Chapter Five
The rabble, as it turned out, referred to the rest of the employees.
They stood together, Gem behind the desk, two men in front of it. One was younger, brown-skinned, and handsome. The other was older, rougher, tougher; a white guy with a thick beard and heavy frown lines. All three of them were talking and laughing together, clearly close. But that stopped when Bailey came into the room.
“Hel-lo,” the younger of the men said, straightening up immediately. He glanced at Gem. “Who’s this, then?”
“That’s the new girl,” Gem said. She blew a bubble, let it pop, and the older man stared at her pursed lips as though they held the secret to life itself. But Gem didn’t appear to notice. “She’s gonna be our receptionist. So I’m finally free of the desk!”
The young man’s brows shot up, practically disappearing into his razor-sharp hairline. But then a smooth smile took over his face, and he approached Bailey with practiced charm.
It was effective. But it wasn’t Cash.
“I’m Jay,” he grinned, holding out a hand for her to shake. He had big hands. He really was a handsome guy. She should feel something when she put her palm against his.
But she didn’t. She just shook his hand, and smiled politely, and said, “I’m Bailey.”
“And this is Steve,” Gem interjected, gesturing at the other man, who had a gruff shyness about him. He gave Bailey a nod, but every inch of his being was focused on Gem—like she was the sun and he the sunflower. Bailey wondered if Gem knew that this guy was in love with her.
Probably not.
“Hi,” Bailey smiled, nodding back at Steve. She was about to make her way over to the desk when Jay stopped her, a frown creasing his brow.
“Have we met before?” He asked. “I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”
“Um…” Bailey wracked her mind, but came up blank. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
“Huh.” He floated back over to the desk and she followed, brushing the moment off. If it was a line, it hadn’t worked. Then again, he hadn’t exactly followed through.
“Cash said something about you setting me up?” She asked Gem.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll give you, like, a little induction. I’m kind of shit at this job though, so it won’t be that great. Come round here.”
Docile as a lamb, Bailey made her way round to the other side of the desk. The men wandered towards the back of the shop, into another room that she could only catch a glimpse of from here. She heard them talking—well, Jay talking and Steve grunting—over the classic Christmas songs dancing through the air.
“You guys like Christmas, hm?”
Gem gave her a strange look. “Everyone likes Christmas.”
“Well, maybe not everyone…”
“Everyone,” Gem repeated firmly. “Even people who don’t celebrate.”
“Uh… Really?” Bailey asked doubtfully.
“Of course. They have more money for the Boxing Day sales.” Gem snorted at her own joke, then reached beneath the neckline of her vest to scratch her collarbone. The movement shifted her clothing slightly—just enough for Bailey to see the lavender and indigo tattoo on the other woman’s chest. It was delicately lined, surrounded by splashes of pigment that looked like a watercolour painting—a painting etched into her pale skin. Fascinated, Bailey stared at the tattoo. It was an intriguing shape—a merging of the symbols for male and female, along with a third symbol that she didn’t recognise.
“What?” Gem demanded, her voice suddenly hard. “What are you looking at?”
Bailey looked up sharply. Caught staring again. Everyone would think she was some kind of weirdo.“I’m sorry. I just saw your tattoo. The colours and the…” She waved her hand, unsure of how to describe it. “I’ve never seen one like that.”
“Oh,” Gem said, and the guarded panic in her eyes faded. “Right. Jay did it. Watercolour tatts. It’s a cool technique.”
“It’s pretty.”
“Thanks,” Gem smiled. “Anyway, let me show you the books, okay? It’s all very simple. We’re kinda basic here.”
They spent a cosy half hour behind the desk—probably longer than necessary, but Bailey found herself warming to Gem. The girl was funny, and her excessive energy was endearing. They were so busy giggling together, Bailey almost didn’t notice when Cash came downstairs just in time to greet his first client.
And she definitely didn’t notice that the client was a beautiful, heavily-tatted woman who clearly knew Cash very well.
And she certainly didn’t notice the fact that Cash grinned when he greeted the woman, or the way he hugged her, as though it were a habit.
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
She didn’t notice any of that.
∞∞∞
The low whine of the tattoo gun kept Cash in a state of meditation while he worked. He traced over the faint lines with a steady hand, falling into a familiar rhythm. Line, line, wipe. Line, line, wipe.
Charlene was sitting like a rock, as usual. She was more canvas than human, she held so still—which wasn’t easy when someone was dragging a needle across the underside of your breasts, Cash was sure. It had been a three-hour session with no breaks, and her hyper-detailed, ocean-inspired sternum tattoo was almost done.
