14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Avery
By the time Monday rolls around, I’m feeling more anxious about meeting Corbin than I had the first time. At least this time I know he’s going to give me a chance. But I also know how intimidating and infuriating he can be. The unknown was less scary than the memory of his hand on my neck and his body pressed against mine. Not that there will be any of that. Now that I know we’ ll be working together, I’m going to make it clear that we’re to keep things strictly professional.
I need this to work out. My career hangs in the balance. I won’t risk that for some sexy fling, no matter how curious I might be. So, no more innuendos. No more intense stares. No more talk of begging. Even though that last one has something dark stirring inside me. What would it take to make me beg? Before meeting Corbin, I would have said nothing could make me stoop so low. Now, I’m not so sure. The idea sends a flood of heat through me, and I’m shocked to find myself growing wet. What the fuck is wrong with me? Didn’t I just decide there would be no sexual undertones between me and Corbin? And here I am thinking about sex before I even see him. I need to get it together, or I’m never going to survive this apprenticeship.
I arrive at the shop five minutes early for my meeting with Corbin. I don’t know if this meeting will be just the two of us, or if the others who work at the shop will also be there. Part of me hopes they will be. I don’t know if I’m quite ready to be alone with him. He’s so intense. We weren’t even alone at the club that night and he’d managed to overwhelm me with his presence and his words. Now I’m starting to second-guess this whole situation.
What if he’s a total creep and I’ve just signed myself up for months of sexual harassment? Is it still sexual harassment if you want to rip off the harasser’s clothes? I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know that I can’t sit here in my car forever. I’m going to be late, and I doubt Corbin’s the kind of man who likes to be kept waiting. I have a feeling tardiness is something that would piss him off. With one last deep breath, I open my car door and climb out, heading for the front door.
The lot is empty except for one other vehicle. It’s a classic muscle car, but I don’t know enough about cars to know what kind. It’s pretty, though. Shiny and black with wide, white stripes down the hood. I wonder if it’s Corbin’s car. I do my best not to stare at it as I walk, trying to picture him behind the wheel. He’d look good in this car, I decide. Who am I kidding? The man is gorgeous. He’d look good in a clown car.
The door opens as I reach for it, startling me since my attention is still on the old muscle car. Tilting my head up, I look into the hard gaze of the object of my recent obsession. Corbin has his usual scowl in place, but he holds the door open for me to enter. I'm sure it’s more out of politeness than anything else, but I can't help feeling pleased by the gesture.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to inject a happy tone to my words.
Corbin just grunts in answer.
Okay, maybe he’s not a morning person. Some people aren’t. Not that it’s all that early. The morning is nearly over. Maybe he’s just not much for pleasantries? Or maybe I’m still on his shit list. That seems the most likely. But I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Whatever he feels about me, he agreed to train me. Now I just need to show him it’s not a waste of his time. I try to remember Cass’s words of encouragement from yesterday. Lifting my chin and pushing my shoulders back, I do my best to exude confidence.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me today,” I say, walking further into the shop.
Corbin doesn’t respond, so I go on.
“I’ll admit I was surprised you agreed to this arrangement after everything.” I trail off, wincing internally. Why did I say that? The last thing I should do is remind him of our disastrous first meeting and how much he’d been against taking me on as his apprentice. Smooth, Avery. Real smooth.
“I just mean that I’m glad you did,” I say, when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything.
I turn around to find him standing closer to me than I’d expected, and I jump. He’s holding my sketchbook in his hand for me to take. His eyes are locked on mine, but his expression is unreadable. Why are his eyes so intense? Does he look at everyone with that same unnerving gaze? Does everyone feel like he can see exactly what they’re thinking? Maybe that’s just me. I can’t help the little shiver that courses through me. I only hope he doesn’t notice. Reaching out, I force myself to take the leather-bound book from him.
“Thanks,” I say.
He just nods. “A deal’s a deal,” he says, speaking for the first time since I walked into the shop .
I nod, unsure how to respond. I want to ask him why he made the deal in the first place. I’d been on my way out the door. He’d won. Something changed his mind and it’s frustrating not to know what it was. But then I remember how angry he’d been about my deception, and I decide not to bring it up again.
“So, how is this going to work?” I ask, deciding to stick to the safer subject of our business arrangement. “We should go over what’s expected of me. Is there a curriculum? Or a training plan? I want to make sure I’m doing everything possible to learn as much as I can.”
He eyes me for a moment. “You talk a lot, huh?”
