Skin Deep (Ink & Brazen Women)

by Cassie Leigh

  SKIN DEEP

  ..................

  Cassie Leigh

  SASSY TYPEWRITER PRESS

  Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

  All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

  Copyright © 2017 by Cassie Leigh

  Published by Sassy Typewriter Press

  Cover design by Cover Couture

  Interior design by Pronoun

  Edited by Barbara Malmberg

  Copy editing by Charlotte Penn Clark and Heidi Flippo

  Beta reading by Peggy Carpenter, Krystle Fowler-Adney, Jennifer Hans, Patricia RiveraDiaz, and Noble Pen

  Distribution by Pronoun

  ISBN: 9781537841519

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  EPILOGUE

  Playlist

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SNEAK PEEK…

  COMING SOON FROM CASSIE LEIGH…

  More by Cassie Leigh

  DEDICATION

  ..................

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO my husband, Ryan. On publication date, we will have just celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary and 14 years together. We met on the internet before anyone else was doing it and our life has taken us in some crazy places. I was young and you trusted me with your daughters and your heart. You allow me to grow and change in directions you didn’t know you signed up for and we still choose each other even when things are difficult. Thank you.

  CHAPTER 1

  ..................

  THERE WERE FEW THINGS MORE uncomfortable than the morning after—awkward text messages, ignored phone calls, or the not so random meeting in the street. As Gigi Duval deleted yet another dick pic off her phone, she decided last night’s fuckboy was testing every one.

  She took another sip of her latte and then forced a sociable smile on her perfectly glossed lips. She’d met her best friend, Ann Kennedy, for coffee at their favorite café in the rehabbed NewBo neighborhood. She loved the brick building with its original tin ceiling, high gloss wood tables and metal bistro chairs. It smelled like freshly brewed coffee and soul.

  “Which play date is harassing you now?” Ann asked with a knowing smirk, one expertly drawn blonde eyebrow raised.

  They were meeting over Ann’s lunch break, so she dressed accordingly in a navy silk top and khaki cropped dress slacks. Her severe, flat-ironed hair and neutral makeup choices were selected with a strategic eye to reflect her poised businesswoman image.

  Gigi turned the phone face down as it dinged yet again. She tapped her pink polished nails on the floral plastic case in annoyance. “One whose name will be erased from my little pink book when I get home.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t enjoy your walk of shame.”

  Some variation of this conversation started most of Gigi’s lunch dates with her best friend. You would think Gigi called a new date every night. Her lips curved up into a smile as her shoulders raised in a non-committal shrug. “Don’t be ridiculous—I prefer the term slut strut.”

  “I can’t wait for someone to catch your eye for more than a quick fling,” Ann sighed as she pushed a piece of salad across her plate. “You can’t keep this up forever. It’s not safe.”

  Gigi shrugged, brushing off her concern. Men caught her eye on a regular basis. The problem was choosing one. Years ago, she learned men could have as many women as they wanted and no one seemed to care. So why couldn’t she have the same? Who made the rule that she couldn’t have no-strings-sex and save her heart from one brutal let down after another?

  Did she ever get tired of it? Absolutely. She was tempted to retire the little pink book all the time. Just last night for example. She sat waiting for Dick Pic—a colossal waste of time—when a tattooed god-among-men had approached her and offered to buy her a drink. You’re too classy for a dive like this, beautiful. He hadn’t been rude or handsy. He just sat there chatting with her, keeping her company and the lechers away until her date arrived—a full thirty minutes late—and then drifted back to his friends.

  “What are you up to today besides mischief?” Ann asked.

  Gigi released the breath she had been holding at Ann’s sudden change in topic. “Just chasing job leads and then dinner with the parents. Nothing too exciting.”

  “Speaking of family connections, would you like a new lead?” Ann reached into her Kate Spade bag and pulled out her tablet, an iPad Pro that Gigi had been salivating over for months. “My step-brother just opened a tattoo shop and needs someone to be his office manager. Just basic stuff, run the front desk, setup and run his website. Nothing you haven’t done before.”

  Grabbing a business card out of the tablet’s case, she slid it across the table. Gigi picked it up, running her fingertips over the embossed skull design.

  A tattoo shop wasn’t exactly the kind of place she would have applied. She also hadn’t planned on leaving the bank, but her former employer cornered her in his office for a little quid pro quo. She gave her immediate notice to the HR department. The ink wasn’t even dry on her resignation before she was out the door. Now it had been a month and her savings would only hold out so much longer. At the very least, this could tide her over while she found something else.

  “I’ll pop down there and give him my resume.” Gigi slipped the card into her purse and picked up her latte for another sip. “But I’m keeping my options open.”

  Ann rolled her eyes as she put her tablet away. “Just do me a favor and keep his name out of your book?”

  Sighing, Gigi placed her hand over her heart as if wounded. “For shame. That would be breaking rule number three and potentially number six. No screwing those with a connection to your life and no fucking around in the workplace. I left a job over that. I’m not exactly looking to repeat the experience.”

