CHAPTER 5

GIGI FLICKED ON THE CLOSET light, casting a dull glow on her wardrobe and across her bare toes. Flipping through the hangers full of her everyday costumes, she dismissed her burgundy sweater and an emerald patterned blazer along with an assortment of understated button downs. None of them reflected her. They were the skin for the image she cultivated, a façade crafted to protect her privacy as much as her heart. Today called for a piece of the truth. Wholesome office professional with her bright but tasteful colors would stand out in all the wrong ways in this new setting. Her new employer had an edge and a challenge for her image.

She pulled out a formfitting magenta t-shirt dress from the back, tossing it on the bed with a couple other options. She could wear a color other than pink, but where would the fun be in that? Now that Roman pointed it out, she couldn’t help the urge to meet his expectation. She certainly owned enough variations of the color to keep the silly game going for a while. If she couldn’t have him, she’d settle for subtle flirtation until she lost interest. Please let that be sooner rather than later.

The garments had landed in a heap on her unmade bed. Arms crossed over her breasts, Gigi glowered down at her picks, considering them against the muted backdrop of her gray blanket and dusty mauve duvet. Sweet and unsullied struck her as the wrong message to be sending if she wanted to fit in or do any kind of flirting with Roman. That immediately ruled out the lacy blush dress. Also, the button down with white and pink polka dots came across scandalous with the amount of cleavage she would need to hide. That left the first dress she’d pulled.

She snatched the garment off the bed and held it across her body, petting the soft material as she turned to the narrow mirror beside the bathroom door. “Is this pink enough for you, Roman?” Her voice sounded hollow against the barren walls. “At least I’ll be comfortable.”

This dress stood in the reserves of her me time, when there’d be no one to judge. Casual and bright but nice enough for a mall run or the store. This past spring, with a pair of sunglasses and strappy sandals, she’d worn it to the Czech Museum. She’d felt perfectly safe to do so. No one she knew would have been interested in the art exhibit.

Gigi slipped the garment on, smoothing the bunched fabric down over her hips, and then turned in the mirror to assess the results. There was nothing risqué about the dress. It covered her arms to her elbows and her legs to her knees. It was just bright and comfortable—the only flirty thing about it was the way the soft t-shirt material clung to her curves. It reminded her of her younger self, in high school where despite her father’s disapproval she’d been free to be as bright and trendy as she pleased. With her denim moto jacket, this struck the balance of casual and professional she needed. High-heeled ankle boots and a leather cuff bracelet gave the ensemble the edge she’d been looking for.

The magenta and denim in her clothing made her stand out in the washed out grays, muted mauves, and blush pinks of her bedroom. She imagined the normal vibrant colors had been frosted and the cheer frozen from it. Unlike the rest of her apartment, it remained bare and she spent as little time in it as possible. Even the furniture choices were straight contemporary lines. The only pieces of art she’d hung over her bed to try to reclaim the space matched the drab palate. In the end, she gave up on this room.

If a man came inside her apartment, a rare occurrence, he was just as likely to take her on the velvet green sofa in her living room. There she could let her mind drift off into the rainbow of colors from the art collection she lovingly stacked on her bright white walls. When she’d finished with him, he’d be back out the door before he had time to find the bedroom.

Gigi grabbed her bag off the counter along with her tote carrying the items she’d need for her first day on the job. Only a quick jaunt across the bridge from Czech Village where she lived to the NewBo District across the river had her stepping back out of the car to work.

She used her sweaty palms to smooth down her dress one last time. Gripping her pink travel mug, she took a deep breath to calm her treacherous nerves. This is just a job. If she focused on that, maybe she could forget about the hot boss. This certainly wasn’t her dream job—okay maybe the gallery part of it was even if she could do without the tattoo shop.

Since graduating, she had been floating from one stuffy cubicle and spreadsheet nightmare of employment to another. The gallery side of Ink Spinners would be her first shot at combining both her minor and her major. She needed to make this shot count if she wanted to leverage her career in a direction that was more her and less her parents’ choices. If Roman had bothered to read her resume before offering her the position, he might have noticed. She minored in art history. Not exactly the ideal course of study to go along with business administration.

