The Opposite Effect

by Shandi Boyes

  Leaning against the doorframe, I cross my arms in front of my chest. “First job?” My deep voice only just conceals my laughter. “How old are you?”

  After smoothing the crinkles her determined hold created in her jacket, she locks her eyes with mine. “I’m twenty-five, and yes, it is my first job,” she replies, her tone full of warning that this subject is not up for further discussion.

  Deciding it is too early in the week to engage in World War III, I remark, “Arriving fifteen minutes before your shift will be more than adequate to show your appreciation.”

  She briefly nods. “So can I come in?”

  Her eyes narrow when I shake my head. “I’m assuming that’s yours?” I gesture my head to the white BMW convertible parked in prime position at the front of the shop.

  A ghost of a smile creeps across her plump lipstick-covered lips. “Yes.”

  “Then you need to move it. There's an employee parking lot located at the back of the shop.”

  Her eyes rocket to mine. The gleam brightening her gaze from absorbing her expensive pride and joy dampens as the seconds tick by.

  “Is the parking lot secure?”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “No, but it is where all employees park their vehicles.”

  “Then my car is fine where it is,” she snaps, crossing her arms under her ample chest.

  “If you think your ride is safer parked in the street in clear view of thieving eyes than the parking lot, Princess, you’ve underestimated this side of Ravenshoe. No gangbanger will dare touch your precious pride and joy if it is parked at the back of Inked.”

  She snarls, baring teeth, either hating my use of her nickname or me calling out her stupidity. Either way, I don’t care. “If you're planning on walking into this premises as an employee, move your piece of shit car into the parking lot. If not, have a pleasant evening.”

  A winning smile stretches across my mouth when Clara rolls her arms in front of her body like she's curtseying the crowned Prince of Denmark as she walks backwards. She just needs to remove the crown from her head and place it on mine and her performance would be more realistic.

  Smirking, I nod when she points to the alley at the side of the shop after unlocking her car doors. “Down the alley and around the back.”

  She rolls her eyes at the arrogance of my reply.

  “I’ll meet you at the employee entrance,” I add on, rubbing more salt into her freshly cut wounds.

  Not waiting for her to reply, I close and lock the door of Inked and head to the employee only entrance at the back of the shop. I still can’t believe Clara McGregor—Princess-Fucking-Socialite—wants to work at Inked. I took a bit of time the past two days running our prior confrontations through my mind. Other than hitting a late case of teen rebellion, I'm at a loss as to why someone like Clara would want to work at Inked – let alone anywhere. It honestly doesn’t make any sense. Just the tennis bracelet encasing her delicate wrist is worth more than my annual salary, and her pride and joy I just insulted no doubt cost more than my apartment. But even knowing she has more money than sense, I’ll follow through with my pledge. Why? Because I'm a man of my word. I’ll play along with Clara’s little ruse for as long as she wants as I doubt she will last a few hours, let alone a few days.

  Snagging a spare key for the back door off the key rack, I push open the heavily weighted steel door at the back of Inked. Like a shadow I can’t shake, Clara is standing under the rusted awning waiting for me.

  “The lock can be a bit stiff, just jimmy the key a little and it should pop right out,” I instruct, pinching the key between my index finger and thumb.

  Clara snatches the key out of my grasp and cocks her brow. “Why give me a key if you want me to jimmy the lock? Seems like a pointless task.”

  Ignoring her cattiness, I continue. “You should also consider removing your bling. It doesn’t fit in around here, and it will only lead to trouble.” I clutch the diamond pendant dangling around her neck and hoist it into the air.

  She snatches the pendant out of my grasp. “You should consider removing your attitude, because it doesn’t fit in around here,” she snips under her breath.

  I smirk. “Will it be like this the entire two weeks? I say something, you fire back with a bitchy comment?”

  “Depends,” she replies with a shrug.

  I glare into her stern eyes. “On what exactly?”

  “On if you keep saying stupid things.”

