Abandoned Girl (Neighpalm Industries Collective, #1)

by Winston, Lexie

  "Also want to see what their interaction with the client is. Will they talk to them and interact, or will they just sit there doing the job, all awkward silence? I want to see them make their client as comfortable as possible, and they need to be able to read what the client wants. Some like to babble their way through a tat to keep themselves distracted, but some need the silence, sinking into a meditative state. An artist’s bedside manner and their ability to tailor it to their client is a huge factor in building up their clientele and the loyalty that keeps people coming back."

  Nodding my head, I think about what I like to do, realizing I don't have a preference. I've read and talked my way through most of my tattoos, but once I just about fell asleep. I have a fairly high pain threshold, and tattoos aren't a big deal for me.

  "We're going to be doing a reality tv show around the business; it was Declan’s idea. Good publicity for the company and excellent viewing for an audience. They've proven to be popular in the past, so it won't hurt if the artist is attractive.”

  "A reality show sounds like a fun idea. I wish I could draw; I would have loved to have been a tattoo artist. Unfortunately, I can’t even draw a stick figure." He smiles slightly at my words, and we fall into a comfortable silence, some of the most peaceful time I’ve had in days apart from my hangouts with Alex and Shane. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my paperback and start at where I’d left off at the photoshoot the other day. I can see Oliver looking over from the corner of my eye, but I don't pay any attention to him.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" he asks suddenly.

  "Nope," I reply, popping the p. I’m a little surprised at his line of questioning, but he hasn’t called me a gold-digger or a whore yet, so that’s a lot of progress.

  "Girlfriend?" He sounds curious, and a smile crosses my face.

  Putting my book down, I look at him. "No, Oliver, no significant other. The closest I've come to getting laid just recently was rolling around on the bed with Alex and the other guy at the fashion shoot. The only action I see is in my books." I wave the novel at him, waiting for a joke about the rippling men on the cover, but none comes. But a frown has creased his forehead at the mention of the photoshoot, and he doesn't say anything else, so I go back to reading my book.

  A while later, the car starts to slow. Looking up, I find us in a funky little urban area, with cute clothing stores and trendy cafes and bars. One building has the Neighpalm Ink Logo on it, just like Oliver’s shirt. He pulls around the back of the building while I stuff my book back into my bag.

  "Come on, she should be here soon, and I want to get this printed onto transfer paper before she does." He gestures to his sketch pad that he’s grabbing off the backseat.

  Oh, it's a female artist; for some reason, I was expecting a male. A wave of jealousy flows through me at the thought of her putting the tattoo on him where I want it, and I contemplate changing the position. But I shake my head at my silliness, chastising myself. Girl, you don't even know if he has a girlfriend. You shouldn't be feeling territorial. He's your adopted brother, not to mention he’s been a bit of a dick. But when I think back, Oliver really hasn't done anything apart from the bet. The door opening knocks me out of my musing, and Oliver offers me his hand. Taking it, I step out of the low sports car.

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” I say to him in my best British accent, but he just rolls his eyes, a laugh escaping his mouth. He closes the door and sets the alarm before walking toward the building, pulling out another set of keys.

  "My turn to ask. Girlfriend?” He just snorts but doesn’t answer verbally. I’m going to take that as a no.

  “Boyfriend?” I ask casually, my voice raised in question, and he turns around. Pulling off his glasses, his whiskey brown eyes are full of amusement as he walks toward me, backing me up against the wall. The bricks are rough against my exposed shoulders, the spaghetti straps of the maxi dress offering me no comfort. His chest is hard against my breasts as he leans down, his breath tickling my ear as he whispers.

  "No, sweetheart, I won't say I haven't experimented, but I much prefer a hot, wet, tight pussy wrapped around my thick, hard cock.” My breath is coming quickly now, and his eyes are on my mouth. Just when I think he’s going to make a move, he backs away and sticks the key in the lock, throwing on the lights as he walks into the back of the shop. He might think I don’t notice it, but I see the deep breath that he takes right before he’s fully turned from my view.