She grabbed her bag out of the back seat before marching up the sidewalk to get the day started. Roman stood behind the window turning on the neon open sign as she entered the shop. His golden eyes met hers with a welcome smile. Her lips tingled with the memory of last night. She shut the feeling down fast. If she planned to make it through this successfully, she would need to pack those feelings up and forget where she hid them. Stick to the rules.

“I’m ready to get started.” Gigi sat her mug on the counter and turned on her bright cheerful smile—totally fake, but considering her last two days, forced is what she had to offer. “Do you have a back room for staff personal items or do I just keep my bag under the front desk?”

Roman leaned against the counter beside her, one foot crossed at the ankle, totally at ease. “Under the front desk is fine. The artists all have their own stations, but if you need to you can keep things in my office in the back.”

“Thanks, so are we starting with a rundown on how this place operates? What’s the plan?” She pulled out a pink leather folder with a legal pad inside, also pink, and her favorite rose gold pen. Was her use of the color excessive? Absolutely. She also didn’t care.

His eyes flickered over her color coordinated office supplies. His mouth—with those delectable lips that she totally should not be thinking about—quirked up into a smile. “There isn’t much of a tour. You’ve already seen the gallery; there is an office, supply room, and bathroom straight back.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Okaaaaay. She supposed she could wander to the back later. “So, then I guess you should show me your appointment keeping system.”

“Sure.” Roman moved around the side of the counter, opened the center desk drawer and pulled a calendar book out. Tossing it on the counter in front of her, he flipped it open to the current week. “Just write them in with the artist’s name beside it on the date the client asks for. It’s the artist’s responsibility to check what they have coming up.”

Gigi, stood frozen, pen poised for instruction. It dawned on her that she should probably close her gaping mouth—she shouldn’t be rude on the first day. Her jaw snapped shut and she lowered herself into the desk chair behind the counter. It was amazing they could function like this. Once they became busier the system would break down—it lacked any kind of efficiency.

“What do you do with the computer then?” Surely, they were using it.

He shrugged. “Keeping the books and researching art references. Now that you’re here, you can use it to set up our website.”

“What about social media?”

“I’m not on it.”

She swallowed hard and through force of will alone managed to keep her jaw from hitting the desk a second time. How could he run a business without social media? Even the President was on Twitter and that man remained stuck in another decade.

“I don’t want to overstep. It’s one thing for the shop to cultivate an image of the past. That’s good branding. It’s another thing to operate as if the century never turned. That’s not good business.” She gestured at the antique oddities that surrounded them as she made her point. “Please tell me that you and the other artists at least have smart phones?”

Running his hand through his slicked back hair, Roman chuckled. “We’re not total savages.” His grin had her sighing with relief, which set him to laughing again. “You have free rein to make whatever changes you think will make this place better.”

“First, you need social media. I am happy to set it all up and maintain it for the shop along with the website. It’s really a vital marketing tool now. Also, I think I can do better for scheduling then a calendar book. When I’m done you’ll be able to check your appointments from your phone.”

“Cool, you need anything from me?”

“Art.” Her answer was flat.

He cocked his head to the side, his expression thoughtful. “Art. I can do that. In the meantime I thought we could have dinner and get to know each other better. Does tonight work for you?”

“No.” She worked to keep her voice flat and unemotional. She continued as if he hadn’t just asked her out. “I have a concept for the website in mind, but it will require some drawings from each artist, especially you and Declan since you’re the owners.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise and his answering nod was slow. She could see the wheels turning before he gave her another question. “I’m sure we can help you out. I’ll talk to the guys. Anything in particular?”

“Just something that showcases the individual artistic style of each artist. Each of you will have a feature page where potential clients can check out your work.”

Roman straightened and crossed the room to what Gigi assumed was his workstation. He tore a page from a spiral bound book that lay open on an antique barbershop chair, complete with aged black leather and intricate scrollwork. He laid the page face down in front of her.

