3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Corbin
When the bell over the front door rings alerting me to the arrival of a customer, I glance at the clock. 11:55am. My gaze goes to the woman who just walked in, eyeing her from head-to-toe. She’s a tiny thing. Cute, though. She seems a little out of place in a tattoo shop, but I know better than anyone that outward appearances can be misleading sometimes. She’s looking around the shop, one hand stuffed into the pocket of her jeans. Her gaze tracks over the framed art on the walls. She seems to be looking anywhere but at me or Jessie.
I hide my amusement over her obvious nerves. Since I opened the shop nearly a decade ago, I’ve seen all sorts of people walk into my shop asking for all sorts of different art on their bodies. They all have various reasons for why they’re here. It’s not my place to judge. I typically don’t care why someone wants a tattoo. I also don’t care much about the design they choose.
If I had my choice, I’d like to design every tattoo I ink onto someone’s body. But I’m not picky. I don’t have a lot of guidelines for what I’ll tattoo. If the client can pay and it’s within my abilities, I’ll do it. The only time I’ll refuse a tattoo is if the design is inspired by hate or bigotry. I’ll tell someone to leave in a heartbeat for that shit. I don’t care if I lose business from racists or bigots. Fuck that. Luckily, it hasn’t happened often.
For the first time in years, I find myself wondering about a client’s story. I wonder what brings this woman in today. I can’t see any ink on her from here. Not that that tells me anything. For all I know she has her entire back covered in tattoos. Or she’s got a secret labia tattoo. I’ve done a few of those over the years. I glance at the computer, checking the name of my 12pm appointment.
Avery Scott.
That’s a rich girl name if I’ve ever heard one. I watch her as she looks around the shop, taking everything in. Her black hair is perfectly straight and smooth, brushing the tops of her shoulders and showcasing the slender column of her neck. The green shirt she’s wearing contrasts nicely with her pale skin and subtly outlines her small breasts and narrow waist. I reevaluate my earlier assessment. She’s not cute. Beautiful is too strong of a word, but there’s something about her that holds my attention. She’s…striking. I consider the word, deciding that yes, it suits her.
I don’t let any of what I’m thinking show on my face as she approaches the counter. Jessie gives her a smile as she stands to greet her. I stay near my work station, watching the interaction.
“Can I help you?” Jessie asks.
The woman gives Jessie a smile that seems to transform her face. The nerves are gone, and she looks confident and sure of herself, even if she still doesn’t quite fit in here. I’m struck by the force of her smile, even though it isn’t directed at me. Weird.
“Hi,” she says. “I have an appointment with Corbin at 12 today.”
I nearly smile. Just as I thought. She’s here for a tattoo consultation with me. Her voice is just what I expected. Musical and dainty. She reminds me of a tiny pixie. I wonder if she’d even come up to my shoulder if I stood next to her. Hell, I bet my hand would wrap all the way around her neck. At the thought, an image of her throat in my hand pops into my head before I push it aside. That’s the last thing I need to be thinking about. She’s the type of woman I tend to avoid. Small. Fragile. Breakable. I prefer a woman who likes it a little rough and can take it. That’s not this girl. No matter how enticing the idea might be. Besides that, she’s a potential client. I’m not some creep who tries to hook up with his clients.
Jessie turns to look at me, a smirk on her face. “This one’s yours, boss.”
I stand and make my way over to the counter as Jessie walks back to her station.
“Miss Scott?” I ask.
She smiles and gives me a quick nod. “Y-yes,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She covers quickly, but I’d heard the little quaver in her voice. I force a small smile, hoping to put her more at ease. I’m not sure why she’s so nervous. A lot of people get anxious before getting a tattoo, especially the first timers. But today is just a consultation. We’re just going to discuss her idea for a tattoo, the location and whether it’s feasible. For some reason, just being here has Avery nervous.
“Come on back and we’ll talk about what you’re looking for,” I say, gesturing with one hand.
