“I’d love that,” she said, sliding her sketchbook and charcoals back into her purse.
Thirty minutes later, Holly was standing outside Trent’s tattoo studio. And for some bizarre reason, she suddenly felt nervous. Being judged every week, coming second… maybe it had messed with her head. Or worse, with her confidence.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Ryan asked.
Her nervousness had obviously shown on her face so she took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but I…” Ryan studied her intently and then reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
It was an oddly intimate gesture, but one she invited and savored. “You what?”
Ryan pulled his hand away. “Nothing. Go, have fun,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the door.
There was something growing between the two of them, and his sudden coolness simply told her he didn’t know how to handle it any more than she did. “Good luck finding the laptop. Hopefully we can get the plan built quickly so you and I can enjoy Christmas. I mean, you know, not together. I mean…. That made it sound like you and I could—”
“I got it, Hols,” Ryan said, a wide grin on his face. “Although, it’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and then mentally slapped her hand to her forehead. She was a grown woman. “Go,” she said, her stack of bracelets jangling as she waved him along.
“I’m gone. Have fun.”
She opened the door and stepped inside, immediately feeling at home in the bustle and whir of the tattoo studio. The shock of purple hair and the swirl of floral tattoos down her arm made Pixie hard to miss. She’d met the tattoo studio manager when she’d come to visit Dred on set one day.
“Tell me you’ve changed your mind and want a job here.” Trent grinned as he walked toward her. He was wearing his black baseball hat backwards, which he always seemed to do. He scooped her into a hug. “How’ve you been, Holly?”
She hugged him back. The man had taught her so much during her time on the show, for which she would be forever grateful. “Hi, and not quite. I’m down here with Dred…but man, I’m missing doing this.”
Trent stepped back and pointed toward the waiting area. The large sofa was full of people. A woman sat on the arm. A small group gathered near the TV. “The line isn’t going down, and Eric’s station isn’t in use. We’ve got plenty of equipment, you know, if you want—”
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I would love that.”
“Come say hi to the gang first. You remember Lia.”
Lia looked up from the classic black-and-white anchor she was working on. Holly loved the lines of it.
“Hey, sweet cheeks,” Lia said. “I was so mad you didn’t win that I threw one of Pixie’s brownies at the TV.” She put her tattoo equipment down, snapped off her gloves, and crushed Holly in a hug.
“And I was so mad that I picked it up and ate it.” A huge man with scruffy blond hair threw his arm over Holly’s shoulder. “Cujo,” he said by way of introduction. “And only kidding. I already had three brownies on my plate. Sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, although, in the two weeks since the show, the sting had started to fade. “I’ll figure something else out.”
“So, Holly, before we can be friends, help us settle a debate. We’re deadlocked. Two against two,” Cujo said.
“Sure thing. If I can.” By the twinkle in Cujo’s blue eyes, Holly was sure there was a catch.
“Die Hard. Christmas movie or not?”
Holly let out a whoosh of air. “Easiest question ever. Definitely a Christmas movie.”
Cujo let out a whoop. “See, motherfuckers! Christmas movie. Grab the station next to mine, Holly.”
Trent grinned as Cujo returned to his client. “He’s such a dick. A funny dick, but a dick all the same. Welcome to Second Circle Tattoos, Holly. You can guest spot here anytime.”
For a moment, it didn’t feel like the worst thing that could happen.
Chapter Five
“And another,” Dred said, pouring vodka straight from the ice-cold bottle into shot glasses.
Ryan looked around the Miami nightclub. The atmosphere pulsed. Lights, bodies, and sound all collided in a steamy heap. Their private booth on the upper level was in the shadows. There would be no photographs or groupies throwing themselves at the band. Preload could be themselves, and by the bottles on the table, they intended to enjoy it.
He’d ditched his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves, but he was still too warm as he sat watching Holly, who was wearing another creation that shouldn’t be driving him crazy but was. Beaded gold flares that clung to her hips and swirled by her ankles. They should look awful. They should look dated. They were the complete opposite of the skimpy dresses many of the women in the club were wearing, but none of them could hold a candle to her.
She was dancing too fucking close to Lennon. Lennon, the guy with the gilded tongue who’d started the morning fucking some pick-up from the previous evening, and, if Ryan was any kind of judge of character, was going to end it doing the exact same thing to Holly.
“I can’t believe you were able to reach a deal,” Elliott said, handing Ryan one of the vodka glasses.
“Yeah. There were times when it was touch and go,” Ryan said, pulling his gaze away from Holly. “But the lawyer had a great angle. You were already the victims in this, and by Sam refusing you access to assets that held crucial plans for your future, he was likely to make you victims again.”
“Yeah, well, I look forward to you getting everything straight for us, Ryan,” Nik said before taking a sip from his bottle of water.
Ryan felt like a bit of an ass for letting the guys give him credit. They’d either forgotten or were choosing to ignore the fact that chasing down the asset legally had actually been Holly’s idea.
He was about to remind them when Dred said, “I’m talking with Jack tomorrow. I’ll let him know this is going great.”