“You can use this to get started.” His cheeks were flushed and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his worn denim. “I’ll be in my office in the back when my client gets here. Just holler.”

For the third time since she came in the door, she gaped at him. At least this time it was too his back and the finest ass to grace a pair of jeans that she’d had the pleasure of ogling for the second day in a row. She hated when someone dismissed her questions, but she could stand him walking away when given a view like that. She swiveled the chair back to face the desk. Just what was the drawing that had him so—it took her a minute to sort through just what she thought he was feeling—embarrassed? Really?

Gigi lifted the corner, stopped and took a deep breath to brace herself. Curiosity had her fingers itchy, but the emotions rolling off him made her hesitate. This meant something to him.

When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she flipped the page as if she was peeling a Band-Aid. Better to get it over with fast. Her breath caught as her fingers moved over the intricate line work and color. A pinup girl in a soft pink baby doll top knelt on a bed of darker pink roses, dark hair cascading over one shoulder. The stylized version of her own face stared back at Gigi. Her expression and wide green eyes were somehow secretive, amplifying the sexy pose.

Oh. My. God.

Trembling fingers moved to her parted lips. Her stomach flooded with giddiness and the skin on the back of her neck tingled as if Roman were watching her. She looked back over her shoulder as casually as she could manage, but if he was there, she didn’t see him. If this attraction had been a war, between that almost kiss last night and this sketch today, his opening shots were brilliant.

It was as if he knew that the innocent act was just that—a mask, and he was right. He didn’t know her well enough to see that. Yet somehow, he had. He captured it and presented it to her in full color. How did she even respond? That fluttering in her stomach had moved lower, igniting a smoldering need. She wanted to lock his office door behind her and taste what his lips had promised last night.

Artists were a sexy, dangerous lot. This one appeared to know her colors.

The bell on the front door chimed to announce a customer, cutting off the direction of her thoughts. Gigi tore her eyes from the artwork in front of her and met the smiling face of Ann, a Styrofoam coffee cup clutched in each hand. The lust that had been coursing through Gigi snuffed out instantly.

A forced smile spread across her face as she pulled the calendar over the drawing. Nothing suspicious about that, was there? The fluttering soured into a dull ache. She was such a shitty friend. Ann had all but handed Gigi this job on the promise that Roman wouldn’t be added to the little pink book. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and Gigi was nearly ready to break every rule—over a MAN. What had gotten into her?

“You’re not Roman’s first client today are you?” Gigi struggled to keep her voice even, to give nothing away.

Ann sat the coffee on the counter and waved her question away, appearing oblivious to Gigi’s attempt to disguise her distress. “Of course not. Just wanted to stop by and visit you on your first day.” She glanced around the shop before leaning forward and whispering. “Declan’s not here right?”

Well now. That was interesting. Ann’s eyes were wide as she fiddled with the top button of her blouse. Her seemingly unflappable friend had a chink in her armor. Gigi never would have expected it to be a tattooed looker, not with the guys she typically dated.

“No. I haven’t seen him yet.” Gigi flipped to the correct page in the calendar, giving her a more legitimate reason to cover the illicit art beneath it. She skimmed the lines until she came to his name. “Says he’s not due in for another hour.”

Ann’s smile brightened. Her composure beginning to return. “Good. I brought you coffee and I thought I might visit for a bit.”

That sounded fantastic. All she wanted to do was unload this emotional mess on Ann. Her friend would know exactly what to think of Roman’s actions if he had been any other man—but he was her step brother—the man Gigi promised not to fool around with.

Her phone chose that moment to ping from her bag.

“Is Dick Pic still bothering you?” Ann leaned casually against the counter, trusting and openly curious.

Gigi never thought she’d be grateful for one of Chad’s messages. Now here she was, in need of a safe man problem to chat about and he delivered one just in time.

“The plot thickens.” Gigi looked back over her shoulder, making sure Roman was still safely in his office before continuing. She kept her voice low and her tone matter of fact, despite the agitation she felt. “His name is Chad and he works for my father. He was their guest for dinner when I showed up. He tried to shove his hand in my panties under the table and followed me into the bathroom for a quickie.”

