Beneath This Ink

by Meghan March

  “And you need this badly enough to blackmail me into helping you?”

  He tsked at me. “Blackmail is such an ugly word, Vanessa. I prefer mutual assistance with repercussions for failure to deliver.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You sound like a lawyer.”

  “Rest assured, I’m nothing but a simple engineer.”

  “I get the feeling there’s nothing simple about you, Titan.”

  “And I already said you are as smart as you are beautiful.”

  “And if I agree? You’ll, what? Forget you saw anything—even though I maintain you didn’t see what you thought you did—and you won’t intentionally destroy my chances at the executive director position?”

  “Exactly.”

  Two deals in one night with two very different men. It was exhausting. I wanted to curl up in my bed and forget this night had ever happened.

  “Then you better lay out exactly what you want from me, because if I don’t agree to it up front, I’m not agreeing to it at all.”

  His lips curled into a mocking smile. “I really do like you, Vanessa.”

  “And like I said before, the feeling isn’t mutual.”

  “Then you better be a hell of an actress, sweetheart. Because to hold up your end of the deal, you’ve gotta sell it.”

  “Wait, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

  “Fiancée would probably be more effective, but girlfriend should do the trick. Like I said: what you did with Duchesne.”

  “I never pretended to be Simon’s girlfriend. I just didn’t correct assumptions.”

  “Fine. That’ll work. For now. As long as you don’t correct anyone’s assumptions.”

  “You mean anyone we’re introduced to at an event.”

  “No, Vanessa, I mean absolutely anyone. Including Con Leahy.”

  My heart knocked against my chest. “Why? What purpose could that possibly serve?”

  “Because the minute you tell Leahy I’m blackmailing you, I’ll never be seen or heard from again. And no one will ever find my body.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t joke about my own death. And if you think he wouldn’t do it… well, then I suggest you might not know the man you’re sleeping with all that well.”

  I almost screeched, “I’m not sleeping with him!” But suddenly I didn’t want Titan to know a damn thing about my relationship with Con. He’d already assumed what he was going to assume, and my protestations would be met with deaf ears or outright disbelief.

  “I really, really don’t like you.”

  “Well, then that’s just too damn bad, sugar.”

  “Don’t call me sugar. Or honey. Or sweetheart. Or anything else.”

  He ignored me and pulled out his phone. “What’s your email address? I’ll send you the list of events I want to attend but haven’t received invites to. I’m assuming you’ve already been invited to most, but if you haven’t, I’m sure you can figure out a way to get invited. Just make certain you RSVP for a plus one. Don’t list me by name on the RSVP unless you absolutely can’t avoid it.”

  I studied him, wondering what his master plan was. “Why? Want to approach them on a sneak attack?”

  “Something like that. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

  “You have to know I’d never actually date a man who said things like that to me.”

  I wanted to smack the smirk right off his face. “I’m just trying to perfect my condescending Southern masculine attitude.”

  “Where the hell did you come from anyway?”

  “That discussion is not on the agenda for this evening.”

  “I really, really dislike you.”

  “You’re becoming repetitive, my dear. And you’re excused. Watch for my email. And please keep me informed as you’ve confirmed our attendance for each event.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Titan, sir.”

  “Now, that I can live with.”

  I grabbed my clutch and rose.

  “And don’t forget to come up with a story for Mr. Leahy. I’d hate to have to explain what I saw to Archer.”

  “Thank you for the reminder. I assure you, it’s unnecessary. And if you out me to Archer, you better believe I’ll be accusing you of blackmail.”

  “Yes, my dear, but the difference is I’ll still have a job regardless of any accusations you make.”

  I turned toward the door. “Asshole.”

  “That’s Mr. Asshole to you, Vanessa.”

  I got a text from Con at nine on Monday morning. It was terse. As I read it, my palms began to sweat.

  C: This thing still on?

  V: Yes.

  C: Back door of Voodoo at noon. Park in the alley.

  Three hours. I had no idea what I’d find when I got there. If the look on Con’s face Saturday night was anything to go by, he was not impressed that I’d left with Lucas Titan’s hand on my arm. Thank God I’d had my own car. Because how the hell would I have explained getting into a car with Titan?

  I should have stipulated to Lucas that we’d be arriving separately at any and all events we attended together.

  I’d gotten his email at approximately two o’clock on Sunday morning. It would appear the man didn’t sleep much. I’d expected a huge list of events, and was surprised—and relieved—to see only a few. Two I’d already planned on attending, one I’d been invited to but had declined, and one other I had no idea how I was going to wrangle an invite, especially with a plus one. Titan better plan on paying our way, because that particular one cost thirty grand to attend as a couple.

  I’d spent several hours lying in bed thinking about the various ways I could tell him to go to hell. And then several more playing out those scenarios. None of them ended well for me.

  So I’d do what Titan asked. For now. Keep your enemies close and all. Once I had enough dirt on him, I’d use it to negotiate a way out of this mess.

