by Nicole James
“Like hell she is,” he snapped at Max before turning back to her. “You want to explain.”
She raised her chin as she shrugged out of her raincoat and tossed it over the chair. “He’s right.”
His eyes swept over her. “Uh, no. No way in hell, sweetheart.”
“Excuse me. Why not?”
He lifted a hand, gesturing to her outfit. “You really gotta ask?”
She glanced down at her outfit. It was the one she’d worn to her own office this morning, a tasteful cream business skirt and a silk blouse in a pretty cream and gold print. She’d topped it off with a gold chain belt and a pair of suede pumps. It went well with her blonde hair that was pulled up in a French twist. Her hands landed on her hips. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Not a thing from what I can see,” Max put in with a grin and a wink. “I think she looks beautiful.”
Jameson gave him a look that told him to shut up. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Sure. But this is too much fun.”
“Second that,” Liam added with a chuckle from behind them.
Jameson twisted to glare at him before turning back to her. “Seriously, what are you doing here? Did you come to concede the fact that you couldn’t keep up your end of the bargain?”
She folded her arms. What a jerk! “I’m not here to do any such thing. I intend to uphold my end of our bargain. You need someone to work your reception. And since none of the candidates I’ve already sent you have been acceptable to you, here I am.”
Jameson folded his arms. “Don’t you have your own business to run? I’d think between that and your position on the city council, you’d have your hands full.”
“I’ll manage. Right now, you are my number one priority, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“Jameson.”
“Fine. Jameson.”
He moved toward her until he was in her space—so close she had to refrain from taking a step back. She lifted her chin as he dipped his head until he was practically nose-to-nose with her. Two sets of blue eyes faced off. With a quiet, but deceptively commanding voice, he stated, “Well, sweetheart, as much as I love hearing I’m a woman’s number one priority, I think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
She smirked. “I hardly think so.”
“You do realize this is a tattoo shop, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“And you understand our clientele are hardly the silk blouse crowd?” He lifted his chin toward her outfit.
She rolled her eyes.
“Rule number one, don’t roll your eyes at me, sweetheart.”
She ground her teeth and snapped, “Don’t call me sweetheart. My rule.”
“You don’t get any rules. This is my shop.”
“Come on, Jamie. The girl wants to wear a skirt and heels, I’m all for it,” Liam put in as he stretched back in his chair, clearly attempting to diffuse the rapidly escalating situation.
Jameson’s eyes drilled into her. “You’re serious about taking this position? Because I told you on the phone, this is the last time I’m training someone. So, are you really willing to stick this out to the end, Ms. Hightower?”
“I’m perfectly serious.”
“And what about your own business?”
“I’ll work there in the morning until you open up at 11:00, then I’ll come here.”
“We’re open ‘till 9:00. And sometimes we’re here long after that finishing up with customers and cleaning the shop. How long are you going to be able to keep those hours up?”
“I’ll manage.”
He studied her almost contemplatively. “Rule number two. I don’t want to hear any bitching or complaining. I’ve got no patience for high-maintenance prima donnas. Understood?”
She practically had to grit her teeth to keep from snapping at him. “Understood.”
Jameson stared her down, and then finally grabbed a chair and rolled it over next to her reception desk. He motioned her toward the other chair. “Then let’s go over the computer system. And I’m not going to repeat everything, so listen up the first time.”
Chapter Five
Ava threw her pen on the counter. It had been three days since she’d started working at Brothers Ink and each day was more frustrating than the one before.
Jameson O’Rourke had the most backwards, archaic computer system she’d ever seen. Everything had to be entered separately; nothing connected. Appointment information didn’t cross with billing information. The whole system was an antiquated hot mess. It made her want to chuck the monitor off her desk.
No wonder the girls she’d sent over had such a hard time. This system was a nightmare. Why in God’s name hadn’t he ever upgraded the software? Was the man computer illiterate? She’d had clients before with systems they dreaded replacing just for the simple fact that they were familiar with their current system and hated change or having to retrain. But this was ridiculous.
It was a time consuming, inefficient nightmare. She could think of three programs off the top of her head that would be much more effective and would work beautifully for his needs.
Then there were the photo files. What a mess they were. Tattoo artists kept photos of all their work, she’d learned, and those photos were uploaded to the computer system. Sure, she could understand the practice in theory. But in reality, nothing was easy to find, none of them were named in a systematic way in order to make them easily searchable. Nope, the brothers just named them with whatever came to mind, such as, Cool Red Dragon or Butterfly on Chick’s Hip. Seriously?
And they were surprised when they couldn’t remember what they’d called it? Shocking! Well, newsflash, boys, things were about to change.
Ava stood from her chair and marched back toward the stairs. She felt the eyes of Max and Liam follow her as she passed by their stations. She’d yet to meet the youngest of the four brothers, but heard he was due back from a trip and would be in later today.