He made a few finishing touches, then turned off the gun. As the buzz receded, so did his calm. Reality came filtering in.
Fuck.
That was Bailey laughing in the next room. He’d heard her uncontrolled giggles often enough to recognise them with ease. But who the hell was making her laugh like that? His calm shattered, Cash cleaned the finished tattoo with practiced movements before covering it in clingfilm.
“You like it?” He asked Charlene. But for once, he honestly didn’t care about the answer.
“Oh my God, yes,” she gushed, hopping out of the chair. She stood in front of the huge mirror on the wall, twisting her slim body this way and that. She was topless—had to be, for this—and one slender arm was pressed against her full breasts, hiding their nipples from view. He knew for a fact that those nipples were cherry-red and thick, but the memory did little for him today.
Usually, Charlene was one of the women who made him regret his policy—ninety days, no going back. That was all he could offer a girl, no matter how beautiful or smart or charming she might be.
But right now, with the echo of Bailey’s laughter teasing his memory, Cash didn’t regret a damn thing.
The reflection of Charlene’s glittering eyes met his in the mirror. Blue. Perfectly pretty. But somehow not what he wanted to see.
“You have magic hands, Cash,” she murmured.
“Thanks,” he said shortly.
She turned to face him, her smile wry. “I’ll never convince you to break those rules of yours, will I?”
“I told you I wouldn’t change my mind,” he said, but this was familiar ground, and so he felt comfortable enough to crack a smile.
“I didn’t believe you. I should have.” She sounded rueful. But then she let her gaze flit mischievously down to his crotch. “Worth it.”
Cash chuckled as he left the workstation, pulling the thin curtain around it to give her some semblance of privacy. “Get dressed, Char. I’ll see you out front.”
He found Bailey seated behind the welcome desk, with Gem at her side. The two women appeared to be discussing some TV show about werewolves, while Jay leaned against the counter like some kind of sleaze.
His white teeth were bright against his golden skin as he displayed his famous smile. That smile had won him mountains of pussy; it was handsome, debonair despite his relative youth, and the very definition of charming.
And he was using it on Bailey.
“I swear I recognise you from somewhere,” he was saying, his gaze a little too focused on Bailey’s full lips.
Not that Cash could blame him. But he clenched his fists regardless.
“I really don’t think we’ve met,” Bailey said. “I’m good with faces.”
“So am I. Comes with being an artist.” Jay leaned further against the counter, making sure that his biceps flexed—and Bailey actually smiled, a sweet, shy smile that fired Cash’s blood in more ways than one. Shit, was she falling for this line?
But then it hit him—it might not be a line. Jay might actually recognise Bailey. Because, like an idiot, Cash had been sketching out her face since the day he’d first seen her at that fucking coffee shop.
Crap.
Surging forward, Cash interrupted the happy little trio just in time to hear Jay purr, “You should come to lunch with me.”
“She can’t,” Cash said, surprising himself. Six eyes swivelled to focus on him, all questioning. He didn’t have an explanation for his vehemence. Well; not one he could say aloud.
“What do you mean?” Gem asked, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. Little trouble-maker.
Cash clenched his jaw. “I mean, Bailey can’t go out for lunch. We have things to do.”
“Oh, come on,” Jay rolled his eyes. “Like what? You gonna show her that shitty coffee shop you like?”
Bailey’s eyes slid down into her lap. She bit her lip. God, what a fucking mouth. The things Cash could do with that mouth…
“I don’t know why you even go there,” Gem said, and something in her voice made him suddenly nervous. “You hate fancy coffee.”
That had Bailey looking up. Oh, yeah. Frowning, she asked, “You do?”
“Ah…”
“Yep,” Gem confirmed gleefully. “He only drinks it black. Why he has to go to some artisanal place for a cup of black coffee is beyond me—”
“Black?” Bailey echoed. “Seriously? You only drink black coffee?”
Jay blinked, looking from Cash to Bailey with a frown. And then, all of a sudden, he remembered. Cash saw it. He saw the precise moment that Jay placed the woman before them. The precise moment that he realised Bailey was the girl littered throughout Cash’s sketchbooks.
The younger man straightened, taking a subtle step back from the desk. “No worries,” he said casually. “First-day admin. I get it. You want me to pick anything up, boss?”
Cash caught his friend’s eyes, and relief flooded him as he saw understanding and surrender in their depths.
“No,” he said gruffly. “I’m good.”
“Alright. I’ll be off, then. Gem; the usual?”
“Cheers love” Gem smiled sunnily. “You’re a star.”
