Chapter 11
11
HANNAH
I sat at the bar, swirling my glass of chardonnay while lost in thought. The bar was quiet, mostly couples on dates or the occasional person scrolling on their phone. Me? I was somewhere between plotting world domination and sulking over the fact that Nikko had managed to make me both furious and curious at the same time.
I wanted my tattoo fixed. I didn’t want to date the guy.
Liar.
My inner voice was having none of my self-denial tonight. It knew me better than I liked to admit. Nikko’s little stunt had been brazen, and as much as I hated to admit it, it had thrown me off my game. What annoyed me most was that part of me admired his audacity.
Sighing, I took another sip of my wine. The smooth liquid slid down my throat and provided a momentary respite from my swirling thoughts. He had offered to fix the tattoo, but at what cost? Dates with him? That smug grin as he suggested it kept replaying in my mind, taunting me.
Did he mean dinner and a movie or sex at his place? Did I care?
Uh oh, now I was negotiating with myself. It was a slippery slope, and I knew it. My thumb toyed with the edge of the wine glass, tracing the rim in absent-minded circles.
“He’s playing you,” I muttered under my breath, as if acknowledging it out loud would help dispel the ridiculous proposition. Yet, there was a tantalizing thrill attached to the idea—partly because I knew it was wrong, partly because… well, Nikko wasn’t just anybody.
“He’s trouble,” I whispered.
That was what drew me to him initially, the hint of danger. He was so unlike anyone I would ever normally date. I would never dare to get the attention of a man like him. He was way out of my league. We were like yin and yang. He was leather and motorcycles and fast living. I was nine-to-five and buttoned up.
I was going to drive myself crazy. I picked up my phone and stared at my recent calls. Out of my three friends, I knew who to call. That was the benefit of having four of us in our little group. We each brought something different to the table. If I had a logical problem, I called Rachel. If I was having a moral issue, like should I borrow an idea and put my own spin on it, I called Maddie. Tara was the one I called when I wanted to hear advice that fed my very secret and tiny little wild side.
When Tara answered my call, I skipped the pleasantries. “I need help,” I blurted out.
“What kind of help? Are we talking burying-a-body help or what-should-I-eat help?”
“Neither. Nikko. Although the first might be on the table. I haven’t decided.”
There was a pause, followed by a low, knowing chuckle. “Oh, this should be good. Spill.”
I launched into the story of how I stormed into the tattoo shop, demanded he fix his little artistic addition , and somehow walked out having agreed to go on dates with him.
Tara’s laugh echoed through the phone, earning me a few looks from others. “Oh, you’re in trouble.”
“That’s why I called.” I took a long sip of wine. “What do I do?”
“First off, stop letting him take the lead. He’s one of those guys who thinks he’s got the upper hand because he’s hot and cocky and… good in bed.”
I choked on my wine. “Tara!”
“Don’t ‘Tara’ me,” she said. “You know I’m right. But that’s not the point. The point is you need to Uno reverse this situation on him.”
I frowned, intrigued despite myself. “What do you mean?”
Her laugh this time was pure strategy. “Make him fall for you first. Beat him at his own game.”
A tingle of excitement shot through me. “And how do I do that?”
“You asked the right person,” Tara replied with so much confidence I half expected her to switch to video chat and bust out a PowerPoint presentation. “You’ve got to keep him guessing. He thinks he knows you—corporate, structured, predictable. Show him something else entirely. Give him just enough to keep him interested, but never fully reveal your hand.”
I grabbed my notebook from my bag and flipped past the marketing pitch I was working on to a blank page. “Go on.”
Tara launched into a breakdown so detailed it could’ve been a masterclass in psychological manipulation.
“Step one, be unpredictable,” she said. “Cancel plans last minute, then surprise him by showing up somewhere unexpected. Make him work to figure you out. Do not be available.”
I nodded, furiously scribbling notes. “Step two?”
“Step two is emotional breadcrumbs,” she said. “Give him just enough to make him curious. Mention a fun story but don’t finish it. Say something cryptic and then change the subject. Drive him crazy wondering what you’re about.”
“Got it,” I said, my marketing brain loving the parallels to audience engagement strategies. “What else?”
“Step three,” Tara continued, clearly enjoying this tutorial. “Physical allure mixed with emotional distance. You want him to see you in a different light. Dress a bit out of your usual style—something that screams ‘effortlessly chic’ rather than ‘office appropriate.’ But while you’re drawing him in with your looks, keep him at arm’s length emotionally. Laugh at his jokes, touch his arm casually, but don’t give away too much personal info.”
I scribbled faster, the pen barely keeping up with her ideas. “That sounds doable. Anything else?”
“Absolutely,” Tara said. “Step four is to make him invest. The more he puts in, the more he’ll want to stick around. Make him plan dates, pick you up, even decide on the menu for dinner. Shift the balance of power.”
I paused. “He does have the power.”
“Nope, you do,” she assured me with confidence.
