Something New (Exile Ink Book 1)

by Skylar Hill

  Well, since the last time they'd had sex.

  He pushed her wild curls out of her face, smiling like a fool. She blinked up at him, her eyes satisfied but sleepy already.

  "You know, the guy is supposed to get sleepy after sex," he told her, lowering her carefully to the ground.

  "Being sleepy is a compliment," she said as primly as a person pushing her skirt down her hips could.

  "Mm hmm," he said, zipping up his jeans, flashing her a smile so she'd know he was teasing. He pulled her to him, marveling at how perfectly she fit into that little nook in his arm. "I had this whole night planned. I was going to take you to dinner. I had reservations and everything. And you just had to go and seduce me."

  "Oh? Is that the story you're telling yourself?" she asked, eyebrow arched, hands on her hips. "I seem to remember that it was you who crossed the room and grabbed my ass."

  He grinned, his hand grazing said ass. "Can you blame me?" he asked, squeezing a little, enjoying the way she scowled playfully. She managed to hold onto that expression for about five seconds. Then her laughter burst through, a smile spreading across her face.

  God, she was beautiful. He'd never met anyone like her. Someone who knew how to laugh, knew who mattered in her life, who worked—and fought—for her passion. He'd never been with a woman he wanted to seduce and tease at the same time. He wanted to fuck her every way he could, in every position, for every day for the rest of his life. And he wanted to tease her—in bed and out—for that long, too.

  He was so far gone, he wasn't even going to deny it to himself anymore. His father once told him that he knew from the very first conversation that his mother was the one.

  Was it so crazy that the moment he'd seen Cam’s artwork, something clicked inside him that had always felt out of place?

  Did she feel the same? God, he hoped so. He wanted to ask her, but he held himself back. Not yet. It was too fast.

  “Come work with me,” he found himself saying instead.

  Her lips parted in surprise. “What?”

  “Scott doesn’t appreciate you. At my studio, you’ll be able to flourish creatively. You’ll get to do whatever kind of pieces you want. Our clients will flock to you. We can even do the convention circuit, to build your brand. You’ll love it, Cam. It’s what you’re meant for.”

  “I—“ He had totally taken her aback. She was staring at him with wide eyes, her eyebrows drawn together like he’d just presented her with a puzzle. “Did you… was this all about poaching me?”

  Cold horror coursed through him. Oh, God, how could she even think that?

  “Of course not,” he said. “Christ, Cam, who do you take me for?”

  “I don’t know! This is coming out of nowhere!” she said, her voice rising as her breath shortened. “You can’t just… sleep with a woman and get her all attached to you and do incredibly nice things for her and then offer her a dream job!”

  A small smile began to tug at his lips. “Why not?”

  “Because things like that don’t happen,” she protested. “Maybe they happen to other people. But not me.” There was a desperate edge to her voice that sent something hard and worrying gnawing at his gut. He couldn’t expect her to spill her deepest, darkest secrets after they’d known each other for just a handful of weeks. But he hated the idea that something—or someone—had hurt her bad enough to be suspicious of anything good happening in her life.

  “Now they do,” he said. “Now I’m here. And I see you, Cam. All of you. You’re exactly what this place needs.”

  Her delicate eyebrows began to soften from their frown. He could see the moment she began to picture it, the moment she saw the image in his head: working with each other every day and ending each night together. Sharing ideas, collaborating, creating.

  Living. Laughing. Loving.

  It was what he thought perfect might look like.

  "I can't just come and work for you," she said, but she sounded unsure.

  "It wouldn't be working for me, Cam," he said. "It'd be working with me."

  He reached out and took her hands in his, kissing her fingers. She had artist’s hands, beautiful, fine-boned, so talented.

  “Think about it,” he said. “I can't promise we won't ever disagree and we might even fight a little. But I will never demean you or your work. And I will always support you, as a woman and an artist."

  "This is so sudden," she said, her eyes huge and worried, like he was going to get mad that she didn't have an instantaneous answer. Once again, he wondered Who hurt you? He could use the easy excuse of Scott's constant insults wearing her down, but something told him Cam's hurt went deeper than that.

  "Take all the time you need," he said.

  But it’s going to happen, he thought to himself. You and I… it’s been kismet from the start.

  He had never been so sure of anything in his life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cam

  The next day, Cam couldn’t stop thinking about James’s offer. Luckily, three out of four of her appointments were first consultations, and her fourth client, Hannah, was a regular who had just come in for a little touch-up on a cover-up piece Cam had done for her a few years ago.

  It was nearly closing by the time Hannah left. “Thanks, Cam!” she called behind her.

  Cam waved as she disappeared into the rainy Portland night. The parlor was empty now—save for Scott, who’d been holed up in his office all day. She turned the outside lights off and switched the sign to Closed before walking over to grab the broom from the back closet. As she swept the floor and cleaned the stations for the last time, she thought about the last four years spent in this place. She loved her clients and she loved her work.

  But she didn’t love this place. And the more people came in to work with her, the more Scott resented her. He’d straight-up driven the girl who’d wanted the wolf tattoo away the other day, and Cam knew it was just because she wanted it from her instead of him.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about James words: It wouldn’t be working for me, Cam. It’d be working with me.