She marched up the stairs, her heels clicking on the wood. She knew Jameson’s office was at the top, but she’d never actually been up there yet. Max and Liam each had a client in their chairs and there wasn’t another appointment until after lunch, so she felt safe running up to speak with Jameson for a moment.
She climbed to the top of the open staircase and found the entire floor was an open-plan room, and all of it was Jameson’s office. Framed sketches of some of his art lined the walls. A large modern glass desk sat at the front of the building.
Jameson was sitting at the desk, sketching on a pad, a large picture window behind him.
“May I speak with you for a moment, Jameson?”
His head lifted, his eyes running over her. “Aren’t you supposed to be manning the front?”
“I’ll hear the bell above the door.”
“And the phones?”
“They haven’t rung all morning. This will just take a moment.”
“All right. Shoot.”
Don’t tempt me. “It’s about the computer system.”
He dropped the pencil he’d been sketching with. “Don’t tell me you messed it up again.”
Her hands landed on her hips. “No, I didn’t ‘mess it up’ again.”
“Then what?”
“The system is ancient. I can suggest several new programs that would be much more efficient and suit your needs better than the one you’re currently using.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the system.”
“There’s plenty wrong with that system.”
“It’s served our needs since we opened this shop. It’s fine.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“What, when we opened?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “I was nineteen.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that decades ago?”
His chin came up. “You fishing to find out how old I am, Slick?”
“I know how old you are. Thirty-eight.”
<
br /> He leaned back in his chair. “Really? Which magazine article did you get that from?”
“Does it matter? It’s correct, isn’t it?”
“It’s correct.”
“Your age is irrelevant. It’s the age of your computer software that is shocking.”
“Shocking?” His brows rose.
“Surely I can’t be the first person to point this out to you.”
He rose from his seat so suddenly she took a step back. “My software is none of your damn concern. I didn’t hire you for a business consultation.”
“You didn’t hire me at all, Superstar,” she snapped back.
“You done with the smartass comments? Deal was you work here until your fancy Gala, end of story. Not complain about every little thing in this place. I don’t want or need your advice on how I run my business, got it? Now get back to work.”
She pivoted on her heel and stalked toward the staircase. “You’re insufferable.”
***
Max’s eyes followed as Ava angrily stalked back to the front counter. He’d heard their muffled voices carrying down the stairs as she and Jameson had yet another confrontation. Returning his attention to his work, he put the final touches on the tattoo he was doing until he was completely satisfied with the design.
“That should do it.” Switching off his machine, he picked up a hand mirror and held it up, positioning the image in the reflection. “Tell me what you think?”
The twenty-three-year-old girl in his chair gazed at the intricate floral and dove motif they’d worked together to design. “Oh, wow. It’s gorgeous.”
Max smiled at her. “Glad you like it. I think it represents your mother’s memory well, don’t you?”
At that, she got a bit teary-eyed. “Yes. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, honey.” He took the mirror from her hand and set it down, then grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. She took it with a shy smile and dabbed her eyes while he reached for some ointment. He smeared it over the ink, gently bandaged it, and explained tattoo aftercare to her.
It had been her first tattoo, and she’d done beautifully. Of course, he’d had to talk her through her initial fears and nervousness in the beginning, but she’d taken the needle like a champ. Pulling off his black surgical gloves, he extended his hand, helping her from the chair, and then led her to the front to pay.
After she’d paid and left, he glanced over at the frown on Ava’s face as she tucked the money she’d collected from his customer away in the cash drawer.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s nothing. It’s just that some things around here don’t make any sense to me.”
“What things?”
“Cash only. How can any business survive being cash only in this day and age?” she asked, turning to him.
He shrugged. “Jamie doesn’t want to pay the fee the banks charge to take the cards. Says it’s highway robbery. They didn’t do shit, so why should they get any percentage?”
She gave him a look.
“Hey, just repeating what the man said.”
“Unbelievable. How does one run a business like this?”
“The shop has a pretty good reputation. If people want a tattoo from us, they come up with the cash.” He tilted his head to the side. “You hungry?”
She frowned. “What?”
“Let’s take a walk. I’ll buy you an ice cream.”
“But it’s not my dinner break.”
He waggled his brows. “Let’s be real rebels and rule breakers.”
“But… the phones.”
“Liam can cover ‘em.”
“Jameson will kill me.”
“I guarantee you, he won’t.”
“But…”
“Come on, pretty girl. You could use a break.”
She huffed out a breath. “I suppose you’re right.”
They walked a block down the quaint main street to an ice cream place. A large six-foot-tall ice cream cone made from what probably was fiberglass stood by the door, beckoning passersby to stop. After ordering, they sat at a small wrought iron table out front.
“You have to understand something about Jamie, and the reason he is the way he is.” Max looked at her.
“Rude and insufferable?” She smirked, scooping up a spoon of Rocky Road from her paper cup.
