“Two o’clock tomorrow then,” I say, turning to leave. “I’ll bring ID. Do you need a reference? I’ve done some voluntary work recently, I’m sure they’ll write something for me.”
“Just turn up on time and do your job and you’re golden.”
I walk out with more of a spring in my step than I have in a long time. I’m determined to find something that’s going to make me happy, not just my parents. I’ve lived in their shadow for long enough.
I look myself over before leaving my flat for my first shift at the tattoo studio. I’m dressed a little more like myself today in a pair of dark skinny jeans, a white blouse and a black blazer. It’s simple and smart. I’m not sure if there’s a dress code—D never specified what I should wear. With my hair straightened and hanging down my back and my makeup light, I feel like I can take on whatever crazy he throws at me.
With a final spritz of perfume, I grab my bag from the unit in the hall and pull open my door. My home is a top floor flat in an old London warehouse. They were converted a few years ago by my father’s company, and I managed to get myself first dibs. They might drive me insane on the best of days, but at least I get this place rent-free. It almost makes up for their controlling and stuck-up ways… almost.
Ignoring the lift like I always do, I head for the stairs. My heels click against the polished concrete until I’m at the bottom and out to the busy city. I love London. I love that no matter what the time, there’s always something going on or someone who’s awake.
The spring afternoon is still a little fresh, making me regret not grabbing my coat, or even a scarf, before I left. I pull my blazer tighter around myself and make the short journey to the shop.
The door’s locked when I get there, and the bright neon sign that clearly showed it was open last night is currently saying closed.
Unsure of what to do, I lift my hand to knock. Only a second later, the shop front is illuminated, and the sound of movement inside filters down to me, but when the door opens it’s not the guy from last night.
“Oh… uh… hi. Is… uh… D here?”
The guy folds his arms over his chest and looks me up and down. He chuckles, although I’ve no idea what he finds so amusing.
“D,” he shouts over his shoulder, “there’s some posh bird here to see you.”
My teeth grind that he’s stereotyped me quite so quickly, but I refuse to allow him to see that his assumptions about me affect me in any way.
“Ah, good. I was worried you might change your mind.”
“Not at all,” I say, stepping past the judgemental arsehole and into the studio reception-cum-waiting room.
“That’s Spike. Feel free to ignore him. He’s not got laid in about a million years, it makes him a little cranky.” I fight to contain a laugh, especially when I turn toward Spike to find his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in frustration. All it does is confirm that D’s words are correct.
“Is that fucking necessary? Posh doesn’t need to know how inactive my cock is, especially not when she’s only just walked through the fucking door. Unless…” He stalks towards me and I automatically back up. I can’t deny that he’s a good looking guy, but there’s no way I’m going there.
“I don’t think so.”
“You sure? You look like you could do with a bit of rough.” He winks, and I want the ground to swallow me up.
“Down, Spike. This is Tabitha, or Biff. She’s our new admin, so I suggest you be nice to her if you want to stop organising your own appointments and shit. I don’t need a sexual harassment case on my hands before she’s even fucking started.”
I can’t help but laugh at the look on Spike’s face. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find some desperate old spinster soon.”
He looks me up and down again, something in his eyes changed. “Appearances aside, I think you’re going to get on well here.”
I smile at him. “Mine’s a coffee. Milk, no sugar. I’m already sweet enough.” His chin drops.
“I thought you were our new assistant. Why am I still making the coffee?”
“Know your place, Spike. Now do as the lady says. You know my order.”
“Yeah, it comes with a side of fuck off!” He flips D off before disappearing through a door that I can only assume goes to a kitchen.
“I probably should have warned you that you’ve agreed to work around a bunch of arseholes.”
“I know how to handle myself around horny men, don’t worry.”
After finishing my A levels, before I grew any kind of backbone where my parents were concerned, I agreed to work for my dad. I was his little office bitch and spent an horrendous year of my life being bossed around by men who thought that just because they had a cock hanging between their legs it made them better than me. I might have fucking hated that year, but it taught me a few things, not just about business but also how to deal with men who think they’re something fucking special just because they’re a tiny bit successful and make more money than me. I’ve no doubt that my time at Anderson Development Group gave me all the skills I’m going to need to handle these artists.
“So I see. So, this is your desk. When you’re on shift you’ll be the first person people see when they’re inside, so it’s important that you look good. But from what I’ve seen, I don’t think we’ll have an issue. I’ve sorted you out logins for the computer and the software we use. Most of it is pretty self-explanatory. I’m pretty IT illiterate and I’ve figured most of it out, put it that way.”
D’s showing me how they book clients in when someone else joins us. This time it’s someone I recognise from my previous visit, although it’s immediately obvious that he doesn’t remember me like I do him. But then I guess he was the one delivering the pain, not receiving it.
“Biff, this is Titch. Titch, this is Biff, our new admin. Be nice.”
“Nice? I’m always nice. Nice to meet you, Biff. You have any issues with this one, you come and see me. He might look tough, but I know all his secrets.” Titch winks, a smile curling at his lips that shows he’s a little more interested than he’s making out, and quickly disappears towards his room.
It’s not long until the first clients of the afternoon arrive, and I’m left alone to try to get to grips with everything.
Between clients, D pops his head out of his room to check I’m okay, and every hour I make a round of coffee for everyone. That sure seems to get me in their good books.
“I think I could get used to having you around,” Spike says when I deliver probably his fourth coffee of the day. “Only thing that would make it better is if it were whisky.”
“Not sure the person at the end of your needle would agree.” He chuckles and turns back to the design he was working on when I interrupted.
My first day flies by. D tells me to head home not long after nine o’clock. They’ve all got hours of tattooing to go yet, seeing as Saturday night is their busiest night of the week, but he insists I get a decent night’s sleep.
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FIERCE: A High School Enemies to Lovers Romance (Rosewood High Book 4) Page 38