  It was everything she’d never even dared to want or dream of. Not just a collaborative shop where artistic expression was valued, but a place that was like a home.

  With a man who loved and created with the same level of passion.

  What would it be like to look forward to going to work every day? To laugh and enjoy herself, without the shadow of Scott’s disapproval hanging over her? She was scared to even imagine it, because once she did, she wasn’t sure she could go back to… this.

  She looked down at the pile of dirt she’d swept up and sighed.

  She should be sensible. And keeping the job she had was sensible. She and James hadn’t even talked about any details.

  She finished cleaning up and just as she was putting the broom and dustpan away, Scott walked out of his office.

  “You almost done?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He hesitated for a moment, frowning at her, and then, “Hey, you wouldn’t know anything about James McGowan opening a tattoo studio, would you?” Scott asked.

  Cam’s stomach twisted. What should she say? She didn’t know if it was a secret or not. But her face must’ve given it away, because Scott's frown deepened.

  “You do know something,” he said. “Tell me.”

  “It’s nothing,” Cam said quickly.

  He glowered at her. “Bullshit. You work for me, Cam. I don’t like disloyal people. I wouldn’t want to fire you.”

  Instead of feeling like the breath was knocked out of her like she expected, Cam felt like a dam inside her was starting to crack. She had been nothing but loyal to Scott and Electric Chair. She’d put up with his shit for years.

  Well. No more.

  Before she could even think it through, the words were out of her mouth. “Don’t bother firing me. I quit.”

  Scott gaped at her as she walked briskly down the hall, her cheeks burning as went into the
break room to grab her purse and coat. She closed the door behind her, but seconds later, Scott barged in.

  “So, what, you fuck James McGowan and he offers you a job?” he asked.

  Cam whirled around.

  “My personal life is none of your business,” she said, trying to keep her expression as cool and detached as possible, even though inside, she was fuming. How dare he? “And neither is my professional life anymore. I’ll come by tomorrow to collect the rest of my stuff.”

  “Oh, come on, Cam, don’t be like that,” Scott said. “I know the guy from way back. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  It took everything in her not to roll her eyes. Like she’d ever need a jerk like Scott to help her tell the good guys from the bad ones. “I’m a grown woman, Scott,” she said shortly. “I look out for myself.”

  “He’s not what you think,” Scott said. “He’s kind of a tool.”

  Cam couldn’t stop herself: She laughed because it was so preposterous. James had bought her poppies and summoned surgeons out of nowhere and held her hand for hours in a hospital lobby. He’d somehow gotten Evie an internship with the one of the few people she truly looked up to. He respected Cam’s work and he respected her. She’d never had that before and it was empowering. It made her feel like she could do anything.

  Scott frowned, annoyed that she wasn’t taking him seriously. “I mean it,” he said. “During the reality show days? Guy slept around.”

  Cam raised an eyebrow, unable to hide her flare of irritation. “And I’m supposed to judge him for that?”

  Scott shrugged. “I never took you for the kind of girl who’d go for a playboy who’ll cheat on her.”

  “First of all,” Cam said, taking a step closer, her anger getting the better of her. “I’m a woman. Not a girl. And secondly, my taste in men is none of your concern.”

  Scott’s eyes glittered meanly. She was pissing him off and she knew it. So he went in for the kill. “The only way an artist like James is going to offer you a job is if he wants to keep fucking you,” he said. “He’s just using you.”

  She could’ve defended herself. Given an impassioned speech about her talent. But it was a waste of her time and energy. Instead, she just looked at him, disgusted. “I know what I’m worth,” she said. “And this conversation is over.”

  She moved to walk past him, toward the doorway of the break room, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her forward, causing her to stumble into him.

  Cam locked her knees, moving back and steadying her stance as she looked down. Her eyes narrowed. There was a time where a man touching her like this would’ve sent her spiraling into the kind of fear that consumed a person. That took a vice hold on her body and her mind, reducing her to a scared, frightened mess.

  But she was not that scared girl anymore. She’d fought her way back. She’d fought her way out.

  And no man would make her feel like that again.

  “I’m going to say this once,” she said, hardening her eyes as she stared Scott down. “Let go of me or I will hurt you.”

  He grinned, a cruel twist of a smile that showed his true colors. Pain flashed up her arm as his fingers dug into her wrist, deep enough to bruise.

  It was the wrong move.

  She tried to bring her knee up hard into his crotch, but her pencil skirt was tight around her knees, restricting her movement. Her mouth flattened as Scott glared down at her.

  “You don’t tell me what to do,” he hissed.

  “Hey! Asshole! Get the fuck away from her!” James’s voice broke through the darkness, his body a shadowy blur as he vaulted over the break room’s table.

  Scott’s head whipped toward the sound, and Cam took advantage of his distraction, hauling back with her free hand and popping him in the nose with a quick jab her self-defense trainer would’ve been proud of. She could hear the cartilage crunch under her knuckles before James tackled Scott to the ground with one, smooth movement.