Now it was Ann picking her jaw up off the floor. “He didn’t.”

“He did. I braved the wrath of Dad and got out.”

Ann pointed an accusing finger at Gigi. “This is what I warned you would happen if you kept messing around. You need to settle into an adult relationship.”

“I’m not that kind of girl.” Even if Roman tempted her—Gigi wouldn’t be admitting that.

Ann huffed and then pursed her lips in one of those I know better than you smirks. It was as if Ann was playing a game of cards and counting to make certain she beat the house. “We’ll see about that.”

Gigi’s brows shot up. “All I know is, I’m steering clear of my dating apps and regular hookups for a little while until this settles down.”

“In that case, I’d like this guy’s number so I can thank him.”

Gigi tossed her pen at Ann. “Get out of here. I have work to get done.”

Ann smirked again as she backed towards the glass door with her own coffee in hand. “Have fun pulling my brother out of the social media dark ages.”

“You knew?” Gigi’s voice went up an octave in frustrated shock as she threw her hands up.

Ann stood with her hip holding the door open. “Of course I did.” She ducked out, her laughter cutting off as the door closed behind her.

That bitch knew everything. Good thing she was on Gigi’s side—at least until catching her lusting after Roman. Then all bets were off.

Roman focused on the lines of ink flowing through the machine vibrating in his hand. His art kept his mind from wandering and he sorely needed that especially after this morning. He didn’t mean to listen in. He’d just wanted to see her reaction to his art—to her likeness from his pen. He needed something after she’d turned down his dinner invite so flatly. Talk about unexpected, especially after that hot teasing kiss the night before. Between that and the conversation he eavesdropped on, he was all kinds of twisted up. For a moment, her seeing his art had given him hope.

It wasn’t a bad reaction. She didn’t storm out or threaten to sue him for sexual harassment on the first day. Yeah, now that he thought about it—that could have gone very badly. Instead, she was a buzz of activity, taking pictures of the shop on her phone and each of the artists as they came in. As absorbing as his work could be, there never came a moment when he hadn’t been viscerally aware of her presence.

“Damn man—the view in here got a serious upgrade.” The gruff proclamation from Roman’s long-standing client, Billy Joyce, had Roman lifting his needle to look from the half sleeve to see what she’d done now to inspire this observation.

It wasn’t even a question that by “view” Billy was referring to Gigi. She sat reclining in the office chair, one foot tucked underneath her and her shoe dangling from the toes of her other. But it was the way she worried her full bottom lip as she worked at the computer that made him want to beat his chest like a possessive cave man. He’d never been that kind of man before and at this stage had no right to be now. How could he have it this bad for a woman he’d only known a couple of days?

He shook his head and sighed before refocusing on his client. “Mind your manners, Billy.”

“Don’t worry man; I’m too old to be poaching on another man’s territory.”

Roman lifted the needle again and raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn’t speak. Billy had been a friend of his father’s from his “glory days” as they liked to refer to their military experience. After Roman’s father passed, Billy had offered his body up as a canvas in the early days of Roman’s apprenticeship. Now as payback, Roman covered up the amateur flash art with new, better work. They did one every few months. Naturally, Billy had occasion to voice his opinions a little freely.

Billy chuckled as he rubbed his buzz cut. “Yeah, man, it’s that obvious. Every time you stop, or she laughs, speaks, anything—you look at her. It ain’t taken you this long to finish me up since you were an apprentice. She’s gonna think you’re a creep if you don’t knock that shit off.”

“Then I guess it’s a damn good thing you’re my last client for the day.” The phone rang and she picked it up. Roman took advantage of her distraction to continue candidly. “I happened to hear the lady doesn’t do relationships and I don’t do casual.”

Billy waved it off. “You’re just gun shy after that cheatin’ hussy you were with before. You’re lookin’ for excuses to let her get away, son.”

Roman glanced up at Gigi for the hundredth time that day. Her head cocked towards them, but the phone was pressed between her cheek and shoulder as she tapped on the computer. He didn’t need her hearing about his past from someone else.