  I back her into the outer wall of the shop and press my hands on each side of the brickwork next to her shoulders. The veins in her neck thrum, but she maintains my eye contact, trying to act like my intimidating stance isn’t affecting her.

  “If you want to work here, you need to lose the attitude. If you can’t do that, I suggest you slide your pretty little ass back into your pretty little car and drive your princess stuck-up routine back to the pretty side of Ravenshoe. Because that side of town may see your hard-balled approach as determination, where I just see it as a spoiled little bitch hiding behind a pile of money.”

  Her lips thin into a hard, disapproving line. “I'm just giving as good as I'm getting, Brax,” she replies, locking her challenging blue eyes with mine.

  I’ll give it to her: this time around, she’s got me played. I’ve given Clara just as much attitude as she has been bestowing upon me. So much, I’m certain if my grandmother ever catches wind of my interactions with Clara, she will have my head placed on the guillotine block. She has quoted numerous times the past twenty-eight years of my life that, “No matter if they're richer than a queen or poorer than a struggling artist; every woman has the right to be treated with dignity and respect.”

  But I can’t help it. Clara riles me up. Not just my hackles, but my cock as well. The first half of my weekend was filled trying to work out what her deal was. The second half was spent striving to release the stranglehold her feistiness placed on my cock. Just like I came up stumped on why a socialite like Clara would want to work at Inked, nothing could ease the throb of my cock. Not even the pretty little blonde with icy blue eyes I picked up last night.

  For some strange, unknown reason, my cock has set his sights on a little temptress with a scornful mouth and even more sinful lips. I can’t say I don’t understand his fascination. Clara is so much of a sexpot, she only needs to breathe to excite a red-blooded guy. Just the way she's staring up at me now, panting hard with her painted lips pursed makes her so tempting all I want to do is wipe the sass right out of her mouth with my fucking tongue.

  Knowing that will never happen, I drop one of my hands from the wall and scrub it over the few days of scruff on my chin. “I don’t think this is a good idea. This agreement isn’t going to work out.”

  My cock is already aching to sink into her, and she’s only been here for five seconds, so imagine how bad it will be in an hour?

  Clara releases a long breath while crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going anywhere until my trial is over. I may not have signed an official employment document, but a verbal contract is just as binding as a written one. Believe me; I checked.”

  “Then I’ll pay you two weeks of salary and we'll call it a day.”

  After glaring into my eyes, Clara slips under my arm and saunters into the shop like she owns the place. Her shoulders are straight and her head is held high as she slings off her jacket and hangs it on the coatrack before heading to the foyer. For the first time in her three visits to the premises, she's standing on the opposite side of the counter.

  “Are you going to show me where everything is? Or am I going to figure it out on my own?”

  I grit my teeth and take three paces towards her. “Did you hear anything I said? I’ll pay you your two weeks owed.”

  “Yeah, I heard every word that spilled from your lips, Brax.” She spits my name out like it is a piece of trash. “Unlike you, I don’t have any concerns with my hearing.”

  “Then why are you still standing in my foye
r? I’m a man of my word. I’ll follow through on my agreement. You’ll get your money.”

  She places her hands on her hips and stares me straight in the eyes. “You agreed to give me a two-week trial. I'm here to commence my two-week trial. I'm not a charity case.” Her words come out shaky during the last part of her statement.

  “Now are you going to show me where everything is? Or am I going to figure it out on my own?” she requests again, glaring at me.

  I stare at her, looking like a slack-jawed idiot. I’ve never had someone with enough gall to spar up against me on my own turf before, let alone a woman my cock wants to wrestle beneath the sheets. Even giving her a stare that would make most men cower, she doesn’t yield the slightest. If anything, her determination strengthens. Unstoppable. She came here to start her two-week trial, and she isn’t leaving until that happens.