Annoyance flares through me. I’ve always been told I talk too much. From teachers. From my mother. From friends and fellow students. No matter how many times I tell myself I’m going to try to dial it back with a new person or a new group of people, I inevitably end up becoming the chattiest member of the group within a day or two. It’s something that I’ve always been criticized for, and I can’t help but be sensitive about it. But there’s no way he can know that. Besides, he hadn’t said it rudely. It had sounded more like an observation or a realization. I push aside the annoyance and remind myself that I’m grateful for this opportunity.
I also remind myself that this man is essentially my new boss for the foreseeable future. I’ve never had a real job, but I know that bosses typically like their employees to be respectful. Then I remember the many times I called him an asshole over the weekend and fight back another wince. Hopefully, Corbin can forget those incidents and we can start fresh.
I give him a tight smile and say, “I’ll try to rein it in.”
He eyes me for another long, slightly uncomfortable moment and makes a noise that might be something like an agreement. I can’t tell.
“What do you know about tattoos?” he asks, throwing me with the abrupt change of subject.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, I know that the art has been around for a lot longer than people think. The earliest evidence of tattooing goes back over 5000 years. There are many cultures that use tattoos as part of religious practices.”
He holds up a hand, halting my words. “That’s a nice history lesson, but it’s not relevant for what we do these days. What do you know about modern tattooing?”
Another flare of irritation surges through me, but I manage to push it down. Unlike his usual surliness, I don’t think he’s trying to be a dick right now. I think this is just his personality. Which means I’m going to need to get used to it.
“I know that the electric tattoo machine was invented in the late 1800s. It changed a lot over the first 50 or so years. The ones in use today are a lot less cumbersome than the old models. Makes it less painful for artists to use.”
“I’m not here for a history lesson,” he says, his tone harder than before. “Anyone could find that shit on Wikipedia. ”
Now he just sounds like a dick again. My irritation bubbles to the surface and I speak before thinking better of it.
“If we’re going to work together, you might try being a little nicer.”
Damn it. So much for my resolve to be respectful.
Corbin just looks at me without speaking for a long moment. I’m surprised to see that he doesn’t look angry at my outburst. His expression is more curious than anything.
“Why?”
I sigh, willing myself to find some patience. “Because that’s how normal people behave.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You might be used to fake people who lie and spout pleasantries, but that’s not how I operate. I hate liars and I don’t see the point in small talk.”
I know he’s talking about our first meeting with that jab about liars, but I do my best to ignore it. Instead, I try a different tack.
“Listen, I know we got off on the wrong foot,” I say, doing my best to make my voice sound conciliatory. “I’m sorry for the way I went about things. I lied about the reason for my appointment, yes. I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s not the kind of person I am. I’m honest and when I set a goal, I work hard to achieve it. I really want this to work. So, can we please start over?”
He eyes me for a long moment as if trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. Finally, he gives a small nod .
“Fine.”
Surprised, I blink at him. “Thank you,” I say, my surprise clear in my tone.
“Don’t sound so shocked. I can be reasonable.”
I just nod because I’m afraid that if I speak, I’ll say something sarcastic. Corbin has shown himself to be many things over the last few days, but reasonable isn’t one of them. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice my disbelief.
He eyes me for a moment. “Do you have any tattoos?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He huffs out a laugh that somehow manages to sound condescending, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he asks, “Why do you want to become a tattoo artist?”
I was afraid of this question. It’s one I’ve barely been able to answer myself. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, he’d want to know.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, still watching me with those intense, dark eyes that seem to see through me. For some reason, I want to tell him. I want him to understand this thing that I haven’t really voiced aloud to anyone else. Even Cass doesn’t really understand it. She has my back and will do anything to help me achieve my goals, but she doesn’t really get it. Taking a breath, I try to tell him what I haven’t been able to tell anyone else .
“My life has been laid out for me since before I was born,” I say, dropping my eyes to the sketchbook in my hands rather than meeting his gaze. “I’m not complaining, because I know I’ve had a good life. I grew up with money. I never had to worry about financial issues like most people. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful for that.
“But it’s never really felt like my life. Everything has been planned for me with no input from me. I’ve always known I wouldn’t be able to choose what I wanted to do with it, even after I moved out on my own. So, it’s never really felt like mine. I’m just doing what’s expected of me, what everyone else dictates. The only thing that’s ever felt truly mine is my art. Me being an artist isn’t a result of rich parents or good breeding. It’s all mine. I’m good at it because I work at it. And I love it.”