He could admit that the conversation he’d eavesdropped on had made him pump the breaks. That didn’t make him gun shy. It made him evolved. He learned from his past mistakes instead of repeating them with a new pretty face. His instinct told him she was more complex a creature than his ex had ever pretended to be. It drew him to Gigi—made him want to find out the why behind the things she said instead of cutting his losses.

“Not gun shy, Billy. I’m building the support beams to break down a few walls.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smirked, baring crooked teeth that looked more like a snarl than a smile if Roman hadn’t known that grizzled face for so long. “You about done? I’m tired of sittin’ still.”

Roman sprayed and wiped the excess ink from the image he’d etched into the right bicep. Today’s piece had a nautical theme, featuring a mermaid and a ship with full sails in an American Traditional style. It seemed like a lot to fit in one tattoo but they’d managed and the result was impressive even by Roman’s standards.

Billy got up and ambled his hulking frame to the mirror to check out his arm. “Damn, man. I think this is my best one now.”

“Mr. Joyce,” Gigi cut in, using her honey tone rather than the clipped professional one she’d been dishing out since Ann left. “Can I take a picture of your art for the website?”

Roman turned so that she couldn’t see his face and mumbled to Billy, “Be nice.”

“Shut your trap, Roman. I know how to talk to a lady.” The old man shot him a scathing look before grinning at Gigi. “Of course I wouldn’t mind.”

Her smile brightened and she snapped a couple quick photos, offered her thanks, and then returned promptly to the desk. Roman covered the tattoo to protect it and then cashed Billy out.

“See you later at the bar.”

“Pull the trigger, kid.”

Roman waved him off and the older man chuckled as he ambled out the door.

“Mr. Joyce is nice. I have to say your clients have been quite the surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that today I’ve watched a man in a suit come in and roll up expensive dress shirt sleeves to get your work, then Mr. Joyce, who is old enough to be my father. But the math teacher earlier—she took the cake. I never would have thought someone like her would have ink.”

“You hang art in your house, right?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the same,” Gigi shot back.

“Your body is the temple for your soul. Why shouldn’t it be reflected in art just like your house?”

“That’s pretty deep stuff.”

Roman shrugged. “I’m an artist, not an idiot.”

“Never thought you were. It’s just that it’s so philosophical.”

“I’ve got hidden depths. Which is why you should let me take you to dinner and show you.” She said no earlier and sure, it had bruised his ego—but call him a glutton for punishment because he just couldn’t let it go, no matter what his reservations might be.

She stilled beside him and turned, facing him fully. Her cheeks flushed and her green eyes burned bright. But the downturn of her pretty pink lips gave him his answer before she did. “Roman, you’re my boss now. I don’t think we should.”

Roman searched her expression for any hope. No—her expression was kind but stern so he saved face the only way he could think of. He changed the subject despite the bullet of rejection burning in his chest. Screw Billy and his fucking trigger. “Anyway, it’s late and you stayed longer than you needed to. Why don’t you take off and I’ll close up shop.”

Gigi bent to grab her bag from under the desk. Roman struggled to keep his eyes fixed on the money he counted and not on her heart shaped ass. He choked down his disappointment, carefully keeping his expression blank as she straightened. The air felt thick between them—damn—she even smelled like the flowers he’d used as a background in the pinup art.

The soft lilt of her voice broke the trance he’d been standing in. “I know I just started today but if it’s alright with you, can I start planning the first gallery event?”

He shoved the cash in the bank bag. There was no use counting it tonight. He couldn’t even think right now, knowing they were alone, and in that intoxicating cloud of her perfume after she’d shot him down. “I’m wide open for Saturdays evenings. Book it whenever and let me know.”

Moving around the counter hesitantly, she backed towards the door and then leaned against the glass as if waiting for something. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it.

Roman gripped the counter hard, just as he had when she first walked into his shop. “You have a nice night. See you Tuesday.”

Gigi sighed heavily and shook her head. “Yeah, see you Tuesday.”