As Jay left the shop, Charlene came sauntering out from the studio, her coat slung over her shoulder. Despite the cold weather, she wore a tight T-shirt that rode up to reveal her taut, tanned belly. She swished her hips as she came closer to the desk, the smile on her face growing with each step. She was lovely. And he didn’t give a fuck.
“Thanks for sorting me out, Cash,” she murmured.
“No problem,” he replied. But the weight of her questioning gaze wouldn’t leave him alone. He pushed his hair out of his face, his fingers twitching with the nervous urge to pick up a pen—to put a whole world of creativity between himself and human contact.
No dice.
So, his mind racing, he reached instinctively for the closest thing to freedom.
“Bailey,” he said, already turning towards the stairs. “Step into my office, will you?”
“Alright.” Her voice was low, subdued. He didn’t like that. But then, it was really none of his concern, was it?
“Cash,” Charlene called after him. “You’re going? I thought we could have lunch.”
“Sorry.” He mounted the first step. “Duty calls.”
And then he hurried up the staircase before she could say anything else. Because while Charlene was pretty—gorgeous, really, with her red hair and doll-like features—and sweet and fun, she was also the past. He didn’t return to old conquests; not ever. She knew that.
See, keeping someone around for too long meant becoming attached—and Cash didn’t do attached.
He simply couldn’t. Attachment was dangerous.
∞∞∞
For the second time in one day, Bailey found herself watching Cash from across a desk.
The situation wasn’t quite as uncomfortable this time, though. Now that she’d found her confidence, she’d dragged another chair up rather than standing like a child waiting to be scolded.
His auburn hair fell forward, hiding his face in shadow as he bent over the documents in front of him. Then he looked up, and her heart almost stopped at the sudden sight of those lush, green eyes. Damn. Warn a girl, would you?
“Here you go,” he said gruffly, pushing the papers towards her. “You got a P45?”
“No. And I’m not going back there to get one, either.” She bit her lip. “Michael’s like a gremlin. A very angry gremlin with a shiny head. I don’t think I can face him.”
He chuckled as he handed her a pen—though she noticed that he didn’t let his skin touch hers. “I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said. “They’ll probably post it, anyway.”
“Maybe.” She began filling out the form, the act familiar to her. She’d spent her life following her mother, who’d spent hers following men. Starting a new job was nothing new.
Of course, her new boss was the definition of uncharted territory. But the job itself? At least she could handle that.
“So,” she said as she signed and dated the form. “Black coffee, hm?” She looked up to find him… Blushing?
Holy shit. Her big, tatted biker boss was blushing. It was an adorably faint flush that tinged his high cheekbones. Perils of being a red-head, she supposed. Add it to the list of things about him that made absolutely no sense—right next to his apparent love of Christmas decorations.
“About that…” He began.
“Yeah?” She raised her brows, trying not to smile.
“I was just trying to broaden my horizons.”
“Ah. Hence the Surprise me?”
“Yep.”
He looked stiff as a board. His fingers flexed, and somehow she knew that he was searching for a pen. But she had his pen. Let him try to hide without it.
Perhaps it was the sound of All I Want For Christmas Is You floating up from downstairs, but Bailey felt mischievous. She leaned forward, a teasing smile on her face, and asked, “Did you finish any of the coffee I made you?”
“Ah…”
“Oh my Lord.” She gasped, her smile widening. “You didn’t, did you?”
He muttered something she couldn’t quite hear.
“What?”
“I said I—” with a sigh, he broke off, raking a hand through his hair. She caught a glimpse of the dark ink swirling up to his knuckles, identifying the image for the first time; a cloudy night, the stylised moon hanging amidst stars and darkness.
“Go on,” she prompted, barely hiding her smirk. There was something about seeing a bad boy blush that made her desperate to keep the moment going.
His eyes flashed as he finally blurted out his answer. “I like watching you make all those drinks. It’s like a little dance you do, and you look so happy, and you like mixing shit up…”
Bailey paused, unexpectedly shocked by his response. He waited, clearly uncomfortable, as the implications of that statement filtered through her mind.
“Wow,” she said slowly. “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?”
He crossed his arms. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that… I have no idea why you act like such an arse sometimes, but it’s not real. You’re actually a nice guy.”
“Nice guys finish last,” he muttered. But he was blushing again. And something about the set of his lips beneath all that stubble made her think that he was… Pleased.
“Boring guys finish last,” she corrected, pushing the completed forms back to him. “Nice guys finish anywhere they want. Especially when they look like you.”
And then, before she could say anything else wildly inappropriate, she got up and left the room.
But she let her hips sway, just a little, as she went—because God damn it, Hot Coffee Guy was the real deal. And she was absolutely sure that he’d be looking.