, that had to be it. Margot and I had grown up together. Old frenemies, right? I didn’t want to see her get hurt, unless it was via a good spanking.

  I set off for the office door.

  “What are you doing?” The purple-haired chick called out behind me.

  I ignored her.

  My impulses drove me.

  And this impulse told me that I should be in that room with Margot, right now.

  I bumped my knuckles against the door, once, then opened it and stepped inside.

  “—appreciate you meeting with me on short notice. I understand canceling the meeting yesterday must’ve been frustrating for you.” The guy in the suit sat in front of Margot’s desk.

  I surveyed him from behind, stood with my hand clenching the brass knob.

  Brown hair, flecked with a little gray, broad shoulders, not a small fucker either, but I could take him, easily.

  Margot cleared her throat, and I switched my attention to her instead. “Cain? This isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

  “A meeting,” I said. “Interesting. I wasn’t made aware of any meetings.”

  The suit turned and looked up at me. Sharp, green eyes, strong nose—never been broken though, ha—and definitely not a fighter. I’d mulch the guy into pulp with a single punch. He wasn’t an ugly dude, though, and anger roared in my chest again.

  The suit rose and gave me a two-thousand-watt smile. He extended a hand. “Greetings,” he said.

  “Greetings?” I raised an eyebrow at him, but took the hand and shook it, squeezed a little harder than necessary. “What are you, Spock?”

  Margot leaped to her feet. “Cain Foster, this is Guy Simmons,” she said. “He’s a Current Executive from SBC, and he’s got some exciting news.”

  “Hold up,” I said, still squeezing the poor fucker’s hand like it was a stress ball. “Your name is Guy?”

  He chuckled. A single sweat bead ran down his temple, though. “That’s correct.”

  I released him and frowned at Margot. “Why wasn’t I informed there was a meeting? I’m co-owner of this business.”

  Margot grimaced and took hold of her forehead, massaged it.

  “Pardon me?” Guy asked.

  “You heard me,” I said. “I’m co-owner. I should be privy to any meetings that take place on this property.”

  “He’s—I’m sorry, Mr. Simmons. Cain is the son of my father’s silent partner in the business. I was informed that he’d acquired the business just yesterday. I was planning on having a lawyer look at the paperwork before I informed you of the change.”

  Guy’s eyes narrowed, and he looked me up and down, from head to toe. It was like he’d transformed into a human scanner and I was the fucking target. Guy the Terminator. The only thing he’d terminate was a legal contract.

  “That’s all right, Ms. Reed,” said the suit, stroking his clean-shaven chin now.

  I’d adopted a motto in my early twenties: Never trust a man who can’t grow a full beard.

  So far, I’d been proven right on that account, and this Simmons prick was smooth as a newborn baby. Probably the type of dude who grew facial hair in patches.

  “Actually, that’s more than all right,” he continued. “This could definitely work to our advantage.”

  I walked past him and to Margot’s side.

  She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  I halted behind her. The heat from her body was fucking temptation in its purest. I’d never been a horned-up dude, but damn, she was delicious. Curvy ass, thick legs. She filled those jeans so damn well it made it difficult to concentrate.

  “Well, look at him,” Guy said, and gestured toward me. “He’s an attractive guy. This could definitely help sell the show.”

  “Show?”

  Margot sighed and looked back at me. She licked her lips. “Yes. Guy is from SBC, as I said, and they’re interested in centering a show around Get Ink’d and how we operate.”

  “A show.”

  “A reality show,” Gu
y put in. “It’s going to be a hit, if we do it right.”

  “I didn’t agree to do a show,” I said. Fuck it, if anything would land me in shit, it would be that. I was impulsive on the best of days—anything that filled the hole happened—and having it recorded, packaged, and pushed out to people in their homes was my perfect nightmare.

  I didn’t give a fuck what they thought, but the fact that there’d be hard evidence was a problem. One wrong step and Mr. Begay would ditch me hard and fast.

  “In fact,” I said, my breath rushing down the back of Margot’s neck and drawing goose bumps there, “I won’t be appearing in any show. This is a bad fucking idea.”

  “Cain.” Margot practically fucking grunted it.

  I liked that. I liked the emotion I stole from her.

  The soul.

  It was like she actually had one to give.

  “It looks like we’ll have to reschedule, Ms. Reed,” the stiff said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Yeah, don’t bother,” I said.

  “Please do, Mr. Simmons,” Margot said and strode forward to see him out. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “No need to apologize.” But clearly, that was a lie. He was pissed. Let him be fucking pissed. Maybe he’d think twice before he walked into this woman’s office again.

  My office now, technically.

  Margot disappeared without a backward glance, and their muted conversation continued.

  I took a seat in the executive chair behind her desk, tall and leather-backed. Fuck, this thing probably dwarfed her if I could fit in it. It was her dad’s, that much I did remember.

  I waited, my hands folded against my chest, and a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

  She’d be angry. She’d be feisty, and I fed off that.

  Passion drove me—but I’d never found my own.

  It was far easier sucking it from others.

  Sucking, hot damn, it’d be perfection to suck on her in every fucking way. Her clit, her tight little nipples. I’d bite that ass and suck on it too.

  Margot’s footsteps tramped across the tiles in the other room, and my smile grew wider.

  She bashed into the office and shut the door behind her—not slammed, good god, apparently she had self-control. What was that like?