“Jack at MCB?” he asked. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Dred would also have a relationship with his boss? They had, after all, catapulted to the top of MCB’s roster of clients once they’d signed. It would make sense that Jack would make himself personally available.
“That would be really helpful,” Ryan said honestly. “He likes getting feedback.”
And positive comments from Preload would go a long way to reminding Jack that Ryan knew his shit. He’d remind them about Holly’s role in getting access to the laptop after Dred had spoken to Jack. He was certain, given what he knew about Holly, that she wouldn’t mind the exclusion. If he were to prove he was worth the permanent position at MCB, he had to control the narrative.
She was a tattoo artist who was only helping them out for a few months until she could open a tattoo studio. He was in this for the long run. This was his life’s work. Yeah, she definitely wouldn’t mind.
He thought back to the expression on her face when he’d seen her working at Second Circle. He’d waited outside in the car for fifteen minutes after the time they’d agreed he’d pick her up until he realized she was never going to look up from her client’s skin. When he’d walked inside, she’d barely glanced at him as she said, “Sorry, I’ll be done in five”—which had turned into forty-five. They were twenty minutes late to their planned meeting with Preload at the studio, and he’d cursed a storm on the drive there, only to find that none of the band members were even there yet.
Fucking creative types!
He slammed back his vodka. “I’m going to make a start on going through Sam’s files in the morning. I should have them by then. Hopefully we’ll have an as up-to-date plan as we can have before the holidays.”
So you and I can enjoy Christmas.
Those had been Holly’s words, and damn if the idea hadn’t sounded like a good one. His parents had chosen to go see his brother, who live
d in New Zealand, and he had no plans other than to perhaps get some sleep and catch up on some workouts.
Damn, he should tell them about the laptop idea now.
“That would be a fucking relief,” Elliott said, downing his vodka shot in one. “I’ll be so glad to see the back of this year.”
“Amen to that,” Nik agreed.
Dred shook his head. “Gotta disagree. This year was everything.”
Jordan smiled. “Petal.”
“And Pix. And I’m going to get her to agree to marry me as soon as possible. Not sure how yet. But I’m totally going to. And we’re going to buy a new house.”
Jordan stiffened like he had when Holly had talked to him about his role in the band’s social media earlier.
“You are?” Elliott asked. “Thought you were going to do up the one you own in Rosedale.”
“Change of plans. Honestly, I want Pix and I to choose the place we live in together. Then, hopefully, I can convince her to move here sooner. I want it to be ours. I want me and both my girls under one roof as soon as possible.”
Having been single for nearly a year, Ryan felt a pinch of jealousy as he listened to Dred talk. Not that he’d been completely alone. He wasn’t a fucking monk. There had been girls here and there, but none had set him alight… at least not more than his career did.
He looked toward Holly, who was being twirled around by Lennon. Damn if the woman wasn’t wearing anything underneath that black strappy top. And fuck Lennon for noticing it, too.
He should be focusing on the band, focusing on their needs. Not his own. Goddamn, if it were any other girl, he’d be delighted that Lennon was having a good time. Happy clients made his life a whole lot fucking easier.
Dred looked at him quizzically. “You okay there, Ryan? That teeth grinding thing you got going says you’re pissed about something.”
Ryan offered Dred his shot glass, which Dred refilled. “Nah. Just pissed that I have to wait until tomorrow for the files. I wanted to walk out with that laptop in my hands.”
Dred laughed. “I like that kind of commitment. On that note, all this talk about my girls has me wanting to head back.”
Nik stood. “I’ll drive you,” he said. “Any of you guys want to go?”
Elliott stood and stretched his hands over his head. “Nah. I’m going to go circulate for a bit, see if I can’t find Miss Perfect-for-tonight. I’ll take shit-for-brains with me,” he said, nodding toward Lennon. “You’ve got Holly, right?”
Ryan stood. “Yeah, I got her.”
Elliott grinned. “Good.”
It took a moment for Ryan to catch what Elliott was implying. “No. There’s nothing going on between me and...”
As if she’d somehow known he was thinking about her, Holly turned toward him and grinned, and the rest of the sentence just slipped from his brain.
“Of course not,” Elliott said, squeezing his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
Elliott tapped Lennon on the shoulder, muttering something, which caused Lennon to suddenly look over in Ryan’s direction. Fuck. He needed to be professional. Not look like some love-sick puppy.
As they walked away, he realized he hadn’t told them about whose idea for reclaiming the laptop had been. He’d message them in the morning.
Ryan signaled to Holly. “Come on,” he said gruffly when she came over. “It’s time for us to head out.”
He took her hand without thinking as he led her out of the club. He waved down a cab and opened the door for her.
“Oh my gosh,” Holly said with a giggle as her cute ass hit the leather. “I had so much fun tonight.”
Ryan climbed in after her. “Yeah, well, letting Lennon climb all over you like that probably wasn’t the most professional thing you could do.”
Her posture suddenly straightened. “What did you just say?”
“Never mind,” he said. That Elliott had seen through the distance he was trying to keep between himself and Holly was embarrassing. That she hadn’t kept that distance between herself and Lennon just pissed him off.