I do my best to make my voice calm and friendly, feeling the need to soothe her nerves. I may be an asshole, but I also work in customer service. A scared client may not return for her tattoo. Which means wasted time and effort on my part. That’s not the way to run a business.
I follow her as she makes her way over to my work area, my eyes straying down to check out her ass as I do. It’s small, like the rest of her, but there’s a nice round curve filling out her jeans. It’s just a quick glance, but I can’t help but appreciate the view. She takes a seat in the chair I indicate, and I sit across from her. I’m close enough to smell her subtle perfume. It’s sweet, but not overbearing. Something floral, maybe. Whatever it is, I like it. I inhale slowly through my nose, letting the scent linger there for a moment before turning to look at her.
“So, what sort of tattoo are you thinking about?”
“I have some ideas,” she says, pulling the large bag off her shoulder and into her lap.
She takes only a second to pull out a thick folder, making me wonder just how many tattoo ideas this woman has.
“I’m not totally sure what I want,” she says. “But I have some drawings here.”
I take the folder from her and open it to the first sketch. I don’t know what I expected to see when I opened the folder, but I’m surprised by the quality of the art on the page. The first drawing is a hyper-realistic depiction of a dahlia. It's a gorgeous piece. The colors are vibrant and make it look almost as if I could reach down and pluck it from the page. The next one is another colorful piece. It's a riot of feathery wings that take up the entire page. They're done in shades of purple, blue and deep emerald. I flip through the book faster now, impressed by the skill I'm seeing.
I glance up from the sketchbook to see Avery watching me. The expression on her face is a mix of hope and nerves.
“These are good,” I say. “Did you draw them?”
She nods, her shoulders relaxing some of their obvious tension.
“Thanks. I’m glad you think so.”
“These drawings are all very different in theme,” I say, flipping through the book faster as I talk. “Is there something particular you’re wanting from this tattoo?”
“Actually,” she says in a hesitant voice. “There is something different I was hoping to discuss.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “I wanted to talk to you about my portfolio.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, it hits me. The real reason she came here today. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. A girl like her coming to my studio, showing me a portfolio instead of a few similar designs to work with. Anger flares through me, hot and fast. My gaze shoots to her face as I close the sketchbook with more force than necessary, leaving it on the table between us.
“Solicitors aren’t welcome here,” I say in a hard tone. “I have no need to buy someone else’s artwork. I create my own.”
I rise to my feet, towering over her now. She’s wearing a shocked expression on her face, her hazel eyes wide with something like fear as she shakes her head.
“That’s not why I’m here,” she says quickly.
I fold my arms over my chest and look down at her. “Oh? Care to tell me why you’re here? And don’t lie to me about wanting a tattoo. ”
I know I sound like an asshole, but I can’t help it. This woman came here under false pretenses and wasted time that could have gone to a potential client. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s someone wasting my time. In my job, time is literally money. So, any time wasted is money I don’t have. Avery stands to her full height, which means the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. But the added height must give her a boost of confidence because she matches my stance, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting my gaze.
“I want to be your apprentice,” she says quickly, the words tripping over themselves.
Distracted by how cute she looks standing there, trying to intimidate me, it takes me a second to realize what she just said. When she does, I almost laugh. Instead, I just shake my head before making a show of looking her up and down with derision.
“Apprentice? You? First of all, I don’t take on apprentices. Ever. I’m not starting now.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand, stopping her words.
“Second of all,” I continue. “Even if I were to have an apprentice, you wouldn’t be it. You don’t know the first thing about what I do. Do you even have any tattoos?”
Her expression is all the confirmation I need.
“I didn’t think so. I’m willing to bet this is your first time inside a tattoo studio, isn’t it? What did you think was going to happen? You’d walk in here, looking like a sweet little angel and I’d roll over and beg you to let me teach you? Not a chance. Go back to your country club and your private tennis lessons, or whatever prissy little girls like you are into.”