  I’d yet to figure out how to explain to my father why I was about to be seen all over town with Lucas Titan. Even if my father weren’t at the events, he wouldn’t be able to miss the pictures that were sure to show up in the society pages. Which meant that Con might see them too. I needed to come up with a believable story. Four coincidental meetings wouldn’t fly. For the moment, my only plan was to hope that Con didn’t read the society pages, and maybe I could put it off. The first event wasn’t until Thursday evening, which meant I had less than four full days to come up with something else.

  It was a bad plan, but it was the only one I had for the moment.

  I was also a little concerned about how I was going to manage to do my job, secretly date Con, not-so-secretly ‘date’ Titan, and sleep. It appeared that sleep was certainly going to be the losing factor in this one. Which just made me more pissed at Titan. That man better get ready to use his checkbook, because several of the events he wanted to attend included silent auctions. You’d better believe that I was going to make sure those charities got their dollars for my pound of flesh.

  This morning I’d gone out on a limb and contacted the demolition contractor. I’d told him that the misunderstanding about the deed had been cleared up, the demolition could go on as planned, and he’d have access to the buildings whenever he needed it. I still needed to discuss that part with Con. I’d made a similar ‘oops we got confused about the deed thing, so no worries’ call to the architect. I really, really hoped those calls weren’t premature. But regardless, I couldn’t put them off.

  A sharp rap on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Archer stood on the threshold.

  I rose, pushing aside my to do list for the day.

  “Archer, it’s a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you?”

  Archer was seventy-four years old, and he looked every day of it. His twenty-year-old suit hung from a frame so painfully frail it looked as though he might break if you touched him. He’d been that way as long as I could remember, and my mother had had the same Bennett build. It was one mo
re reason why she’d despaired of my weight as a kid. She’d never understood how I’d managed to draw the Frost card out of that portion of the genetic lottery.

  Archer’s hair was a distant memory, but his grayed toupee was actually one of the better ones I’d seen. Regardless of his age or fashion sense, he was an amazing mentor and role model. I still remembered the first time he let me sit behind his desk when I was six years old. I think I’d known even then that this foundation was my future.

  “Vanessa, how are you this morning?”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Good, good. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was still on schedule for the project.”

  “Of course. And once the debris is hauled away after demolition, the groundbreaking will move forward, and we can kick off construction. We’re still targeting an early completion, God-willing.”

  “Good, good. I had heard an offhand remark from someone that there might have been a hold up over some property concerns.”

  Where the hell had he heard that? Only the demolition guy and the architect had known. But then, Archer always knew more than one would think. Which meant that if I were going to keep whatever I was doing with Con a secret, I’d have to be vigilant.

  “No, sir. No hold up,” I replied.

  “Excellent. Well, I’ll let you get back to work. I’m in meetings with Herzog all week going over financials.”

  From the board meetings I was invited to attend, it was apparent that the foundation was on the cusp of hitting its budgeted numbers, but stress levels were always climbing this time of year. Extraordinary fundraising results would be required to keep us on pace. If we didn’t hit our numbers, we could lose our prestigious position on the Top Fifty Most Influential Foundations list. It might sound like a silly ranking, but in the nonprofit world, it was a little bit like the U.S. News & World Report’s rankings for grad schools. The higher your rank, the more likely you were to get donations and bequests and continue to grow. More donations and bequests meant we were able to fund more programs and help more people. The fact that the L.R. Bennett Foundation had been on that list since its inception was a point of pride for Archer, and I couldn’t imagine him retiring without maintaining that status. Actually, if we slipped off the list, Archer would probably have a cardiac event and drop dead on the spot.

  “Of course. If there’s anything else I can take off your plate to clear your schedule, sir, please feel free to let me know.”

  “I appreciate that you’re always willing to lend a hand. Thank you, Vanessa. You’re a good girl. Your mother would be proud of you. We need to have lunch one of these days. There are some things we need to discuss as we get closer to December.”

  Unexpected tears pricked my eyes at the mention of my mother. I nodded in response, and cleared my throat. “You name the day, and I’ll be there.”

  “Good, good. Well, off to deal with the numbers. We’ve got a big target to hit, and I know we can do it.”

  Archer tapped the doorframe twice before he left. It was the same move he’d made every time he’d left my office since I’d begun working there. It was a strange little comfort knowing that I could always count on those two taps as a period at the end of our conversation.

  The next knock on my door was equally welcome—and a heck of a lot less stressful: Elle.

  “Hey, hey, hey, girly. You got news for me or what?”

  I jerked my head toward the door. “Close it, and I’ll fill you in.”

  Elle pressed the door shut and strutted to my guest chair. “You did it, didn’t you?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because your shit isn’t in a box, and Archer just bounced out of here like he’d discovered his hair had grown back. I know you, and if you hadn’t figured this out yet, you would’ve caved and told him. So?”

  “I did it.”

  “Hells yeah, baby. I knew you could.” She planted her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Did you have to get on your knees and beg, if you know what I mean?”

  I covered my face, the heat of a blush burning my cheeks. “No. No, I did not.”

