Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy #2)

by Carly Phillips

  She wrinkled her nose and peeked at him over her menu, knowing she was about to admit to her very boring and generic palate, versus his more refined one. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t bring myself to eat a duck, and a pork shoulder just sounds . . . wrong.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, then.”

  At least he was amused by her lack of sophistication when it came to food. “I mean, this is an Italian restaurant,” she pointed out. “Don’t they have ravioli or plain ol’ spaghetti and meatballs?”

  His gaze glimmered with more laughter. “Sounds like I should have taken you to the Olive Garden.”

  “Oh, my God, I love the Olive Garden,” she said enthusiastically.

  “I’ll make a note of that for next time,” he said, and put his own menu aside. “In the meantime, I think you’ll enjoy the Tagliatelle Bolognese, which is long ribbons of pasta in a meat-based sauce. It’s as close to spaghetti as you’re going to get,” he said with a grin.

  She flashed him a satisfied smile. “Perfect.”

  The waiter arrived with the wine and poured each of them a glass, then came back with a basket of bread and butter. He took their individual orders—Blake went with the braised short ribs—and once the server left them alone again, Katrina directed their conversation toward why she was really there.

  “So, what is this business proposition you have for me?” she asked.

  “What? No small talk first?” His voice was once again infused with humor.

  At least he didn’t take things too seriously, which made him extremely charismatic and likeable. “Tell you what,” she said as she reached for a piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “Let’s get the business stuff out of the way, and then if there’s time, we’ll do some small talk.”

  He absently swirled his white wine in his glass. “Sounds naughty.”

  “I think that’s pillow talk,” she corrected him, and took a bite of the bread.

  “I can’t get anything past you, can I?” He shook his head in mock disappointment.

  “No, I’m pretty sharp like that,” she teased.

  He took a drink of his wine and then sat back in his chair, his pose relaxed but still very much in control. “Okay, here’s the deal. You know that I co-own an ad agency, right?”

  She nodded as she finished her slice of bread and reached for another—dang, she was hungry, and she wasn’t one of those skinny women who wouldn’t eat bread or a bowl of pasta in front of a man. Not wanting to talk with her mouth full, she made the universal sound for yes. “Mmm hmm.” She also knew that Cavanaugh and Zimmerman was a very reputable agency, and judging by the designer clothes he wore and the sports car he drove, the firm wasn’t doing too shabby.

  “Well, we’re a full-service agency that has a design department,” he explained. “We currently have an opening for a junior graphic designer who would work directly under the senior director of the art department.”

  She took a drink of her wine—and yeah, the quality was outstanding—then tipped her head to the side. “And how does this pertain to me?”

  “I thought it might be something that you’d be interested in,” he said seriously.

  “Why me?” Her eyes rounded in surprise. “I don’t know anything about advertising. Well, that’s not completely true,” she amended. “I’ve done some marketing for Inked, but that’s hardly the kind of experience I’m sure you’re looking for or need.”

  He leaned forward in his chair and braced his arms on the table, his gaze direct. “We want to hire someone with a fresh perspective and enthusiasm. Someone who isn’t trained and will think outside the box when it comes to creative designs for our clients.”

  As exciting as the opportunity sounded, she still didn’t understand how she fit into that way of thinking. Wouldn’t they at least want someone with a degree? “Blake . . .I didn’t go to college, and I’ve never worked for a big company. I’m pretty good with Photoshop and a few other graphic design programs, but I’m not sure that’s enough for an ad agency as big or reputable as yours.”

  He smiled. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be sitting here asking if you’d be interested in the job if I didn’t think you were a good fit for Cavanaugh and Zimmerman. Would I like to go out on a date with you? Absolutely. But one has nothing to do with the other. Right now, at this moment, my interest in you is all business. I don’t want you to think that one thing hinges on the other. And from what I know and have seen, you are more than enough for what we want as a junior graphic designer.”

  Just as he finished his comment, their meals arrived, and yes, her fancy Tagliatelle Bolognese did resemble something that looked like an Italian meal to her. The waiter grated fresh parmesan over her pasta, refilled their wineglasses, and once Blake assured him that everything was great, the guy moved on to another table.

  Once their server was gone and they were alone again, Katrina asked a question she was very curious about. “So, what do you know about me and what have you seen to give you the indication that I’d be a good fit for your agency?” If she was even going to consider this proposition, then she needed to be reassured that he really did know her strengths and limitations in regard to the position he was offering.

  “Good question,” he said, seemingly impressed with her inquiry as he cut into a braised short rib. “I’ve been coming to Inked for over six months now. As for what I know about you, Caleb has been very talkative during my many sessions, and he’s answered a lot of my questions about you. According to him, you’re the reason the shop runs as smoothly as it does, so that tells me you’ve got a great work ethic. And I’ve watched you in action with other customers and how you manage the shop while I’m there, too.”

  “Stalker much?” she teased.

  He chuckled as he took a bite of the vegetables accompanying his meat. “It’s called scoping out a potential prospect.”

  She twirled her strands of pasta around her fork. “Managing a tattoo shop has nothing to do with working for an ad agency.”