  Leaning against the wall, I wait for my heart rate to slow down. Holy crap, I hope he doesn't want me to get a tattoo around my pubic area because my panties now have what is possibly a very visible wet patch.

  Heaving out a huge breath, I follow him into the store. The back rooms have an office and a storage room, as well as what looks like a staff lounge. It has some comfy plush sofas and a large fridge and kitchen area with a TV. Peeking in the storeroom as I pass, I see supplies. Lots of medical-looking things, but there are also piles of paper and bottles of ink.

  Moving out onto the main floor, the store is pristine and clean. Four cubicles are set up for four artists. Each partitioned area has a tattoo table and a chair off to the side for the client. It also has a rolling workstation and chair for the artist. The floors are wooden throughout the store, and each station has a TV screen set up with Bluetooth headphones placed on each of the tables. The walls are decorated with prints of different artist’s art and lots of framed flash pictures. I wonder which ones are Oliver’s.

  In front of the four cubicles is a large counter with what looks like merchandise inside, and I walk close to get a look. There’s a range of shirts and hats, but there's also a selection of piercing jewelry.

  "You have a piercer?" I ask him. He's standing at the end of the counter, running his sketch through the printer that’s set up there as well as a lightbox. He looks up at my words, a smirk on his face.

  "Yeah, that’s the room there, but all of us are qualified.” He points to a closed door off to the side. "Why, Harlow? Would you like to get something pierced?" His eyes hold a challenge, but I don't rise to the bait.

  "Maybe. I always wanted to get my belly-button pierced.” Maybe a couple of other things too, but never had the time. “Do you have any?" He smiles smugly.

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" With that, he goes back to his printing. Damn right, I’d like to know.

  In front of the counter is a nicely set up waiting area. There’s a black leather couch and a coffee table with artist portfolios sitting on it for clients to look through. There’s also a vending machine for coffee and a water cooler.

  Before I can ask another question, there’s a knock at the front door, and Oliver nods to it. “Can you get that for me?” I nod my head and walk toward it. “Oh, and Harlow?” I turn back to look at him, and there’s heat in his eyes. “Pretend to be my girlfriend, please?”

  His words couldn't have shocked me more. I feel my face flush with embarrassment, and with that level of heat, there’s no way he’s missing the flash of color. “What? Why?”

  “I want to know if this chick will hit on a taken man. I’ve seen it happen before; they flirt with their client even if their partner is with them. It happens with both sexes, and I think that’s bad manners and bad business, and I won’t have it in my store.”

  My eyes widen in shock, but I nod my head, and a heated smile slowly crosses his face.

  “Good girl. Now go.” He nods as the girl bangs on the glass again. What am I getting myself into?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Harlow

  When I open the glass door, the woman standing there looks at me in surprise, her eyes going wide and lips parting. "Oh, hey, I have an appointment with Oliver. My name's Lisa." She's got red, shoulder-length hair that has been artfully styled into pin-up curls. Her ruby lips stand out against her pale skin, and her eye makeup is dramatic and sets off the smattering of stars she has tattooed on the side of her face. It looks familiar, but I can't quite place where I've seen
it before.

  She's wearing a 50s-style dress that’s covered in skulls and bleeding hearts, and it lifts her breasts sky high before flaring out at the waist. Whatever client she bends over will get an eyeful before they’re smothered to death if she’s tattooing above their chest. On her feet are a pair of high heels that not even Max would dare to walk in. I'm not sure if this girl is dressed for seduction, or if that’s what her everyday look is, but surely it can't be what she tattoos in day to day. I remember Tasha saying she likes to wear comfy, loose-fitting clothes when she has to be bent over for hours at a time. Stepping out of the way, I wave her inside the shop. Oliver is walking around the counter as she steps in, and a huge smile crosses her face.

  "Hi. I'm Oliver Summers, thanks for coming in to interview with us, Lisa." He reaches out a hand for her to shake. She grabs it and moves it up and down enthusiastically.

