Part 7 (2/2)
A wave of relief flooded her body as she took a deep breath. ”I'll sign Manix. End of story,” she said, infusing her words with a confidence she didn't feel.
”But you said-”
”Jesus. Shut up. I'll handle it. Promise me you'll try. Really listen to the counselors and make it stick this time.”
He nodded stiffly. She circled her hands around his wiry biceps and pulled Bowen to his feet as she stood. Wrapping her arms around her brother, her best friend, she hugged him tightly for several minutes, wis.h.i.+ng she could let the tears fall.
Kevan's heart felt as battered as her brother's body looked. She wished she could stay longer, hold on to any connection still holding them together, no matter how tiny and frayed. Anything would be better than leaving the treatment center and being on her own again. Completely alone. But she had work to do.
After saying her good-byes and making a promise to visit again in two weeks, she sat in the parking lot, sorting through her thoughts as her car sputtered to life and warmed up.
She was out of options. She'd have to go on tour if she wanted to keep her brother in rehab and save her business. If she didn't go, she was screwed.
Could she really compete with someone like Mason-shrewd, experienced, and educated? Maybe she should stop trying to prove them all wrong and give in. Or, perhaps it was time to pull up her big-girl panties-her pretty lace-and-silk panties-and bite the f.u.c.king bullet, so to speak.
She laid her head on her steering wheel, the dark surrounding her with its choking emptiness. She felt so alone. She was totally on her own and staring directly into the abyss of losing everything.
Kevan rubbed her slick cheek. The warm river of tears running down her face surprised her. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself the luxury of a good cry. So many nights in tears, worrying about her brother and whether he was safe. So many tears she just didn't cry anymore, and yet there she was, sitting in her car, crying. Alone. So alone.
She had only one choice. In her gut, she knew Manix Curse was the key to her success. She didn't want anyone to steal her opportunity. She'd have to do her best to keep her walls up and keep that d.a.m.n man out of her pants and away from her band.
The only thing to do was fight like h.e.l.l for Manix Curse and for her company.
She stabbed her phone with her Rebel Red fingernails, looking for Joe's number to confirm that she would be joining the band on the road. Thank you very much.
Then it was time to get home and back to work, fine-tuning the plan for the band with solid details. She needed to be at her best in order to compete with the intelligence and experience of big, bad Mason Dillon and beat GEM at their own game.
Chapter 8.
The following afternoon, Mason was not at Tatuaggio looking for Kevan. No way, he told himself for the tenth time. He was there on business. Pulling open the gla.s.s door, he marveled at the surprisingly quaint building ideally located on the main strip of the trendy Hawthorne district. A retro-styled neon sign hung in a window framed with ivy trailing from the covered arched wooden entryway. Moss lined the bricks of the walkway and lent the warm, inviting curb appeal of a cafe instead of the more intimidating ambiance of most tattoo parlors. The shop's welcoming feel balanced equally with its high coolness factor.
Though he lived less than five minutes away, Mason spent more time commuting back and forth to downtown Portland than he did in his own part of town. He was shocked he wasn't more familiar with the businesses in the area. He made note of a couple of bistros on the block and vowed to spend less time in the city center and more in his own backyard. That, of course, might be all too easy if he didn't sign the band and secure his position as GEM's top gun.
The boisterous vibe of the shop quickly greeted him. A bell over the door announced his arrival, and heavy metal music pulsed from the speakers, mixed with the buzz of tattoo machines and the banter of loud voices. The waiting area at the front of the shop contained two well-worn black leather couches, arranged perpendicular to each other and set around a chrome coffee table covered with black-and-silver photo alb.u.ms and a stack of tattoo magazines. The rest of the shop sat behind a long wood-and-chrome counter that ran across the width of the large room.
Although fluorescent lights hung from old-style rounded shades throughout the building, hanging in the center of the high ceiling was the most bada.s.s gla.s.s-and-chrome chandelier Mason had ever seen. Conner, Jax, and an older man with a long gray beard and short dark hair worked on clients in three of five chrome-and-gray reclining chairs set along the walls, much like stations in a beauty salon. All three men looked up. Jax waved with his free hand as Mason greeted the singer and drummer.
”If it isn't big shot Mason Dillon. Here for some ink?” Jax asked, sarcasm painting his words.
”Not this time. I'm looking for you, actually. Well, you and the rest of Manix.” Enthralled, he watched the bearded man spread goo on what looked like an old-school-style mermaid before focusing on Jax. ”Joe said I could stop by the shop. I hope that's okay.”
The older man placed a sheet of plastic wrap on the young woman's shoulder and then secured it with some tape. He stood and pulled his heavily tattooed arms over his head and stretched with a loud groan.
