6. Ember
EMBER
To save money, I’ve been making public transportation work in a city where most people say having a car is a necessity. I used to have one, but it reached the point where it wasn’t worth fixing anymore. Since I rely on buses, the new Beasts Ink location is going to test the limits of my time and patience.
I left my apartment extra early so that I’d be on time, but the connecting bus was late, and now I’m hurrying down the street on foot with only minutes to spare.
It’s not as if my presence at the shop upon opening is crucial. The day’s schedule is booked with existing clients, and the artists know what they’re doing, but I want to be there to greet people as they arrive.
I don’t mean to be a control freak, but this is a big opportunity, and being a hands-on manager will let me make the most of it. The shop is my responsibility, and I want everything to be perfect.
Someone is already standing at the front door, and I worry that a client has beat me there, but as I get closer, Griffin comes into focus.
“Why are you waiting outside? Gage gave all of you keys, didn’t he?”
He holds out one big hand, a coffee cup from my favorite shop all but disappearing in his fist. “I brought this for you.”
“Oh.” I blink up at him. “There’s a coffeemaker in the waiting area. I checked yesterday, and we have all the supplies for it.”
“I’m sure a salted caramel cold brew wouldn’t taste nearly as good if we tried to make it here.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” When I take the cup from him, he opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. I was typically the one who ran out for coffee at our former location, and I don’t remember Griffin ever doing a drinks run, so I’m both surprised and flattered that he knows what my favorite kind of coffee drink is.
This sweet gesture is something different from his usual play-flirting. Could Lexy be right about him liking me?
As soon as I cross the threshold, I brush that thought aside. Behind all his teasing, Griffin’s a friend, and this coffee is a friendly gesture on our opening day. Or maybe he’s going to suck up to me now that I’m his boss.
In any case, I have too much else to think about today.
Frank’s already at his station, a cup of coffee in his hand from the same shop as mine. He gives me a nod when I look his way.
Zeb’s lounging in the waiting area, focused on his phone, one leg propped on the brand new coffee table, the other bouncing at a faster pace than the music one of them has already put on. When I call out, “Good morning” to both men, Zeb raises a hand in greeting, then goes back to his phone.
The coffeemaker’s on; the small refrigerator is filled with bottled water. The overhead lights are shining. There are also individual lamps at each station that the artists can turn on when they’re working.
Everything seems to be in order, and all that’s really left to do at the moment is turn on the “Open” sign in the front window.
“Here we go,” I say, feeling the need to commemorate the moment. I’m excited, and Griffin is his usual upbeat self, singing along with the Green Day song that’s playing, but it seems like it’s just another day to Frank and Zeb. Oh, well.
A crooked piece of artwork in Frank’s corner catches my eye, and I go over to adjust it, earning a gruff, mumbled “Thanks.” His voice is a deep rumble that sends an inconvenient twinge to my most sensitive places.
I helped the guys hang dozens of frames yesterday, most of them pictures of completed tattoos, along with sketches showcasing their unique styles. All three of them are fairly versatile, but Griffin specializes in the surreal and playful new school style, Frank is experienced in traditional Japanese tattoos, and Zeb is known for black and gray and realism. They’re a great mix to staff this new location.
The first client arrives, and my stomach fizzes with excitement, even though all I need to do is say hello and check them in, just like I’ve been doing every day I’ve worked for Beasts Ink. It’s an older man, one I recognize from the main location, here for Frank. A few minutes later, a woman in her 30s arrives for Griffin.
The majority of Griffin’s clients seem to be women—though, to be fair, the clientele at Beasts Ink skews female, with people coming in after seeing Gage and Kai on TV, and salivating at the chance to ogle the handsome men in person. They come for Gage and Kai, and stay for all the good-looking men. Plus the quality work, of course—I can’t forget that.
Zeb’s client isn’t due for another half an hour, so I slip away to the office in the back. There isn’t much need for the office yet, since I’ll be spending most of my time at the front desk until we grow and possibly hire a dedicated receptionist.
When I first interviewed at Beasts Ink, I never envisioned the opportunity for advancement. I still see myself at a corporate office one day, but I’m definitely not closing my mind to a future in the tattoo business. I’ve learned a lot since I started working for Gage and Kai, and I’m proud that they’re so pleased with my work.
The office contains a desk, a couple of chairs, and a file cabinet that’s mostly empty. I make a mental note to get some folders started for the financials I’ll be tracking. In contrast to the client-facing areas, the walls are bare, and I’d like to change that, even if no one will be regularly using this space.
When I exit the room, I run smack into a wall of cotton and leather, my face pressing into Zeb’s hard chest, before we do that back and forth dance of trying and failing to get out of each other’s way. Finally, his big hands grip my upper arms to hold me still, and I accidentally inhale the tangy, citrusy scent of him. I momentarily forget where I’m going, or even where I am, for that matter.
I wish Lexy had never said anything about these men liking me. Not only because I don’t think it’s true, but also because it has inadvertently kicked off new daydreams and night dreams. Having Zeb’s hands on me isn’t helping.
“Slow down, Em. Where’s the fire?”
A fire has started somewhere under my skirt—especially with Zeb calling me Em, which he’s never done before—and I truly hope he isn’t aware of the effect he’s having on me.
“This hallway’s pretty narrow, isn’t it?” Apparently, even with my brain short-circuited, I still have enough neurons left to state the obvious.
He takes his hands away, and I immediately miss them. There was something both comforting and commanding in the way he held me, and even the ghost of that feeling is continuing to turn me on.
Zeb’s general mood is prickly, but I happen to know he’s hiding a warm heart beneath the plain black t-shirt and biker jacket. I’ve seen him give money to people on the street, and a few months ago he rescued a dog that was hanging around outside the main location and found her owner.
“Um … I was just headed to the storage room.” I gesture to the door beyond his broad shoulders, and he turns sideways, giving me just barely enough room to pass. Despite my efforts, I brush against him as I slide by, and my nipples go hard. Praying he didn’t notice, I slip inside the storage room and shut the door.
It takes me a few moments to catch my breath. The small space is neatly stocked with ink, gloves, ointment, and other supplies, but I’m desperately wishing we had an icemaker back here, because I could use some cooling off.