I turn to walk back toward my office, finished with this conversation. Before I can take two steps, I feel a small hand on my arm, pulling me backward. It’s not enough to actually move me, but it’s clear she’s not letting go. Amusement wars with irritation, but I feel myself turning back to face her.
Gone is the meek-looking woman of a moment earlier. Her eyes flash with fiery anger and her cheeks have bright spots of color on them. Her jaw is tightly clenched and those previously full lips are drawn in a tight line.
“You’re going to listen to me,” she says, her words almost a command. “It’s the least you can do. Besides, I’m scheduled for a 30-minute consultation.” She glances at her watch before looking back at me. “I still have 18 minutes.”
I’ll be damned if the sight of this tiny woman spitting fire at me doesn’t turn me on, just a little. I’d been slightly attracted before when she was just standing there looking innocent and nervous. But now? The defiant stance and the angry glare have me wondering how far I can push her before the little angel snaps and does something reckless.
“You made your appointment under false pretenses, Miss Scott,” I grit out. “So, I don’t need to stay and listen to anything you have to say. ”
“Just give me five minutes of your time,” she says.
“I think you’ve wasted enough of my time,” I say.
“I think you should hear her out.” Jessie’s voice comes from my right, and I turn to glare at her.
“Don’t,” I warn, pointing a finger in her direction. “This doesn’t involve you.”
As usual, Jessie ignores me and keeps talking. “I work here, so it involves me. I think this place could use a fresh perspective. Plus, she could help with our scheduling issues.”
“What scheduling issues?” Avery asks, turning to look at Jessie.
“He double books himself at least twice a month,” Jessie says. “Some of the clients get pissed. Leave bad reviews online.”
I grind my teeth and give Jessie an even darker glare. “I’ve got it handled.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Jessie mutters before turning to walk back to her station.
“I can handle scheduling,” Avery says brightly. “Plus, any other little things you need me to do to help your business run smoothly. I have a double major in graphic design and business with a minor in fine arts. You saw my portfolio. You said yourself my work is good. You need me. You just don’t see it yet.”
Regardless of whether I need someone to help manage the office side of things or not, I hate being backed into a corner and I won’t be manipulated this way. Avery came here under false pretenses. Her dishonesty pisses me off more than her audacity.
“Leave now, or I’ll call the cops and have you escorted from the premises,” I say.
Her eyes widen with the first real hint of fear I’ve seen since she walked in the door. Interesting. Something about the police worries her. Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to cause a scene.
“That’s right,” I say. “You don’t want your name in a police report, do you? An angel like you has probably never been in trouble with the law. What would your parents think? Would they cut off your trust fund? How would you survive? Would you have to get a real job? What would your sorority sisters think?”
“Fuck off, Corbin,” she says. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
I flash her a smile of victory, knowing I finally managed to get under her skin. “I think I’m closer to the mark than you want me to be. Tell me, how would mommy and daddy feel about their little angel slumming it with a bunch of tattooed, pierced degenerates? I’ll bet they’d have a stroke if they knew.”
“You’re an asshole,” she mutters.
I laugh. “First true thing you’ve said since you walked in, angel.”
We stand there, glaring at one another for a few seconds before she sighs. She closes her eyes for just a second, shaking her head. She mutters something under her breath that I don’t quite catch before turning toward the door. A sharp stab of disappointment hits me, surprising me. I told her to leave, so why does it bother me that she’s giving up? Because I’d enjoyed goading her. I liked knowing I could get under her skin. Seeing her shift from the meek, shy woman she’d been when she walked in, to the fiery, assertive one who insisted I give her an apprenticeship had been interesting.
Interesting? Hell, it had been hot as fuck. My dick has been half-hard since she stood up and grabbed my arm. Not that it matters. My dick doesn’t call the shots. This is business. I’ve never taken on apprentices. I won’t let something as trivial as a pair of hazel eyes and a bold attitude change my stance now. She can find some other studio to work with. It won’t be mine.