  Ann was one of the few people who knew about the rules. They’d become fast friends when they met at a mixer for young professionals and discovered they’d been unknowingly sharing the same male companion. Gigi may not engage in relationships but she did abide by strict rules—the first being: all parties must be single. No cheaters were welcome in her bed. Ann was delighted to dodge a bullet and the two women had been friends ever since.

  Friendship and trust were two commodities that Gigi didn’t deal in often. In life, all you had was your reputation and Gigi guarded hers closely. That’s why she had created the rules and cultivated the perfect disguise. She masqueraded as the kind of girl that one would take home to mother, in a package of petite pink innocence, right down to her toe nail polish. The boys liked this virtuous façade too, because despite her rules, she had no trouble filling the space on her proverbial dance card when she wanted it.

  “I have your promise then?” Ann’s tone had dropped to a level of seriousness normally directed at her employees—not her friends—and with her brow furrowed and lips pressed together, her expression formed a st
ern mask.

  That question—the doubt it implied—made Gigi’s eyes burn as the latte soured in her stomach. She looked away. This was the downside of her choices. Logically, Gigi knew that Ann wasn’t intentionally slut shaming her. Her friend was protecting someone she cared for. It still made Gigi’s skin crawl as though she were nothing more than a cheap whore. She’d promise almost anything to make that feeling go away.

  “I promise.” Those two small whispered words should have been the easiest she uttered all day. Instead, they etched her throat like acid.

  CHAPTER 2

  ..................

  THE RED BARRON WASN’T THE kind of place Roman Bishop ever would have expected to see an angel. This place was a dive in the truest sense of the word, with hard music, cheap beer, and dark corners. Damn—he wanted to see her light up one of those corners.

  Swathed in a soft pink dress and white fuck-me heels, she had him entranced. She moved the curtain of her dark hair, exposing the graceful curve of her shoulder, a creamy canvas that made his hand tingle with the phantom buzz of his tattoo gun. It would be a fucking honor to mark her. The glow of that lovely skin had drawn him away from his friends like a moth to her flame. Hell—he had never seen a woman like her and he was no virgin schoolboy fumbling in the dark.

  “You’re too classy for a dive like this, beautiful.” He slid into the vacant seat beside her even as he cringed inwardly at his own cheesy pickup line. “Are you lost?”

  She turned clear absinthe green eyes his direction and his breath caught.

  Her full lips teased a soft smile. “Just waiting for my date. He’s late.”

  Roman’s heart sank. Of course, a girl that gorgeous wouldn’t be alone. “Can I at least keep you company? I’ll buy you a drink and keep the riffraff in this joint at bay.”

  Great, now he sounded like a desperate ass. If she minded, she didn’t show it. If anything, her smile grew and she turned more fully his direction.

  “I’ve got a drink.” She held up her wine glass as evidence—yet another sign she was too much for this shithole. “But I would welcome the company.”

  They chatted for ten minutes. Every word confirmed her as both witty and intelligent, proving she was more than just perfumed eye candy. He almost wished that’s all she would have been. If her mind had been inferior to the package on the outside, he could have enjoyed the view and forgotten her, but now… He cut the thought off as the shadow of her date loomed over them—literally.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Her date looked like a yuppie, complete with chinos and a striped polo. Why the hell would a guy like that have her wait here?

  She glanced at the dainty gold watch on her wrist. “Waiting for you. You’re thirty minutes late.”

  Yuppie-boy held out his hand for her with a cocky smirk that Roman’s fingers itched to bitch-slap off his face. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Her smile turned sugar sweet as she slid out of the barstool. She did not take his hand, instead brushing past him towards the exit. “Are you coming?”

  Leaning towards Roman, while eyeing her admittedly fine ass, her date whispered as if they’d been frat brothers or some shit. “She’s sassy and demanding but totally worth the ride.”

  The sleazebag—he’d been downgraded—hurried to catch up to her and hold the door. She looked back at Roman and her smile warmed. It hadn’t met her eyes when she smiled at her date. She’d given that gift to Roman, and he didn’t even know her name.

  Roman’s pencil tip dug into the front desk. His mind forced back from the memory he’d been drifting in as Declan Stone, his best friend and fellow artist, yanked the sketchpad away. Roman made an ineffectual grab for the spiral bound paper.

  “What the hell, man?”

  Declan leaned back in his chair, holding the artwork just out of reach. “Just checking out what you’re doin’.” He tossed the book down in front of Roman and pointed at the pinup girl meticulously drawn from memory on the page. “You’ve been spaced out since that chick last night.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “So forget about it. She left with somebody else.”

  His friend was right. She did leave, but something about that look on her face as she had—as if she resigned herself to it but really wasn’t interested. A woman like her could have anyone, which left him wondering why she’d gone, instead of telling the douche canoe to fuck off. Ultimately, it wasn’t his place to get involved. In the rare down time he had between clients, he had better things to do than moon over the one who got away—like keeping the doors to their shop open.