  “You OK, honey?” he asked, keeping Scott pinned to the ground with one hand on his throat. He made it look like it was the easiest thing in the world, even though she could see Scott—stupidly—straining against his hold.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” Cam muttered, holding her fist curled to her chest. “Shit, I forgot how much it hurts to hit someone with untaped hands. Ow.”

  “You got him good,” James said with warm approval. “Go get your phone and call the cops.”

  Cam shook her head vehemently, a familiar fear spiking in her as she thought about red and blue lights flashing.

  “He grabbed you, Cam,” James said, his voice deadly serious.

  “I just want to get out of here,” she said. Her hands were starting to shake. Her knuckles throbbed, and her wrist ached, dark marks already blooming across her skin where he’d grabbed her.

  It was too much like when she was a kid, and the cops would just make it worse. She needed to get out of here before she got triggered and had a panic attack. She was still a little shocked she’d reacted so well when he grabbed her. Maybe all that therapy was helping. Well, that and all the self-defense training she’d made sure was ingrained in her and Evie’s minds and bodies.

  “Please, James,” she begged.

  James lifted his hand off Scott’s throat. He sputtered, blood from his broken nose pouring down his face.

  “I’m going to sue you—” he started.

  “Shut the fuck up,” James said in his face. There was no anger in his voice; instead, there was a matter-of-factness to it that, considering the circumstances, would be slightly terrifying to be on the other end of that order.

  “I want to make something very clear," James continued, his face just inches away from Scott's on the ground as he loomed over him. "The only reason I’m not tearing you into so many pieces even your Momma couldn’t identify them is because the lady wants me to take her home. The cops will be getting a call after that. You will be facing repercussions. And I will ruin your life, your career, and any shred of respect anyone’s held for you as a man and artist. By the time I’m done, Scott, every person from L.A. to Vancouver is going to know you like to put your hands on your female coworkers. Watch how that tanks your brand, because it’s all gonna go down in flames really fast.”

  James pulled away, striding across the room to Cam in seconds. He crushed her to him, his chin hooking over the top of her head as he murmured against her hair.

  "It's gonna be OK. You protected yourself."

  She let out a shaky breath, the truth of his words sinking into her.

  She'd protected herself. And he'd protected her.

  She'd never had anyone on her side like this and she found herself letting him take her weight, leaning into him as he took her out of that place, away from Scott.

  She was familiar with the odd, floaty feeling one got after a fight or intense rush of fight-or-flight kind of adrenaline. But as James led her into the elevator up to his loft, the events of the day finally hit her and she had to lean against the elevator wall, her head suddenly spinning.

  "Oh, God, that was scary,” she said, breathing in a little too fast.

  "It's OK," James assured her as the elevator doors opened to the loft. He led her into it, settling her on the couch, crouching on the ground in front of her. His hands spread warm against the tops of her thighs, and she looked into his eyes, some of the dread uncoiling inside her.

  "What do you need?" he asked her. "Are you hungry? Do you want to rest? Or I can call Evie?"

  "She's with her study group tonight," Cam said, groaning when she remembered that they were studying at her place. That meant a mess when she got back, since Evie wasn't exactly mobile enough to clean up afterward.

  "Then stay here with me," he said, his fingers tracing along the lines of the plaid on her skirt. "Anything you want, you can have."

  God, he needed to stop saying things like that. He needed to stop looking at her like he wanted to fulfill her every dream and her every dirty fanta
sy.

  "A bath," she heard herself saying. "I'd love a bath."

  He smiled. "Your wish is my command."

  The loft's master bath was decadent—there was no other word for it. The room was done in jungle greens with plants set on the windowsill, the vines hanging behind the tub. The bathtub itself was fit for such a lush, over-the-top room. It was enormous, shaped like a giant wooden bowl, the rich grain of the wood swirling with different shades of red and brown. Steam rose from the bath James had drawn for her, scenting the room with eucalyptus and honey.

  She could hear him on the phone in the other room as she sank into the water inch by inch. The heat surrounded her aching and still-trembling skin, cocooning her body, buoying her spirit. He was talking to the authorities, surely.

  She sighed, sinking deeper in the water, her shoulders slipping under. This was the deepest tub she'd ever seen in her life. Any other time, she'd be having a ball. She was a total bubble-bath person, and the one in her apartment was cramped and awkward.

  But tonight…

  She closed her eyes, sinking under the water completely, her hair floating around her when she finally surfaced. Droplets snaked down her face and she wiped them away, feeling better already.

  This wasn't the first time she'd been in a risky situation since she had left home, of course. She was a woman, after all. Walking down the street was risky. Going on a date was risky. Existing was risky.

  But this had been the first time she'd been grabbed outside a grappling session in years—and she'd fought back. She'd fought back… and won.

  Her pride was starting to outpace the quickly fading fear inside, especially when she looked down at her bruised knuckles and remembered the satisfying crunch of Scott's nose breaking.

  Her knuckles ached, and she put them back under the water, even though she really should be icing them. She didn't like violence, but she'd reacted just the way all her training had taught her. This proof of her power lifted a burden she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying: the worry that she'd freeze up if someone tried to hurt her or her sister again.