  Realizing that arguing with a woman like Clara is utterly pointless, I eat humble pie before spending the next thirty minutes giving her a general rundown on how the shop operates. I explain how she will be left in charge of booking all the appointments, taking clients’ payments, and pretty much doing anything the crew requests for her to do. She's quick, but I don’t miss the tiniest flare of anxiety that crosses her face when I mention she has to do anything the crew demands.

  “Other than Charity, the rest of the crew won’t be overly demanding.”

  She nods as she follows me to the hallway.

  “Charity can get a little handsy, but don’t let it bother you. She’s harmless.” I stop talking and run my eyes over Clara’s body. “Although, for you, she may be extra grabby.”

  The spark of worry tainting her face explodes into a full flare.

  “If it gets more than you can handle, holla, and I’ll have a quiet word with Charity.”

  Her throat works hard to swallow before she shakes her head. “It’s okay, I can take care of myself.” The shakiness of her words undermines the strength of her statement.

  When we enter the manager’s office, I take a seat behind my old scratched up desk. “If you stay out of my hair, I’ll stay out of yours. Then this arrangement might work out for the both of us.”

  An uncharacteristic smile spreads across Clara’s face. Although she looks out of place in my small, poorly furnished office, the careful consideration she paid while I explained her position shows she isn’t walking into this job lightheartedly. Surprisingly, she appears as if she actually wants to be here. Unsurprisingly, her smile has the front of my jeans tightening.

  My body’s reaction to her pisses me off. Not because I’m ungrateful my cock appears to be back in working order, but because the goal it is striving for is unattainable. I hardly know the woman standing before me, yet she already has me wanting to cross out the number one rule I swore I’d never break when I signed on as a partner at Inked: never mix business with pleasure. The fact she already has me wanting to break my rules pisses me off more than the hardness in my jeans.

  After she finishes absorbing the outdated office space, Clara connects her glistening eyes with mine. “Where's my desk?”

  I laugh while pushing my chair away from my desk. “There's only one seat in this office, Princess. So you either take my knee, or. . .” My eyes stray to the faded red couch pushed up against the wall.

  “The sofa it is,” Clara fills in, moving towards the couch.

  I have a feeling this will be the longest two weeks of my life.

  Chapter Five

  “Still can’t believe you made Ms. Fancy Thing a member of the Inked family,” Diesel says, walking into my office. “You gonna keep her around?”

  I drift my eyes past his shoulder to Clara manning the front counter before lifting my shoulders into a shrug. “She seems to be doing alright.”

  Clara has slipped into her makeshift role at Inked surprisingly well. She's a little uptight, but the male clientele have had no complaints—they're too busy enjoying the view to be angry about her occasional smart mouth. The female customers on the other hand. . . they're not as appreciative of the qualities Clara brings to Inked. Thankfully, our male-to-female ratio at Inked sits at around seventy to thirty.

  I turn my eyes back to Diesel. “Have any of the guys said anything? Got any concerns if we keep her on?”

  Diesel lowers himself onto the couch, crumpling the paperwork Clara has sprawled across her “desk” before locking his eyes with mine. “I wasn’t talking about keeping her around as an employee.” He stares at me with a jeering grin etched on his face. “I was talking on a more personal level.”

  A whizz of air parts my nose. “The only reason Clara is standing behind that counter is because she's here for the dollars. Hell would freeze over before anything personal happens between us.”

  The mocking grin on Diesel’s face enlarges. “Don’t go acting like your cock hasn’t stood to attention every time she greeted you with a bit of lip. You’ve always liked them with a bit of attitude. That’s why you’re always hiding out in your office the last two weeks: so your desk can conceal the stiffness in your jeans.”

  I smirk, but don’t refute his claim. Diesel and I have been friends since fifth grade, so he’d see through any ruse I dangled in front of him. I’m also not one for lying. Even with Clara giving me as good as I’ve been dishing the past two weeks, she just needs to nibble on the end of her pen and my cock is paying careful attention to every move she makes. I’m endeavoring to keep my head in the game–the head on my shoulders, not the one between my legs–which ensures our little tit for tat routine will never be anything more than an employee and employer having a difference of opinion. Now I just need my cock to get the memo.