  Ink Spinners Tattoo & Gallery had been a dream and a labor of love for both Roman and Declan—one whose timetable moved up thanks to Roman’s ex. The old brick building was one of the last the NewBo District had saved. They closed on the purchase just one week before the wrecking ball and saved it from becoming a new urban development made to look vintage. Thanks to the local historical society, they got it for a song and spent the better part of the year renovating it. Now the shop looked as if a steampunk barbershop and a Victorian apothecary had a baby. For a couple of black sheep local boys, they were doing all right.

  Roman dragged his hand over the rough stubble of his jaw. “You’re right. Not like I could find her if I wanted to.”

  “Funny you should say that.” A cocky grin split Declan’s face just as the bell over the door rang.

  Roman turned, smile at the ready as the girl in question sauntered through the door. “Damn.”

  Her steps faltered at his whispered oath, but he couldn’t help himself. Ten seconds ago, he had no hope of ever seeing her again, let alone in his shop. Good girls like her don’t have ink. Everything about her whispered that he was right, especially the way she dressed today; a blush pink blazer, layered over a white t-shirt that she tucked into a pink and black rose patterned pencil skirt. She had tamed the dark curls he remembered from last night into a bun, and oversized pearl earrings hung from earlobes that he already visualized sucking on.

  “You’re Ann’s step-brother?” Her voice held the same breathless wonder that he uttered his own curse in seconds before. When she continued, her tone was brighter, with crisp efficiency. “I’m here about the job. Ann Kennedy referred me.”

  The attitude switch about gave him whiplash.

  She held out her hand and as he stood to take it, her soft, slender fingers seemed swallowed up by his darker, tattooed mitt. “Roman Bishop and this is my business partner, Declan Stone, you are…”

  “Oh yeah, I’m Gigi Duval.” She stared up into his eyes, leaving her hand in his for longer than necessary before she seemed to notice and pull back.

  He forced down a groan at the simple loss of her warmth in his hand. She wet her pouty pink lips. When his gaze zeroed in on the subtle movement, the corners turned up, ever so slightly. This couldn’t be good. Mere moments into formally meeting her and he was already smitten. Would it be strange to propose marriage now? Oh wait—she had a boyfriend—at least she did last night.

  ..................

  Gigi would give anything to rollback her day to lunch and hand that card back to Ann or better yet, keep the card and refuse to give that forced promise. Life could be an unforgiving bitch and right now, life clearly had it in for Gigi. Why did it have to be him?

  There was no one in the history of man that made a plain white t-shirt and jeans look that good—except maybe James Dean. Roman’s clothes weren’t plain. They were a statement. A white wall, allowing the brilliant color and bold black lines of ink running up both arms to speak for him. Her panties were insta-soaked just imagining tracing each intricate design with her tongue. Add to that, the amber fire of his eyes, he was just too much. Roman Bishop was the worst kind of temptation.

  If she hoped to keep that ill-fated vow, let alone her precious rules, she would need to turn tail and run back the way she came. Unfortunately, her fat mouth must be under the sway of her h
ormones or her dwindling bank account.

  “Ann said you need an office manager. So here I am, resume in hand.” She whipped out a crisp sheet of paper from her folder as evidence. He took it without even glancing at the words. “Has the position been filled?”

  “You’re hired.” His voice held a note of awe and his eyes seemed to spark.

  “I’m sorry? Aren’t you going to interview me?” She raised one eyebrow as she looked from Roman to Declan, who stood chuckling beside him.

  He leaned forward across the desk, his fingers gripping the edge, turning his knuckles white. “If you couldn’t do the job, Ann wouldn’t have sent you. You need a job. I have one to fill. What more do I need to know?”

  “I have a few questions if you don’t.” Gigi took a step back towards the door as she said it.

  This was not how this should have gone, despite his assurance that it only reflected trust in his sister. Something about the way he looked at her like a hopeful lost puppy—the way he had last night—made her worry this might not end well for her. He seemed like a nice enough guy in the bar, but she didn’t want an attachment and, of course, there was that damned promise to consider. She had to keep reminding herself.

  Roman ran his hand through his slicked back hair with a bashful half-cocked smile. “Yeah, I suppose you do. I guess I should have thought of that.”

  “For starters, what would be my responsibilities—hours, salary? You know—the basics.”Then at least she could tell Ann it wasn’t a good fit, rather than admit she couldn’t be around her friend’s delectable step-brother.

  “We’re open Tuesday through Saturday and you would work the front desk, taking appointments, answering phones, that kind of thing.” Roman looked back at his friend, as if expecting him to chime in. The big guy nodded and Roman continued. “But you’ll have help with that because your primary job will be the website and the gallery. We do an art show every other month. You would be in charge of that. Would you like to see it—the gallery, I mean?”