I didn’t believe that. “He marked me. I need him to fix my tattoo.”
“No, you don’t,” she said with a laugh. “Any tattooer can fix that. He knows it. I wouldn’t hesitate to remind him of that if he gets a little too cocky for his own good. You make the decision to be the one in charge. Just like that. You’re the boss. Be the boss bitch.”
I groaned. “I don’t know how to do that with a guy. I can do it at work, but he’s different.”
“It’ll intrigue him. Nikko strikes me as the kind who likes a challenge. He’s used to girls falling all over themselves for him. It’ll be a refreshing change if he feels like he has to earn your attention.” Tara sounded confident. “And besides, the harder you make it for him, the more he’s likely to respect you.”
“And if he calls my bluff?” I asked, a bit of anxiety seeping into my tone.
“Then he calls it. At least you’ll know where you stand, and you won’t be the one chasing after him. You set the pace, remember?”
“Right,” I muttered, still doubtful but knowing she was probably right.
“And finally, no physical stuff.”
I paused, pen hovering over the paper. “None?”
“None,” she said firmly. “Guys like Nikko thrive on physical connection. It’s their go-to move. You take that away, and suddenly, he’s the one who’s off balance. No sex.”
“Right. No physical stuff.”
In the back of my mind, I was not thrilled with that idea. I mean, let’s be honest, sex with Nikko had been beyond amazing. If I was in Miami for two weeks, why not enjoy it? And I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to resist his advances. Mostly, because I didn’t want to.
“Tara—”
“Nope. Stay strong, girl. You got this. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” Tara spoke with a finality that made it clear she wasn’t going to budge on the matter.
I let out a sigh, half of me anxious about the games we were playing, the other half buzzing with the thrill of a challenge. “Okay, I’ll do it your way. But if this backfires…”
“It won’t,” Tara said confidently. “Just stick to the plan. Keep him guessing, keep him wanting more. You’re in control here.”
“Here I thought I just wanted my tattoo fixed,” I said with a sigh.
“Hannah, listen. Men like him? If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. And honey, I say this with love—you can’t go a mile with a guy like that. He’ll ruin you.”
I knew she was right, but I hated how badly I wanted to scratch that itch anyway.
When we hung up, Tara sent me a text almost immediately with a new group chat she’d created. She basically recapped our conversation, letting them know I was embarking on a trail of revenge. Rachel and Maddie chimed in quickly, promising they would have my back.
“Accountability queens reporting for duty,” Maddie wrote.
“Don’t let him win, Hannah,” Rachel added with a GIF of a woman power walking away from a burning building.
It was nice knowing I had reinforcements.
“Karma is a bitch!” Tara texted.
I put the phone away and ordered a second glass of wine. With my notebook out, I decided to try and get some work done. I was on a work trip after all.
I flipped back to the marketing pitch and made a few notes. The sound of hushed conversations provided soothing white noise. I hated working in total silence. But as focused as I was trying to be, my eyes kept drifting to my phone. Before I knew it, I opened social media. I didn’t think Nikko was the Instagram-type, but I was almost certain the tattoo parlor would have a page. Duh, marketing one-oh-one.
Sure enough, it was there. I quickly went to the account. My heart jumped when I saw a group photo. Nikko’s face practically jumped out at me.
Hot damn.
I had that.
And now I was going to have to try and get close but not naked with him.
Did anyone have that kind of self-control?
I noticed the tagged people. Nikko was tagged, which meant he did have an account. I clicked the name and there he was. Well, not him, but a sketch for his profile picture. I started scrolling through Nikko’s public Instagram.
His feed was a mix of completed tattoos, in-progress shots, and the occasional artsy photo of his tools or his motorcycle. His work was breathtaking. Every piece seemed to carry its own story, like he’d pulled emotions straight out of his clients and inked them into their skin.
It was infuriating. Why did someone so talented have to be such an arrogant jerk?
I noticed there wasn’t anything really personal on his page. No girlfriends. No family. None of the typical pictures of him at the beach or doing anything. In fact, there were only a couple pictures of him with his face visible. That made sense. He struck me as the private type.
I was mid-scroll when my phone buzzed with a notification.
It was a direct message. I frowned and opened it before my heart dropped. “Oh shit.”
Busted!
Nikko was messaging me. I forgot people could see who was looking at their profiles. I should have locked my account down.
Meet me at the shop tonight at 8 for date #1.
My heart did this weird little flutter thing that I immediately tried to squash .
I stared at the message, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
Tara’s advice rang in my head. Be unpredictable.
So instead of confirming, I typed back: I’m busy.
I hit send and smiled to myself. Let him stew on that.
The reply came almost instantly.
Nikko: Busy doing what?
I smirked, feeling a flicker of satisfaction. Wouldn’t you like to know?
For once, I was the one keeping him guessing. And it felt damn good.
Nikko: I’ll see you at eight.
I groaned. We both knew I was going to show up. I was already failing my mission.