  “True, but I know that you’re someone who will always strive to better herself, and those are the kinds of qualities that are important in the people I hire.” He hesitated for a moment as he drank his wine, then continued. “What I’ve also seen is your freehand artwork, in your personal album and what’s pinned on the gallery wall in the shop. Every time I come in, I look to see what you’ve done that’s new. And every time, I’m impressed as hell with your designs and creativity.”

  She glanced down at her plate, her face warming at the thought of how thoroughly he’d been analyzing her as a potential employee for his agency. And she suddenly had a bout of insecurities. “I’m just not sure that my art and designs at Inked will translate to what you need for an ad agency.”

  “I’m sure, and that’s all that matters,” he said confidently. “I’m known for bringing in untrained and inexperienced employees when I see the kind of talent that meshes well with our agency. I’ve rarely been wrong about the people I’ve handpicked to hire. In fact, most of those employees have become the backbone of the company and are the ones who are continually bringing a new and fresh perspective to ad campaigns and marketing ideas.”

  Despite her slight concerns about not having any experience in the field, she found that the idea was starting to tempt her. “You’re so damn persuasive,” she said with a shake of her head.

  He shrugged unapologetically. “I know what I want, and I’m pretty determined about getting my way if it’s important enough.”

  She couldn’t help but feel flattered—that he believed so unconditionally in her ability to fit in so well with his company. They finished their dinners, and after the waiter cleared away their dishes, Blake glanced across the table and met her gaze.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  She exhaled a deep breath. The offer was incredibly generous, exciting even, but it was also so unexpected. Without a doubt, she knew that finding a new job was imperative to her friendship with Mason,
and her heart and emotions, but she’d never been one to jump into something without really thinking things through.

  “I really appreciate your job offer, and I’m very interested,” she said respectfully. “But I can’t give you a definite decision right this second.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” His tone was understanding. “Take a week and think about everything I’ve said, and consider the growth and opportunities with an ad agency that is one of the top ten firms in Chicago. And I know we didn’t discuss pay, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Thank you,” she said appreciatively, realizing there really was no downside to taking the job. Even still, she’d take the one-week time frame to make sure a new career in advertising was what she really wanted.

  “So, enough business,” he said in a more upbeat tone as a sexy smile curved his lips. “I’m more interested in getting to the pillow talk.”

  Of course he was. Playing along, she leaned forward in her chair and whispered in a provocative voice, “Want to know my version of seductive pillow talk?”

  He angled closer, too, his eyes a deep, dark brown as he stared intently at her. “Absolutely,” he murmured.

  She closed her eyes, slowly licked her lips, then opened them again and teased him. “I need chocolate dessert.” She sighed and smiled mischievously. “That’s about as hot as pillow talk gets for me.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’m not about to deprive any woman of having dessert. Besides, it’s a win-win situation. You get to eat it, and I get to watch.”

  As long as he didn’t touch, they were all good.

  Chapter Nine

  Mason sat alone at the far end of the bar at Kincaid’s and nursed a bottle of Sam Adams while debating if he should move on to something stronger so he’d stop thinking about Katrina on her date with Blake, and what they might be doing. If the guy was kissing her, touching her, making a move on her . . . Fuck. The troubling thought made him want to plant his fist into something hard to release some of the pent-up frustration building inside him.

  “Well, this is a first,” Mason heard his brother, Levi, drawl just before he sat down in the vacant chair next to his.

  “What’s a first?” Mason asked irritably, in no mood for his younger brother’s goody-two-shoes commentary.

  “You sitting at a bar all by yourself and looking quite pathetic,” Levi said, sounding far too amused at the situation.

  “Well, you could always fuck off,” Mason suggested, then finished his beer.

  “I could,” Levi said, his tone more amused than offended. “But seeing you like this is much more fun.”

  Mason glared at his brother. He’d come to Kincaid’s because he’d stupidly thought he could wallow in his misery alone. Mason had known for certain that Clay wouldn’t be here. Now that Clay was domesticated by marriage, he spent more time at the new home he’d purchased for himself and Samantha, instead of at the bar. Levi didn’t drink alcohol and usually didn’t show up at the bar unless there was a specific reason, and Mason resented Levi butting into what should have been a private pity party. No smartasses invited or allowed. Obviously, Levi had missed that particular memo.

  “What are you doing here?” Mason asked testily.

  His belligerent attitude didn’t so much as faze Levi, who, as a beat cop, was used to dealing with far more intimidating criminals. “Well, I was watching House of Cards on Netflix at home, and I got a concerned text from Tara telling me that something was seriously wrong with you and I needed to get over here ASAP.”

  “Sorry to tear you away from an exciting night in front of the TV,” Mason said sarcastically. “But there’s nothing wrong and you made a trip down here for nothing.”

  Levi leaned an arm on the counter. “Well, considering you aren’t taking advantage of all the single women here tonight, and you aren’t off screwing one of them already, I’d have to agree with Tara. Are you sick? Do you have a fever? Or has your dick finally become discriminate? You know, that big word we talked about on the plane ride to Vegas that means you’ve actually gotten particular about where that dick goes, and with whom?”