  Diesel cranks his neck to the side just as Clara bends over to gather a register roll from the lower shelf of the cabinet in the foyer. “Damn! I’d even take a bit of lip for an ass that fine.”

  I lean deeper into my chair. “You’ve got to get the bar bunnies out of your bed before you’ll ever have the opportunity to get a woman of Clara’s standards between your sheets. Besides, Inked has rules on the crew not messing around. When that happens, shit gets complicated.”

  Diesel chuckles. “Fuck the rules. We’ve never had a woman like Clara work for us. If we did, the rules would have been broken years ago. And while I’m being totally fuckin’ forthright, you would have been the first to break them. You had a fondness for bending the rules before you were out of diapers.”

  My lips curl into a smirk. What he's saying is true. Not just on my rule breaking, but on the previous female employees of Inked. Other than Charity, none had Clara’s sexpot beauty. They were interesting and had great personalities, but they were hired solely based on their credentials. Does that mean I only hired Clara because she makes my dick twitch? No, not at all. What? For someone who doesn’t like lying, you’re doing a mighty fine job of it, Brax.

  In all honesty, at the start, Clara was offered a position solely because she's beautiful. But she remains a member of Inked because she has a strong work ethic. Her looks are just an added bonus. What Clara said during her impromptu interview was true. This situation is a win-win for us both. By keeping our clients happy, they will return again and again. The visual of Clara prancing around the shop in skintight designer dresses keeps my clients happy.

  I scrub my hand over the few days of stubble on my chin. “There’s a difference between bending the rules and breaking them. Tapping Clara would be demolishing them.”

  “She’d be worth the hassle. You’ve always said it is the rich girls who are wilder in the bedroom. Clara is making me want to test your theory,” Diesel replies, his voice a mix between playful and determined.

  I glare into Diesel’s hanker-filled eyes. “Are you gonna make a move on Clara?”

  Diesel rubs his hands together as his mocking grin switches to eagerness. “You got any objections if I do?”

  The first thought to enter my mind is, fuck yes, I mind. The second is, why do I even care? Although I’ve been using the �
�no messing with the crew clause” as my excuse to stay away from Clara, it isn’t set in stone for my crew. It’s not in their employment contract, and it’s not mentioned during the hiring process, so Diesel is well within his rights to ignore it. But even knowing this, I still don’t want him touching Clara. She isn’t mine, and she will most likely never be mine, but for some reason, unbeknownst to me, the thought of Diesel treating Clara like she's a bunny annoys the shit out of me.

  Before I can reply to Diesel’s question—or compile a reason as to why I object to his request—a flurry of blonde scurrying past my office door catches my attention. Rolling my eyes at her imperfect timing, I say, “Come on in, Princess, you’ve never been concerned about knocking before, so what’s changed now?”

  Clara’s red pumps enter the frame first, closely followed by the rest of her enticing body. “It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a look of concentration on your face. I wasn’t sure if you were holding a serious discussion or needing to use the bathroom.”

  Diesel’s deep laughter fills the office.

  “You’ll be cleaning the bathroom if you don’t watch it,” I grumble, glaring at Diesel, my mood still edgy from his disclosure of his interest in Clara.

  “Un-fucking-likely,” Diesel replies, sinking deeper into the couch.

  Leaning back in my chair, I intertwine my fingers, striving to ignore the way Diesel’s eyes roaming over the dark green emerald dress clinging to the curves of Clara’s body has caused a tick to impinge my jaw.

  The clicking of heels bounces off the wall when Clara pushes off the doorjamb and ambles deeper into the space. “Charity has secured a walk-in, and Johnny has advised he will be indisposed for an hour.”

  A ghost of a smile stretches across my face from the disgruntled cloud her eyes got when she referred to Johnny’s unavailability.

  “The remainder of the crew don’t have any clients arriving for another hour, so I’m going to grab a quick bite to eat.”