I stop short of telling him the real reason my art is so important to me. The real reason I feel like I need to turn it into something meaningful. My dad died, and I woke up with a talent I hadn’t had before. It’s a shitty trade, but it’s what I’ve got. It’s sort of all I have of him. I need to do something amazing with it. Something lasting. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug.
“The idea of sharing that with people makes me happy. I don’t want to make art that’s going to hang on someone’s wall so they can show it off to their rich friends. I don’t need to be immortalized that way. But the idea of someone choosing to put my art on their body? Something I created to permanently mark their skin? I don’t know. It feels like it means something.”
I sigh. “I’m sure that sounds ridiculous.”
“Not really.” He surprises me with his response, and I risk a glance up at his face.
He’s studying me again in that unnerving way, but this time it feels uncomfortable for a different reason. It still feels like he can see into my thoughts. Only this time, I almost want him to. And that’s something I shouldn’t want.
Corbin doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, and I almost worry that I said too much. He probably thinks I’m just a spoiled rich girl who wants to take a walk on the wild side. I shouldn’t have said anything about having rich parents. I don’t want my family to influence this part of my life. They’ve had too much influence over every other aspect of my life. I want this to be mine. As much mine as my art.
“Okay,” he says, finally. “But you should know that I don’t tolerate dishonesty. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt when you say that’s not who you are. That’s more than I give most people. But I don’t know you any more than you know me.”
I nod. “I get it. You don’t trust me yet. Fair enough. But—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t trust anyone. But especially not someone whose first meeting was built on a lie. Don’t come into this with the idea that we’re going to become friends. I don’t have friends. I have colleagues and business partners. You and I aren’t ever going to be friends. But if you prove yourself, you can become a colleague. Right now, you’re on probation.”
I bite back a smart reply, knowing it will only make things worse. I like to think I’m capable of reading the room when it comes to what to say and when, but something about Corbin’s holier-than-thou attitude makes the filter between my brain and my mouth go haywire. I finally force myself to nod.
“Understood.”
He eyes me as if he doesn’t trust my easy compliance, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Your schedule will follow mine. You work when I work. You get here on time or don’t bother showing up. I’ve never taken on an apprentice, so this is new for both of us. But we’re going to start off with the basics. Think of it like being in school. There’s going to be a lot to learn in a limited timeframe.”
I nod, feeling more at ease now. I’d expected him to be serious and no-nonsense when it comes to the apprenticeship.
“I know I have a lot to learn,” I say. “Thank you—”
“Don’t thank me,” he says, interrupting me. “I’m not handing you anything. This is a trial run. I’m giving you 90 days to prove you have what it takes to become my apprentice. Most tattoo apprentices don’t even start tattooing until a year or more in. This isn’t something you can just learn in a few months. It takes years to become good at this job. Even longer to make a name for yourself.”
Years? I don’t know why it sounds so shocking. Of course, I’d known this wouldn’t be easy. It’s not like I can just pick up a tattoo machine and instantly be good at it. But I don’t want to wait years just to start tattooing. And I definitely don’t want to wait a year before I can even try tattooing.
“To be honest,” Corbin goes on, oblivious to my internal debate. “I’ve never been interested in taking on an apprentice. I’m not a great teacher and I don’t have the patience to hold someone’s hand while they fuck up left and right.”
I try not to let my irritation at his comments show, but I secretly think he’s right. He clearly lacks the patience required for teaching. This is going to be a disaster.
“But I’ve given it some thought,” he says. “And if you’re willing to do what it takes to learn every aspect of this business, I’ll do my best to teach you the mechanics of tattooing. But that means you’re here 6 days a week. You’ll be available to do anything asked of you in this shop while you’re here. That includes cleaning, stocking, answering phones, and scheduling appointments. Basically, anything I don’t have time to do. Jessie was right about that, at least. We do need someone to help around here.”
I narrow my eyes. “So, this is like a job? ”
“This is a job, Miss Scott,” he says. “You’ll show up on time, do the work and collect a paycheck. After 90 days, if I think you have what it takes, I’ll start training you to tattoo. But you need to prove you’re reliable and willing to get those manicured hands dirty.”
He eyes me for a moment. “Have you ever had a job before?”
“I spent summers working at my family’s business,” I say. “But nothing like this.”
He nods. “That’s what I thought.”
