Chapter 2

Margot

Six Months Later

“Where is he?” I asked, and paced toward the reception desk at the front of my shop, Get Ink’d. “Tell me he called, Nat. Tell me he messaged, because I’m about to lay down some serious fire if he didn’t.”

Nat blew a bright pink bubble of gum, then popped it and chewed. “What are you gonna do, boss? Hunt him down?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said and managed a chuckle. “Come on, seriously, though. Did he call?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Crap.” I pressed my fist to my forehead.

We were about half an hour from opening for the day, fully booked up from the moment we opened until closing time, and I had a Current Executive coming to the shop to check it out—we had the potential to land an actual reality TV show set around what we did here.

All of that would’ve been awesome, fine, totally the best day ever, if not for the fact that my only other employee who actually did tattoos was out. And he was popular.

Jeffo was good at what he did, a true artist, and that meant he behaved like one.

He’d turn up for work late and hungover most days, and I’d deal with it as my father had done.

Ugh, don’t think about that.

I sighed and puffed my cheeks out.

“I could try calling him,” Nat said, and picked up the glossy black receiver behind the desk.

“No, there’s no point. He’s not going to answer the phone. You know what he’s like,” I said, and folded my arms across my chest. Today, I’d chosen my usual professional attire—jeans and a black T-shirt with the Get Ink’d logo printed on the left breast.

It was the uniform my father had designed.

My insides curled into a ball. Pain radiated through my chest.

God, there was so much more at stake than just a TV show. This was my father’s business. He’d left it to me all of five months ago, and so far, things hadn’t been awesome.

We were fully booked today, for once, but that wasn’t an everyday thing, and the more lax we became, the more likely it became that my father’s business would slip through my fingertips.

And that I could not allow.

He’d trusted me with this. I wouldn’t let him down. Doing this was what helped me deal with the pain of losing Dad young.

I was thirty, sure, but we’d always been a tight-knit family and I’d worked as a tattoo artist in his shop as soon as I was able.

Besides, losing this business meant struggling in more than one way. Two other people relied on me now, just as they’d relied on Dad.

“OK, this is fine,” I said, and clapped my hands together. What would Dad have done? “This is totally fine. We just need to make fast decisions.”

“Like what?” Nat asked and stood up, glanced around the vintage interior of the shop. She lowered her gaze to the checked tiles, then lifted it back to my face. “I mean, unless you’re planning on materializing another tattoo artist out of thin air.”

“When I told you I loved your spunk, I meant it sarcastically.”

She chuckled and tugged on the gauge in her left ear—a bad habit of hers. My assistant ran fingers through her purple hair and sighed. “OK, so, fast decisions?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s fired.”

Nat’s eyes went so round they could’ve been eyeball donuts. “Fired! But, you never fire anyone. And your dad liked Jeffo. I mean, he’s not exactly reliable, but—”

“Nat, we have to do something about this. I’m in charge of the show now, and if I don’t make the tough decisions, nobody will. When he eventually rolls through that door, you send him to me.” God, hopefully it wouldn’t be when the Current Exec turned up to talk shop.

Get Ink’d was a legend in Chicago, and that was probably why SBC had approached us, but part of being a legend was being outrun by all the new up-and-comers in Chicago, particularly in the Lakeview area.

“OK, so he’s fired,” Nat said.

“Yeah.” I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “No more Jeffo.”

“But that still doesn’t solve the problem of who’s going to do his tattoos for today.”

I exhaled.

“We could call Kelly and ask her if she has anyone who could fill in for the day,” Nat said.

I lifted my palm. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t suggest that.”

“I know she’s, like, your archenemy or whatever—”

“It’s not an option, Nat. You know what she did.”

“I know, but she was your friend at one point.”

“Discussion over.” I dragged my hand through the air, crossways. “We’ll just have to—”

Nat’s gaze drifted to the doors behind me, and she blinked. Her expression brightened.

“We’ll just have to—have to—Nat, are you listening to me at all? Are you even in here right now?” I laughed, but it came out squeaky and forced because I truly was frustrated with this situation.

It wasn’t usually like this. I was the happy-go-lucky one in our family.

“Not really,” she replied. “Boss, can I ask you a question?” Her focus still hadn’t left the glass front doors behind me, which provided a view of the street outside.

“Sure,” I said. “It’s not like we’re in the middle of a crisis or anything.”

“OK, well.” Nat finally looked at me. “If you’re not going to sleep with that guy, can I?” She pointed to the front doors.

I rolled my eyes at her—she certainly had a unique way of indicating she was interested in a man—then turned toward the front. God, hopefully it wasn’t the current exec, here early. Not only was I not prepared for a meeting now, but I’d have to likely glue Nat to her chair to stop her from hitting on the dude.

Another thing, I couldn’t aff—“No,” I whispered.

“What?” Nat asked behind me.

It was him. He was here! Why the hell was he here?

The last time I’d seen the man on the other side of the glass, he’d been butt naked and sporting the biggest, ahem, equipment I’d ever laid eyes on. He’d also been infuriating and drunk and irresponsible.

And he happened to be my father’s business partner’s son. My first crush in middle school.

