Chapter 3

Cain

I strode down the sidewalk, turning heads and drawing stares, grinning despite the nothingness at my center.

That was my default setting.

Smile, even though you’re hollow. A remix of Nat King Cole.

This tattoo shop was my last chance. My father had pretty much handed it to me on a platter when I told him what I needed. He didn’t give a fuck about my mother’s charity. But he did give a fuck about the fact that the shop had lost more money than it’d made over the past few years.

If I didn’t do this, and present that “front” Mr. Begay wanted to see, I’d lose the charity.

Six months out of the country, trying but failing to stay under the radar hadn’t helped.

And now, I’d wound up working with her.

Margot was stubborn and full of shit. She’d resisted me throughout high school and into college, then I’d simply moved on.

She needed a damn good dicking. A moment that wiped the frustration from her so thoroughly she went cross-eyed and got the shakes. I’d be more than happy to fuck her until her comfort zone spontaneously combusted.

Yesterday, Margot’s expression when I’d taken up challenges, tattooed things that she’d probably assumed were beyond my skill level, had been priceless.

Christ, her panties were probably still wet from watching me ink.

I approached the store, wiped sweat off the back of my neck, then opened the front door. The chick behind the reception desk looked up.

“Hi,” she said and quivered all over.

I was used to that kind of reaction. In truth, it bored the shit out of me. “Hey,” I replied, and directed my smile at her regardless. “Where’s Margot?”

“She’s meeting with a guy in her office.”

Anger burst into my chest. “Huh?”

“Yeah, some guy in a suit. Kinda cute too. I mean, not like make-your-panties-dissolve cute, but cute enough.” She fluttered her eyelashes at me, fluffed her purple hair. “So, she’ll probably be busy for a while. So, by the by, ha, I’ve been thinking about getting my VCH. It’s a clit piercing. Would that be something you’re interested in?”

“I don’t do piercings,” I replied, and dismissed her by shifting my gaze to the office door—firmly shut, gloss black, and set against the rouge walls.

A guy? Why would she be in there with a guy? What fucking guy?

I’d turn him into mincemeat if he—Whoa, there. What’s that about?

I wasn’t the jealous type. Protective, sure. Yeah, that had to be it. Margot and I had grown up together. Old frenemies, right? I didn’t want to see her get hurt, unless it was via a good spanking.

I set off for the office door.

“What are you doing?” The purple-haired chick called out behind me.

I ignored her.

My impulses drove me.

And this impulse told me that I should be in that room with Margot, right now.

I bumped my knuckles against the door, once, then opened it and stepped inside.

“—appreciate you meeting with me on short notice. I understand canceling the meeting yesterday must’ve been frustrating for you.” The guy in the suit sat in front of Margot’s desk.

I surveyed him from behind, stood with my hand clenching the brass knob.

Brown hair, flecked with a little gray, broad shoulders, not a small fucker either, but I could take him, easily.

Margot cleared her throat, and I switched my attention to her instead. “Cain? This isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“A meeting,” I said. “Interesting. I wasn’t made aware of any meetings.”

The suit turned and looked up at me. Sharp, green eyes, strong nose—never been broken though, ha—and definitely not a fighter. I’d mulch the guy into pulp with a single punch. He wasn’t an ugly dude, though, and anger roared in my chest again.

The suit rose and gave me a two-thousand-watt smile. He extended a hand. “Greetings,” he said.

“Greetings?” I raised an eyebrow at him, but took the hand and shook it, squeezed a little harder than necessary. “What are you, Spock?”

Margot leaped to her feet. “Cain Foster, this is Guy Simmons,” she said. “He’s a Current Executive from SBC, and he’s got some exciting news.”

“Hold up,” I said, still squeezing the poor fucker’s hand like it was a stress ball. “Your name is Guy?”

He chuckled. A single sweat bead ran down his temple, though. “That’s correct.”

I released him and frowned at Margot. “Why wasn’t I informed there was a meeting? I’m co-owner of this business.”

Margot grimaced and took hold of her forehead, massaged it.