I bite back a reply. He’s not wrong, but it’s irritating to feel so judged by this man who doesn’t know the first thing about me. I try to tell myself I don’t care what he thinks of me, but I know I’m lying. I don’t want him to think I’m some useless girl who doesn’t know the first thing about working a real job. Even though that’s technically true. I want him to see that I'm capable. I want him to see that there's more to me than he thinks.
“I’m a fast learner,” I say. “And I’m not afraid of hard work. Just tell me what’s expected of me and give me the tools needed to do the job. I’ll make it happen.”
I’m proud of the way my voice comes out sounding confident and sure, despite the nerves in my belly. I know if I screw this up, I won’t get another chance. Corbin strikes me as the type of man who doesn’t forgive easily. The fact that I’m here at all today is a big deal. Which reminds me. I know I shouldn’t be bringing his attention back to that disastrous first meeting, but I need to know.
“Why did you change your mind about me?” I ask .
He looks at me for a moment before speaking. “I haven’t yet. That’s up to you. But if you’re asking why I decided to give you a shot, you can thank Jessie. She seems to think you’d be a good fit here.” He shrugs. “I’m still on the fence.”
I nod, feeling slightly disappointed by the answer. Not that I’d expected him to tell me that he suddenly saw the potential in me and decided the shop needed me. It’s clear that he hadn’t really wanted to take me on as his apprentice. But he did, so I’m going to make sure he never has cause to regret it.
“I’ll prove to you that I can do this,” I say, hoping my words sound as confident to Corbin as they do in my head.
His expression is unreadable, so I can’t tell if I’ve swayed him. If I had to guess, I’d say no. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to convince him today. I need to show him. And I will.
“We’ll see, Miss Scott,” he says.
“Avery,” I correct. “You can call me Avery.”
His lips quirk up into something that almost resembles a smile and I feel my insides do a complicated little flip at the sight. It’s gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, which is a good thing. I don’t need to think about how sexy that little grin is. I don’t need to let myself wonder what caused that grin. And I absolutely do not need to wonder how those lips would feel on mine. I need to focus on this apprenticeship and convincing Corbin I’ll be a good tattoo artist.
“Is something funny about my name?” I ask .
He shakes his head. “Not really. It suits you.”
I wonder if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I don’t ask. I don’t think I want to know the answer. Besides, I can’t help the name my mother gave me.
“Okay,” he says. “You can call me Corbin.”
I dip my head once. “Corbin,” I say, enjoying the way his name rolls off my tongue.
Stop that! I mentally scold myself, but I’m not sure it makes much difference.
“Here.”
It takes me a second to notice the folder he’s holding toward me. I take it, wondering what’s inside. Before I can open it, Corbin explains.
“In that folder is a list of your job duties and a contract. You can read over it and bring it back tomorrow if you’re agreeable to the terms. But it states that you’ll work here at the shop as an assistant for 90 days, at which point you’ll be evaluated, and I’ll decide whether to move forward with an official apprenticeship. There’s no requirement for you to stay the full 90 days. If we decide it’s not working out, you can leave any time. It also states your pay rate and the shop’s policies.”
I nod, my eyes locked on the folder in my hands.
“If you’re okay with everything in there, be back here at 10am tomorrow for your first day.”
I smile at him. “I’ll be here.”
He doesn’t answer my smile. “Read it all before you decide."
“Okay,” I say .
He dips his head once in a single nod and I get the feeling he’s dismissing me. That was a quick meeting. He could have emailed me this contract instead of making me come all the way down here. Not that I’m going to mention that to him. I glance around at the empty shop, stalling.
“Do the others not work on Mondays?” I ask.
He follows my gaze and lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Depends. I let them decide which day of the week they’d like to take off. Jessie usually takes Mondays, so she’s off today. Noah takes Sundays off to spend with his family. He’ll be in a little later. You can choose one of those days to take off, too, if you like. They’re usually our slowest days, so you won’t miss as much if you’re not here.”
I nod, my opinion of him shifting slightly with the new information. A boss who lets his employees choose their day off. That’s not what I expected from Corbin James. But I’m starting to realize that there’s a lot I don’t know about this man.
“They’re not exactly employees,” he says as if reading my mind. “They pay to use the space, but they provide their own supplies, and they bring in their own clients.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“But part of their contract is that they work a set number of days per week and communicate with me about time off, so I’ll know what’s going on. But I’m not their mom. They can come and go as they please.”