  "Oh hi, Oliver, thanks so much for seeing me," she gushes, her portfolio slipping from under her other arm in her enthusiasm. It starts to head for the floor, but Oliver is quick and manages to grab it before it hits the ground. He hands it back to her, and she looks at him like he’s just saved her cat from up a tree. Annoyance starts to build, the feeling almost like when you have an itch that you can’t scratch, and she hasn't even really started flirting. But then I smack myself internally. No reason to feel jealous. You’re only pretending, Harlow.

  “Thanks,” she says, the words breathy and low. Oliver’s answering smile is professional and welcoming but not overboard, just what you'd expect from someone conducting an interview. My opinion of him rises in that moment, liking that it doesn’t seem as though he’s going to take advantage of how much she’s obviously overwhelmed by his mere presence.

  "Did you meet my girlfriend, Harlow?" He gestures to me before sliding his arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. My heart starts to gallop at the physical contact, and I realize, for the millionth time, that I haven’t been laid in way too long. Her eyebrows crease in a frown as she watches his hand on me, but she quickly replaces that with a smile. Well, I guess that’s one small warning sign so far.

  "Why don't we have a seat, and we'll look through your portfolio, and you can tell me about your experiences." He waves to the leather couch, and they both move toward it, leaving me standing there still in shock from his contact.

  "Harlow, honey, why don't you put the coffee machine on in the back?" He turns to Lisa. "Would you like a coffee?"

  Again, her face lights up. "Yeah, sure, that would be great!" Her enthusiasm is beginning to grate on my nerves; no one can be that perky all the time, so I'm pretty sure it's more about getting rid of me than actually wanting a coffee, especially with the way she keeps eye-fucking him.

  "Sure, babe, of course I can," I say, gritting my teeth and smiling. His eyes heat at my words, and I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to the staff room. Before I get there, I hear their conversation start up again.

  Quickly looking around the room, I easily find the coffee machine on the kitchen counter. It's one of those drip filter things that isn’t too bad when it first makes the coffee but tastes horrid and stale as can be within an hour or so sitting in the pot. Digging around in the cabinets, I find a filter, the coffee grounds, and a measuring spoon in one of the drawers.

  Measuring out what looks like an alright amount, I fill the thing with water and flick the switch. The red light shows it's working, so while I wait for it to do its thing, I wander back out to the cubicles. Lisa's busy outlining her achievements to Oliver in her grating voice, and I unconsciously scrunch up my face as I pantomime her words, my inner kindergartener apparently getting the best of me.

  Tuning them out, I look at all the framed artwork on the walls. Photographs of each artist’s work make up most of them, and when I get to a stunning piece of a tiger across someone’s shoulder, I stop and stare. The artwork is phenomenal, and the tiger looks like it could crawl off the body and eat you up.

  "Harlow, baby, how’s that coffee going?" Oliver’s voice sounds slightly strained, so I plaster on a smile and walk back to the waiting area.

  "Almost done. How do you take your coffee, Lisa?" My eyes lock onto the fact that she has her hand on his thigh, so I move over to them. Placing my ass down on the arm of the sofa, I nuzzle into the back of his neck, clearly staking my claim. Her hand moves, but not quick enough as far as I'm concerned. Even if I am the fake girlfriend, she has most definitely pushed the boundaries of what I consider acceptable behavior. A small groan escapes his mouth, and he moves away from me slightly, his body tight with tension.

  “I like the look of your work, Lisa. What I’d like to see happen now is maybe you could set up your workstation how you prefer it, and then you’re going to tattoo one of us.” His tone is friendly, but I can hear the underlying strain I just caused, and a wicked part of me wants to almost purr with satisfaction at knowing I’m responsible for it.

  “Yeah, ok, cool, that would be awesome.” She looks at me. “What are we tattooing on you?”

  I smile at her assumption and shake my head. “Oh no, honey, you're tattooing the boss man today.” Her face pales slightly at my words, but I have to give her credit, she pulls it together quickly.

  “Ok, awesome!” I roll my eyes at her enthusiasm again as I move off the sofa arm. I just hope she didn't see it; I couldn't hold that one in.

  They both stand up, and Oliver leads her to a cubicle. “Everything you may need is in the workstation or the cabinets lining the wall. How about you get set up, and we’ll go and get that coffee.”