Cain Foster grinned at me—that same I’ll fuck-your-brains-out grin he’s always had—and ran his hand through his espresso-colored hair. His hazel eyes glinted. He’d tattooed two thorns at the base of his throat since I’d last seen him. The new ink was small, and if anything, it made him more attractive.

Not that that was possible.

Cain Foster was sex on legs.

He was trouble.

He was my polar opposite.

And he was damn well not coming into this shop.

“I’ll open for him,” Nat breathed.

“No,” I said. “Leave him out there.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Cain said, through the glass.

“I know,” I replied.

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh my god,” Nat whispered, “even his laugh is sexy. I’m going to have to take a cold shower after this.”

“Thank you.” Cain winked at her. God, he was incorrigible. Couldn’t he behave for five seconds?

“What do you want?” I called out.

Behind him, people walked down the streets, cars cruised by, and the business on the opposite side of the road—a beauty salon—flicked its sign to OPEN against the door. I literally did not have time for this.

“Scratch that,” I said. “I don’t care.”

“Let me in,” he replied.

“No.”

He rapped on the glass and rattled the door, his fist huge, the scars on his knuckles white with the skin pulled tight. “This glass is fragile. Wouldn’t take much to break.”

“Now you’re threatening to vandalize the store?”

“Who said it was a threat?” He pulled back his arm and Nat sucked in a gasp bordering on a moan.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I said. “I’ll let you in.” I pointed back over my shoulder at my receptionist. “You go change your underwear or take a shower or something.”

Nat shuffled off behind me, likely reluctant to miss out on the show. Or the opportunity to throw herself at Cain. My chest tightened at that thought, which was ridiculous, of course. Cain and I were nothing and never had been.

We’d been friends at best. At worst… Well, we’d fought like cat and dog, simply because we’d had to spend time together growing up. Business partner dads—at least, they’d gotten along.

I strode toward the front door, the keys to it jangling on my belt, and kept my gaze on the lock instead of on the man waiting for me.

Man wasn’t the right description.

He was something else.

He was every woman’s dream made flesh. Bad and addictive, and funny. God, he was cocky, and he gave to charity. But he was also a train wreck and I wasn’t in the business of fixing people.

Only drawing on them.

And love? Fuck that. Not after what I’d been through.

“You take forever to unlock a door,” Cain said, his voice a deep, rumbling growl. Clear today, no booze this time, at least. “Don’t stall on my account. I’m more than happy to break something to get your attention.”

“Very funny,” I whispered, then swallowed. Why was my mouth so dry all of a sudden? I opened the door a crack, the keys still in the lock, and peeked out at him.

He wedged thick fingers through the gap and pushed his way inside.

It wasn’t so much a push, even. It was as if he simply moved everything how he wanted it to go and nothing protested. Not even me.

I stepped back and folded my arms again, raised my shoulders. Had to keep my guard up.

Cain was the type of guy who broke people with a glance. He wet panties and melted hopes and dreams.

“There you are,” he said, and shut the door, turned the key in the lock with a click that was way too final.

“Here I am,” I replied. “Now, why the hell are you here?”

“What, you didn’t receive my email?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d always been totally averse to computers and technology growing up. If he even had a cell phone, I’d consider it a miracle.

Cain’s lip quirked up at the corner. “I could tell you why I’m here,” he said softly, and stepped closer.

I itched to back all the way up to the reception desk, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of backing me down. I met him gaze for gaze, even though he was two whole heads taller than me. “Then do it.”

“It would be much more fun for you to guess.”

“I don’t have time for games,” I said. “Or you. I have a shop to run.”

“Without another tattoo artist?” he asked.

Fuck, so he’d heard that part of the conversation, then. And he’d apprenticed with my dad during school vacations. He could do it. He could probably do it better than Jeffo, but he was beyond a liability.

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

Now, that thought made me backpedal.

“My business problems have nothing to do with you,” I said.

“I beg to differ,” he replied, and closed in again. This time he came so close the heat from his chest practically baked me. God, he was so ripped his biceps ate his shirtsleeves.

My body reacted in spite of my mind screaming for sanity.

“Oh yeah? Well, that’s cute that you’re differing and everything, but—”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “I didn’t come to offer my help as a tattoo artist, gorgeous, but I’ll do that for you as a favor. Or maybe because I like watching your nipples harden whenever I come close to you.”

Oh Jesus, that was embarrassing. I readjusted my arms so they fully covered the girls. “Then why did you come?” I spoke against his hot finger, skin harder than I’d have expected from Mr. Billionaire.

“To tell you that, as of this morning, I own half your shop.”

“What? Impossible.”

“My lawyer is sending over the documents as we speak,” he said. “I’m here to make things right for myself, Margot. Maybe, I’ll make things right for you while I’m at it. If you’re a good girl. Nah, you’re already that. Let’s make it if you’re a bad girl, instead.”

I shook my head and tried backing away, but he caught my arms, stroked them, and elicited a full body shiver and a tightening in my core I wasn’t proud of.

He leaned in close, closer, closer until his cheek grazed mine, stubble just below my ear, his lips hot on my lobe. “This is going to be fun,” he whispered.

No. This was going to be a nightmare.