He grinned, taking a lick from his waffle cone. “I won’t argue that one, but Jamie’s had to fight for everything. Our parents died in a car accident when he was just eighteen.”
She slowly pulled the spoon from her mouth, shocked by what Maxwell had just revealed. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
He nodded. “I was fifteen, Liam was ten, and Rory was seven. And suddenly Jameson was responsible for all of us.”
“Oh my God.” Her brow pulled together with concern.
“Yeah.”
“Wasn’t there anyone to take you in? An aunt or uncle or grandparents?”
“Grandparents were dead. Had one aunt in Boston, but she was sick with MS, and it would have been too much for her. So Jameson stepped up. Had to fight like hell to prove to social services that we were better off with him in our own home than broken up among different foster homes. He swore to us that would never happen, and he made sure it didn’t.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Jameson was supposed to go off to school that fall. He gave it all up to keep the family together. Everything he’s ever done has been for us.”
Ava thought about what Max was telling her, trying to make it fit with the man she thought she knew. “How did he end up tattooing?”
“He’d played around with it as a teenager, much to our mother’s annoyance. After the accident, he got this guy he’d met to show him everything about laying ink. Figured it was a marketable skill—one he could make more money from than any minimum wage job he’d be qualified for. We lived off what little insurance money there was while Jamie learned the skill. Every day he’d make sure we did our homework, he’d make us dinner, and then he’d go to Pete’s shop every night and tattoo while I put Liam and Rory to bed.
“The next morning, no matter how late he’d gotten home, Jamie would get us up for school, feed us breakfast, and make sure we caught the bus. Then he’d go work a shitty day job at the Ryerson’s Feed & Seed, shoveling feed until 5:00.
“My point is, he’s scrimped and saved and busted his ass to provide for his brothers. We owe him everything. So when a bank wants to take three percent, or four percent, or whatever the going rate is now to run a debit card, I get why he doesn’t think they deserve any of his hard earned money.”
“But…things are better now. Aren’t they? I mean he’s on the cover of all those magazines and that TV show…”
“Yeah. Things are better now. Things are easy, for the first time in years, but old habits die hard. He’s had to scrape by and hold the reins so tight, it’s not easy for him to let go.”
Max watched as she looked off into the distance, gazing at the people walking by and the cars driving past, and he could tell she was absorbing all the information he’d just given her.
“I judged your brother unfairly, knowing basically nothing about him.”
“So maybe you’ll take that all into consideration the next time he pisses you off and acts like a controlling jerk. It’s not that he’s trying to be an ass, that’s just him trying to hold onto his family.”
She nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You let on I told you any of that shit, Jamie will kill me.”
She grinned. “I understand. I won’t say a word.”
He reached out and tugged on a lock of her hair. “Don’t stop bein’ you. Keep givin’ him shit. Keep pushin’ your ideas. It’s good for him.” He paused, considering. “I think you’re good for him.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “Yep. You.”
“He and I are like oil and water.”
“They do say opposites attract, and I definitel
y think somebody needs to shake Jameson up.”
“And I’m the girl to do it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. One thing Jameson has no patience for is stupidity. Intelligence, for him, is the ultimate sexy trait, and smartass sarcasm reveals intelligence. Don’t think for a minute he doesn’t notice and appreciate yours.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re delusional. The only thing that man thinks of me is that I’m a pain in his ass. This is a business arrangement, that’s all. He gets his parking spots and someone in his receptionist chair, and I get someone to do my Gala. That’s all there is to this.”
“If you say so.” He stood. “Better get back to the shop.”
***
“Where the hell have you two been?” Jameson snapped the moment they were through the front door.
“I took her for ice cream,” Max replied calmly, loving that this was getting Jameson riled up.
Jameson’s brow arched. “You took her for ice cream?”
Max grinned. “Yup.”
Jameson glared back at him and lifted his chin. “Break room. Now.” Then his gaze swung to Ava. “You. Back to work.”
She saluted him. “Yes, Sir.”
“And don’t be a smartass.”
Max watched Jameson retreat and winked at Ava before following the man.
Jameson slammed the door open and moved to lean against the counter, his arms folded. Max strolled to the refrigerator and took out an energy drink.
“Didn’t you just have a bunch of sugar?” Jameson’s eyes dropped to the can.
Max popped the top with a wild look on his face. “I like to live dangerously.”
“What the fuck was that all about?”
“What the fuck was what all about?”
“You. Takin’ her for ice cream.”
He shrugged. “She needed a break.”
“She needs a break, she can come in here. She’s a big girl. She doesn’t need you holding her hand.”
“You want to tell me why you’re being such a dick to her?”
“I’m not being a dick.” Jameson looked away, his eyes making a liar of him.
“The hell you’re not. You’ve been riding her ass since she walked in the door. So what the fuck is going on?”
Jameson took a deep breath and blew it out, shaking his head. “I have no intention of walking a damn catwalk in any damn bachelor auction. That’s what.”