“No. If it was worth saying once, it’s worth saying again.”
Ryan scrubbed his hands over his face. Fuck. He’d had too many shots to think rationally. “Look, forget it, Holly. I’m just in a bad mood.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not your punching bag.” She folded her arms across her chest, which only served to raise those perfectly firm breasts he’d been trying so hard to ignore into his line of sight. Goddamn, he was going straight to hell.
Silence filled the cab. A whole deafening heap of silence. The kind of silence that said everything. A loud cacophony of meaning.
Holly leaned her head toward the window and closed her eyes. The breeze from the open window ruffled her hair. He watched her silently as he worked through the emotions coursing inside him.
When the taxi pulled into the canopied entrance of Miami’s waterfront W hotel, Holly reached for the door handle and was out of the car before he could get his wallet out to pay the driver. He passed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and thanked him without waiting for change. “Holly, wait.”
Holly fiercely jammed the button to the elevator. “Shut up and go to bed, Ryan,” she said.
“No. I was a dick,” he said as the doors opened. They both stepped inside. Thankfully, it closed without anybody else joining them.
“I’m not going to argue with that assessment,” she said, slamming the button for their floor.
“I was jealous, Holly. Okay? I saw you holding on to Lennon and laughing with him.”
“Now you think I was trying to get into Lennon’s pants?” Her voice went up an octave. “Screw you, Ryan.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he said, reaching for her hand and pulling her to him. He placed his palm to her cheek gently. “I’m sorry.”
Finally, Holly looked at him. Finally saw him. Her body relaxed, her breath caught, and he could see the lingering hurt in her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Holly? You want me to tell you that it drove me crazy seeing you dancing while flashing lights caressed your skin just like I wanted to? You want me to tell you how I wanted to slide my hands along your stomach when you raised your hands in the air, how I wanted to grab your hips and move with you? That in my head, for a moment, I saw us together?”
“You can’t say things like that to me, Ryan, not when you just accused me of making a pass at Lennon. I was just having fun. Something you could try doing if you just pulled that stick out of your ass.”
He pressed his forehead to hers and brought her closer. “You want fun?” he growled.
She lifted her face, her mouth mere millimeters from his. “I was having fun, until you got in the taxi with me. I want to be with someone who sees me, who wants to have fun with me.”
“Goddamn,” he said, and claimed her lips. Her mouth opened against his. Her flavor flooded his senses as she gripped his biceps like she was holding on for dear life. He threw everything he was feeling into the kiss, all his confusion and frustration and the lust he’d felt watching her curves as she’d danced.
His hands spanned her waist as he’d imagined, sliding up her ribs and under the hem of her cropped top until his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts.
A gasp caught in her throat, the sound cranking him hard. He wanted her. Wanted her now, in his bed. Fuck the promotion. Fuck everything he’d been working for. He wanted to savor every inch of her skin. He wanted her to come over and over, and only then would he seek relief for his aching dick.
The elevator pinged. As the doors opened, she quickly stepped away from him. Her lips were red and swollen, her cheeks flushed.
“You need a better reason for wanting me than jealousy,” she said softly before pressing her fingers to her lips, rubbing them gently.
“Holly,” he said, taking a step toward her.
“Don’t,” she said, putting her hand out to stop him. “Good night, Ryan.”
The door closed again, and the elevator started
to descend before Ryan remembered he should have gotten out, too.
The following morning, Holly wandered out of the hotel grounds and onto the Miami Beach boardwalk, hoping the sight of the glittering blue ocean would soothe her, but even it couldn’t make her feel any better. Neither could the gentle shush of the waves and swaying palm trees. Her stomach felt off. No, more like tight, as if someone were squeezing her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. Unable to sleep, she’d been awake for hours working on Preload’s Instagram page. She’d deleted photos that didn’t fit and scheduled new ones provided by the band that better fit the narrative she was creating. Studious musicians, perfectionists, hard-working. With just a hint of blowing off steam once in a while.
The band no longer needed the reputation of wild men of metal. That could be left to the new up-and-coming bands. Yet they weren’t close to becoming the elder statesmen. They were in a middle ground that needed defining, claiming. Holly was determined to make their ascent to becoming the world’s most successful metal band an awesome place to be.
Her phone pinged and she reached for it. Damn, she missed a message from Flick letting her know she’d decided to move back in with her mom to save on rent for a while. Holly’s heart sank at the thought.
Yesterday had taught her three things. The first was that her place was definitely within a tattoo studio, and that if she didn’t come up with the money to start one of her own soon, she might need to part—at least for now—with her dream of providing work for the rest of her team and accept a gig working for someone else outside of New York. Though she enjoyed the work she was doing for Preload, it wasn’t her dream or passion. It was simply something she was good at.
The second was that each and every one of the Preload guys had issues—the kind of issues that a new social media profile and concert schedule wouldn’t fix. As she’d sat back and watched them, talked with them, she’d noticed that occasionally the conversation didn’t ebb and flow like a river. It would often hit a dam that was unbreachable.
The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5) Page 5