”Getting too old for the long hauls, old man?” Conner said without looking up from a man's leg he was working on.
”Watch it, punk, or I'll put you on clean-up duty.”
Conner cringed and continued working on his client. The older man peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them in the garbage. Then he gave aftercare instructions to the pretty young woman he'd been working on and told her to wait up front. Turning to Mason, he held his hand out over the s.h.i.+ny counter. ”Tony Martelli. And you're welcome to talk band business here with the boys as long as it doesn't interfere with tattoo or piercing business,” Tony said. His warm, friendly grin contrasted with his weathered leather vest, worn motorcycle boots, and mult.i.tude of colorful tattoos.
They shook hands. ”Great shop you have here,” Mason said. ”How long have you been here?”
”Over twenty years. Before that, I managed a shop in the Bay Area.”
”Seems like you got a good crew.”
Tony smirked. ”These a.s.sholes? Bunch of slacker metalheads.” He laughed when Jax tossed a towel at his head. Turning toward the back of the shop to a hall Mason hadn't noticed before, Tony shouted, ”Hey, dollface, we have a customer here ready to check out.” Then he said to Mason, ”Both Jax and Conner should be done shortly if you want to hang out and wait.” He gestured toward the waiting area.
”Hold your pants on, old man,” a woman's familiar voice called back, coming closer as she moved into the room. ”I'm working on your next ad, you old geez...” She froze, and the glossy smile on her lips dropped as her eyes narrowed when they connected with Mason's face. She looked from Mason to Tony and back to Mason again. ”What the h.e.l.l is he doing here?”
”Well, h.e.l.lo to you, too, Kevan. A pleasure as always.” G.o.d, she looked gorgeous in a pair of loose jeans rolled up at the ankles and a red plaid cowgirl top that highlighted her never-ending curves. Her long dark hair was tied back into a high ponytail, those streaks of blue glowing bright under the fluorescent lights. Instead of the mile-high heels, she had on a pair of beat-up, red Chuck Taylors. And still the woman was hotter than a freaking volcano on the sun in the middle of summer.
Again, why had he left her apartment? At the moment, he was drawing a blank.
”Um, Tony said I should pay you and schedule my final appointment to finish the color.” The young woman who'd been waiting for Kevan squeezed past Mason and sashayed to the register.
”You really should get some ink,” the girl said. He swore she glanced over her shoulder and winked, but Mason was paying attention to only one woman in the shop. Tony snorted and sauntered out the front door, yelling something about grabbing dinner.
As if remembering she was actually working and not in a perpetual sparring match with Mason, Kevan shook her head and walked to the counter. She handed the woman her invoice and rang her up on the modern register. When they'd said their good-byes and the bell tinkled over the door, Kevan turned back to him with ice so cold in her eyes he could feel the chill between them. She was like a broken thermostat capable of only two settings: hotter than h.e.l.l and colder than f.u.c.k.
Pus.h.i.+ng through the gate attached to the counter, she stepped forward and reached for him. When she grabbed his hand, he was momentarily stunned by the zing of electricity that sparked instantly between them. Apparently, the other night had not been a fluke.
She pasted an obviously forced smile on her glossy lips. ”Can I talk to you for a minute?”
When he stood there dumbly, saying nothing, she added, ”About the tour.”
As she dragged him across the room and down the back hall, he didn't resist or pull his hand free.
”Where are we going?” He wanted to know. She didn't answer but continued tugging him down the hall and past an open storage closet. ”You're glad to see me then?” he teased. ”Trying to get me alone so you can have a repeat of the other night?”
”Shut up,” she hissed between her teeth. ”It's unprofessional to yell at each other in the front of the shop.”
”True. You were very unprofessional.”
She stopped and turned, forcing herself into his personal s.p.a.ce-not that he minded-so close he could smell her vanilla-sweet scent. ”Seriously. Why are you doing this? You are such an arrogant a.s.s.”
”Me? I call 'em like I see 'em, dollface.”
The sneer curling her pretty mouth was almost comical. He was beginning to enjoy how easy it was to read her expressions. When she leaned forward, he felt his breath hitch, and the air nearly crackled. Kevan pressed her palm to his chest, but instead of moving closer like he wanted her to, she reached around and opened the door at his back and shoved him inside. A little roughly. His body instantly reacted.
d.i.c.k hard? Check.
Stumbling backward, he grabbed her wrist with one hand and her hip with the other. He twirled her and pushed her up against the door, closing it with a click. He pinned her hand above her head and looked down at her heaving chest. ”Well, this feels familiar, doesn't it, Bettie?”
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