  “Then how…?”

  I looked at the clock. It was closing in on eleven, and it would take me fifteen or twenty minutes to get to Con’s. Could I explain all of the craziness that had gone on last night in less than forty minutes? I guess I’d find out.

  Elle’s mouth was hanging open when I finished my rushed explanation.

  “Holy mother of all things unholy. Are you flippin’ kidding me?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  She blew out a breath. “I don’t even know where to start. Except, wait. Yes I do. Let’s turn Lucas Titan’s dick into a weenie roast.”

  The visual flared to life in my mind. “Gross. Can you please not say things like that?”

  Elle smirked and looked down at her watch. “You better get going, and I’ll handle changing your plus one on the two invitations, change your RSVP on the other, and see what I can do to hunt down an invite to the last one. I’ll just say I’m your social secretary, which is mostly true anyway. But you have to swear to fill me in on every little detail.”

  “I’m meeting him at noon; I doubt there are going to be any details worth hearing about.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve clearly never had a nooner then.”

  I pushed away from my desk and stood. “True story. I better go.”

  She hugged me hard. “Give ‘em hell, girl.”

  “Done.”

  “And don’t let him bully you about Titan. You do exactly what we talked about.”

  “What did we talk about again?” Our conversation had been so rapid and filled with Elle asking about Con’s dick size that I lost track of whether we actually came up with a solution for how to handle the Titan situation.

  “You lie. That’s what you gotta do.”

  “Glad we have a viable plan.”

  I checked my watch. 11:56. I had a feeling she’d be punctual, so I waited by the door like a chump and watched the seconds tick by.

  Frustrated with myself, I ducked back into the break room and headed toward my desk. I forced myself to sit and study the new tat I was drawing. It wasn’t for me—and not just because I didn’t have much dermal real estate left to cover. It was a little too feminine. Charlie would probably love it, but I was reluctant to offer it to her. It wasn’t really her style. Although maybe her style was changing now that she was getting more serious with Duchesne. I really hoped that girl knew what she was doing.

  A knock on the back door of Voodoo interrupted my thoughts. Which was probably for the best, because Charlie’s personal life was no longer any of my business except as a friend. Bittersweet maybe, but again, for the best. She’d never quite fascinated me like the woman knocking on my door—the woman I wanted to demand explanations from about why that slick son of a bitch had touched her like he’d had a right to. But I wouldn’t. Instead, I beat back the urge to grab my tattoo gun and brand her with my name.

  She wasn’t mine.

  And let’s face it; she’d never be mine. I might get a few stolen hours here and there, but it could never be anything more. My choices had ensured that. So I’d live with them and jack off to the memories of Vanessa in my bed. First, I had to make those memories.

  Last night I’d had to watch her on the arm of another preppy douchebag. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle that again without drawing blood or breaking bones. I knew dozens of ways to kill a man with my bare hands, and I’d be happy to demonstrate on Lucas Titan if I ever saw him touch her again.

  I pulled open the door, and the orangey-peach colored dress she was wearing cast my dark mood into the gutter. She reminded me of a Flintstone’s push-pop I’d had as a kid, and I wanted to lick her from neck to knees.

  “Can I come in?” Her question and hesitant smile almost had me stepping aside to let her in. But that wasn’t the plan. And with this woman, if I didn’t have a plan, everything would
fall to shit in a hurry.

  “No. We’re going out. For lunch.”

  She froze. “I don’t… I can’t…”

  Her stomach rumbled, breaking the awkward silence that followed her trailing words.

  “You don’t what?” I prompted. “Because it sounds to me like you’re hungry.”

  Her hands clenched the fabric of her skirt before smoothing it, and her stomach growled again.

  I crossed my arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, daring her to refute the fact.

  “Is this part of the ‘be where I say, when I say,’ stipulation?” she asked.

  “Yes. And it’s just fucking lunch. It’s not like I’m telling you to strip and climb into my bed. Although, if you’d prefer…”

  Her eyes flicked to the door just beyond me—the door that led up the stairs to my apartment above the shop.

  I shoved off the doorframe, hot anger spreading through my veins. “You’d rather go upstairs and fuck than go out to lunch with me?”

  She bit her lip and looked at the floor. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s just lunch. How fucking complicated can it be?” And then it dawned on me. “If you’re worried I’m going to take you somewhere we’ll be recognized, don’t be.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  Her silence fueled my annoyance. Picking her up by the waist, I kicked the door shut, carried her over to my bike, and dropped her onto the seat. I ignored her sputtered protests and the skirt hiking up around her thighs as I strapped a helmet on her head.

  “Wait—”

  “Done waiting, princess.”

  I secured my own helmet and climbed on the bike.

  “Just hold on.”

  The man was a brute. Apparently no one had informed him that picking up a woman and moving her where he wanted her was passé. As in, men haven’t done that since they stopped painting on cave walls.

  Constantine Leahy had missed the memo.

  When he tossed out the command to ‘just hold on,’ I’d stubbornly refused. For about three seconds.