  Levi didn’t have to say the name Katrina, because his brother wasn’t stupid, or a fool. Jesus, he hated when Levi did that—how his brother silently sat back and didn’t miss a goddamn thing going on around him. Even as a kid, Levi had been quiet and introverted, but incredibly attuned to everything. As an adult, it was fucking unnerving to have all that intensity focused on him.

  Resisting the urge to flip Levi the middle finger, Mason gave him a tight smile instead. “My dick is fine; thank you very much for your concern.”

  He hoped that Levi would take the hint and go back home. Instead, he caught Tara’s attention and motioned her over to the end of the bar.

  “I told you it was bad,” Tara said once she arrived, her concerned gaze bouncing from Mason to Levi.

  “Jesus Christ,” Mason snapped indignantly. “I’m fucking fine.”

  “He’s so not fine,” Levi said with a sympathetic shake of his head. “He’ll take another Sam’s, and I’ll take the usual.”

  “You got it,” Tara said, and moved away to get their drinks.

  She returned a few minutes later, setting a fresh bottle of beer in front of Mason and a tall glass that contained a nonalcoholic orange spritzer on Levi’s napkin.

  Mason glanced at his brother’s pansy-ass drink. “I wish that someone would spike your fucking orange juice. I’d love to see you get drunk. Just once.”

  Levi smirked and took a long drink of his mixture of orange juice and soda water. “Not gonna happen,” he said as he set his glass back down on the counter. “I have no desire to ever drink alcohol and do stupid shit.”

  Getting drunk and doing stupid shit was pretty much the sum of Mason’s teenage years and some of his adult ones, too. “Why not?” he asked curiously.

  Levi shrugged. “It’s a control thing,” he said vaguely.

  Mason was pretty sure Levi’s reasons all tied into their childhood, and how each one of them dealt with their horrible situation in very different ways. Levi did like to be in control. He was calm, focused, and composed. Always had been. Growing up, Mason used to hate how nothing seemed to affect Levi, but he’d learned over the years that his brother’s quiet personality was Levi’s way of coping with all the emotional upheaval in their lives.

  While Levi internalized their painful situation, Mason had gone to the opposite extreme and let his rage drive him toward every act of rebellion that came his way. It wasn’t until Mason was older that he’d learned to control those angry outbursts.

  “So, do you want to talk about it?” Levi asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  Mason frowned at his brother. “It?”

  Levi rolled his eyes. “Katrina,” he said more specifically.

  Mason’s first instinct was to play stupid and say, “What about Katrina?” but he was so damn tired of denying his feelings for his best friend. Everything about their current situation was eating him alive inside, and one of the very few people he trusted was his brother. Levi wasn’t one to judge, and right now, that’s exactly what Mason needed—someone to listen and hopefully offer some helpful advice.

  “Katrina and I slept together in Vegas,” Mason said before he lost the nerve.

  “Yeah, I figured,” Levi said as he ran his thumb and forefinger along the condensation gathering on his glass.

  “How did you ‘figure’?” Mason asked, curious to know what had given him and Katrina away.

  Levi laughed. “Are you serious? The moment you carried Katrina out of Coyote Ugly like a goddamn caveman, both Clay and I knew that things were going to come to a head between you two. Both of you have been skirting around your attraction for years, but lately, the sexual tension has been pretty intense. Between Katrina dancing up on the bar and you getting all territorial about other men touching her, it was bound to get heated. And considering how awkward and weird things were with the
two of you the next day at the wedding, it was a no-brainer that you guys had sex.”

  Mason frowned. “You were there when I told Tara that nothing happened.”

  “And she believed you, but I’m your brother and I know when you’re lying. I can see it in your eyes, especially when it comes to Katrina. And being a cop makes it even easier to spot when you’re not being totally honest.”

  “Nice,” Mason muttered. He’d have to remember not to look his brother in the eyes the next time he was telling a fib.

  “So, you slept together,” Levi said, bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, I totally fucked up the friendship. No pun intended,” he muttered.

  A slight smile touched the corner of Levi’s mouth. “How so?”

  “Because now things are . . . different between us.” He dragged his fingers through his hair in aggravation. “Awkward, weird, and tense, even though we agreed at the time that it wouldn’t be. And she’s out on a date with another guy tonight, and it’s driving me nuts thinking about it.”

  Levi’s brows rose in surprise. “Are you saying that you’re actually jealous of who Katrina is seeing and dating?”

  His stomach churned with acid. “Yeah, and I fucking hate it.” He’d never had an issue with who she’d dated in the past, but that had been before they’d blurred the lines of their friendship. Now that he knew what it felt like to be inside of her, to have her body wrapped so intimately around his, for the first time ever with a woman, it changed everything.

  Levi absently swirled his orange juice in his glass as he thought for a moment. Then he glanced at Mason with a crooked smile “You know, I don’t understand why the two of you don’t just start dating like a normal couple.”

  Mason frowned. “Because I don’t date. And because . . .because she’s my best friend and that’s just . . . weird.”

  Levi laughed. “Dude, you had sex with her. And you’re worried about dating Katrina being weird?”