  Before she can answer, he grabs my hand and tugs me to the back room. We don't even make it past the door of the kitchen before he has my back slammed against the wall, and his mouth is on mine. It’s a wild clashing of teeth and tongues as we fight for dominance, but once his hand cups my boob and starts caressing it, his fingers pinching my nipple, I pant like a bitch in heat and give him everything he’s demanding.

  His hands move to my ass, lifting me so I’ve got my legs wrapped around him, his hardness grinding against my soaked panties. With my back pinned against the wall to hold me in place, he removes his hands from my ass and runs a finger over the seam of my pussy, my panties the only thing separating him from bare skin. My dress has been pushed up around my hips, giving him easy access. A groan escapes my mouth as his finger finds my clit, circling it, my core tightening with delight.

  His mouth leaves mine, and, sucking and nipping, he moves toward my breasts. But before he can get any further, I hear Lisa call out, “Ah, Oliver? I can’t find any tape.”

  “Fuckkkk,” he groans, his head resting against mine, our eyes meeting, and I’m sure mine are as turned on and as needy as his. Before I can say anything, he steps away, letting my legs fall to the ground. Once I’m stable, he turns quickly and strides away, not another word said.

  I collapse into a nearby chair, resting my head on the table. Holy fuck! What was that? My skin is tight and lust is heavy in my bones as I try to get my body under control. I’ve never felt like that before except for that one time with Jaxon at the club.

  With that realization, I sit up in shock. Fuck, they’re right about me. That’s two brothers I’ve made out with and would have gone further if we hadn’t been interrupted. A slight prick of guilt joins those thoughts, but I shake it off. No. If Jilly can have different lovers in every city, and the characters in my book can have multiple partners, then me kissing two different guys is no big deal. Or that’s what I try to convince myself as I get up and pour three cups of coffee.

  Carrying the cups out and hoping I don't look freshly ravished, I set a cup down next to each of them. They’re standing at the counter, the lightbox on, and the printer ready. Lisa thanks me with a smile, a funny look entering her eye as she examines my neck. Crap, do I have stubble rash?

  "So, Harlow, Oliver tells me you’re in charge of picking his tattoo. What are we doing?" My eyes meet Oliver’s, and he has a smile on his face,
but I can see the frayed edges that he's trying to hide. Good, I hope he's as affected as I am.

  "Oh, he's not allowed to know until it’s done. It’s a surprise between the two of us. Go and take your pants off, sexy, and lay down on the table," I demand, looking down at his groin. Whoops, poor bastard still has a raging hard-on. Lisa’s eyes follow mine, so before they can get to his crotch, I turn her around and tow her in the direction of the client bathroom.

  "Hey, what are you doing?” she cries, trying to shake me off.

  "Oh, I want to tell you about the tattoo, just somewhere he can’t hear," I say, giving her a flimsy excuse that both of them may believe. For whatever deep-seated reason, I don’t want her eyes roving over his body right now, and besides, I really do want to show her my penguin tattoo. That's right; he made a mention of it the other day, so I think it’s only fair that he gets one of his own to match.

  By the time we finish in the bathroom and she knows what it needs to look like, we go back out to the cubicle. She heads over to the counter and sketches it up real quick, shows me for my approval, prints it on a stencil, and I join Oliver at his table.

  He’s got on a pair of tight boxer-briefs, and while it looks like he’s got his dick under control, it’s still mouth-watering behind the material.

  “Uh uh, no! Not going to happen,” he snarls at me. “You need to leave. There is no way that I can’t not get an erection if you stand there, looking at me like that. Go and wait in the staff lounge. One of the guys should be in to open the shop up soon.” He waves his hand, actually shooing me away.

  “You’re going to have to remove your briefs,” I tell him with a smug smile, and his mouth drops open in shock. “Shall I get you a towel to preserve your modesty, good sir?”

  He growls at me but nods his head as I go and grab one out of the storeroom and bring it back, draping it over him so he can remove them without flashing Lisa whose heels are clicking on the floorboards as she walks back to us.