I nod again. “So, you don’t have a piercer on Mondays, then? ”
“Noah and I are both licensed to do piercings,” he says. “But we prefer to tattoo. We take walk-ins for piercings but not tattoos. I usually offer clients the option of waiting until Tuesday for Jessie. But Mondays are usually our slowest day of the week anyway, so it doesn’t happen all that often.”
That’s good to know. “What’s your busiest day?”
"Friday and Saturday are usually the busiest."
“Makes sense,” I say. “Everyone with a 9-5 job has weekends off and wants to go out and do something wild.”
“Getting a tattoo isn’t all that wild,” he says.
There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, so I look over at him hoping to catch a glimpse of that sexy grin again, but he’s just watching me, his expression almost unreadable. There might be something in his eyes that hints at amusement, but it’s hard to tell.
“Putting permanent art on your body?” I say. “Letting someone mark you that way? It’s a little wild.”
I watch his face carefully as I speak, noting the slight lifting of one corner of his mouth before he quickly masks his amusement with indifference again. Satisfaction courses through me at being able to elicit even that small reaction from him.
“Maybe a little,” he concedes. “But I can think of a lot wilder things someone could do.”
My mouth goes dry as we stand there, silently eyeing each other, the air heavy with all the things we aren’t saying. Why do his words conjure up all sorts of fantasies of wild things we could do together? Or things he could do to me ? I feel my face heat with the beginnings of a blush and turn away before Corbin can see it. I don’t need him wondering what caused it. Or worse, knowing what caused it. I don’t think either of us has forgotten the scene in the club the other night. There’s no doubt that we’d both been turned on. But that’s the last thing either of us wants now. Whatever attraction we may feel for each other isn’t important. We need to focus on our professional relationships.
I clear my throat before speaking, hoping my voice sounds natural. “I’ll be here at 10 tomorrow.”
He nods toward the folder in my hand. “Read over that and be sure this is what you want.”
“Okay,” I say. “But there isn’t anything in here that’s going to make me change my mind. Just so you know.”
He sighs. “I figured you’d say that. Guess we’ll see how it goes.”
“I guess so. I’ll see you tomorrow, Corbin.”
He doesn’t say anything as I turn to go. I’m reaching for the door when I hear him speak.
“Avery?”
I freeze, my hand on the door handle. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name, and the sound of it catches me off guard. My stomach does a little flip as I realize that I don’t hate the sound of my name on his lips. I turn back to him, determined to keep my thoughts off my face.
“Yes? Was there something else? ”
For the first time since I met Corbin, he looks unsure. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks almost nervous. Which makes no sense. Why would he be nervous? He’s the one with all the power in this situation. If anyone should be nervous, it’s me. He doesn’t quite meet my gaze and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans when he finally speaks.
“The other night,” he says. “At the club?”
My face heats again as my mind pulls up the memory I’ve been trying to suppress for days. I should have known he’d bring it up eventually. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Foolishly, I’d assumed we’d entered into some unspoken agreement to never discuss it again. He’s been totally professional today, aside from his usual, general grumpiness. I’d almost believed we could avoid talking about it altogether. Clearly, I was wrong.
“What about it?” I ask, proud when my voice comes out sounding confident instead of shaky.
“That won’t happen again,” he says. “I’m not some asshole who preys on his employees. I know there are people like that out there, but that’s not me. I just wanted you to know that. Going forward, things between us will be strictly professional.”
I get the feeling that he’s saying this to reassure me that he’s not a creep. I hadn’t really believed he was. But the obvious sincerity on his face as he speaks has me believing him. I nod. That’s what I want. Right? Of course, it is. It’s what I need if this thing is going to work. So, why do I feel a pang of disappointment? I don’t, I tell myself. It’s just his nearness coupled with him bringing up the incident at the club that has me flustered. This is a good thing. Professionalism is exactly what we both need.
“Good,” I say. “Thanks for telling me.”
“I don’t want there to be any confusion about our roles in the shop,” he says, his voice sounding steadier now and more like the professional grump from a few minutes before. “This is a business arrangement. Nothing more.”
Once again, I feel a slight sting at his tone coupled with his terse words. I’m not even sure why. It’s exactly what I want. I force a light tone when I speak again.
“No confusion here,” I assure him with what I hope is a convincing smile.
He dips his head once in a nod, but his expression doesn’t change. “Good. Glad that’s settled.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
Turning, I push open the door and leave the shop. I don’t bother glancing back to see if Corbin watches me go.