“Pardon me?” Guy asked.

“You heard me,” I said. “I’m co-owner. I should be privy to any meetings that take place on this property.”

“He’s—I’m sorry, Mr. Simmons. Cain is the son of my father’s silent partner in the business. I was informed that he’d acquired the business just yesterday. I was planning on having a lawyer look at the paperwork before I informed you of the change.”

Guy’s eyes narrowed, and he looked me up and down, from head to toe. It was like he’d transformed into a human scanner and I was the fucking target. Guy the Terminator. The only thing he’d terminate was a legal contract.

“That’s all right, Ms. Reed,” said the suit, stroking his clean-shaven chin now.

I’d adopted a motto in my early twenties: Never trust a man who can’t grow a full beard.

So far, I’d been proven right on that account, and this Simmons prick was smooth as a newborn baby. Probably the type of dude who grew facial hair in patches.

“Actually, that’s more than all right,” he continued. “This could definitely work to our advantage.”

I walked past him and to Margot’s side.

She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

I halted behind her. The heat from her body was fucking temptation in its purest. I’d never been a horned-up dude, but damn, she was delicious. Curvy ass, thick legs. She filled those jeans so damn well it made it difficult to concentrate.

“Well, look at him,” Guy said, and gestured toward me. “He’s an attractive guy. This could definitely help sell the show.”

“Show?”

Margot sighed and looked back at me. She licked her lips. “Yes. Guy is from SBC, as I said, and they’re interested in centering a show around Get Ink’d and how we operate.”

“A show.”

“A reality show,” Guy put in. “It’s going to be a hit, if we do it right.”

“I didn’t agree to do a show,” I said. Fuck it, if anything would land me in shit, it would be that. I was impulsive on the best of days—anything that filled the hole happened—and having it recorded, packaged, and pushed out to people in their homes was my perfect nightmare.

I didn’t give a fuck what they thought, but the fact that there’d be hard evidence was a problem. One wrong step and Mr. Begay would ditch me hard and fast.

“In fact,” I said, my breath rushing down the back of Margot’s neck and drawing goose bumps there, “I won’t be appearing in any show. This is a bad fucking idea.”

“Cain.” Margot practically fucking grunted it.

I liked that. I liked the emotion I stole from her.

The soul.

It was like she actually had one to give.

“It looks like we’ll have to reschedule, Ms. Reed,” the stiff said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Yeah, don’t bother,” I said.

“Please do, Mr. Simmons,” Margot said and strode forward to see him out. “I’m sorry about this.”

“No need to apologize.” But clearly, that was a lie. He was pissed. Let him be fucking pissed. Maybe he’d think twice before he walked into this woman’s office again.

My office now, technically.

Margot disappeared without a backward glance, and their muted conversation continued.

I took a seat in the executive chair behind her desk, tall and leather-backed. Fuck, this thing probably dwarfed her if I could fit in it. It was her dad’s, that much I did remember.

I waited, my hands folded against my chest, and a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

She’d be angry. She’d be feisty, and I fed off that.

Passion drove me—but I’d never found my own.

It was far easier sucking it from others.

Sucking, hot damn, it’d be perfection to suck on her in every fucking way. Her clit, her tight little nipples. I’d bite that ass and suck on it too.

Margot’s footsteps tramped across the tiles in the other room, and my smile grew wider.

She bashed into the office and shut the door behind her—not slammed, good god, apparently she had self-control. What was that like?

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Are you trying to fuck me, Cain?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” I said and laughed, the rumble traveling through the room.

Margot swept her blonde hair out of its messy bun then tied it up again. “I’m working damn hard to try and get this place running smoothly. Do you have any idea how popular tattoos are nowadays?”

I glanced down at my tatted-up forearms. “You tell me, gorgeous.”

“Margot,” she said. “Not gorgeous. And, yes, they’re super popular. There’s plenty of demand, but the supply is out there too in spades. Do you get that? We have a competitor right down the goddamn street, yet SBC is offering us the show. It’s huge.”

“I won’t be on TV.” I shrugged.

What could I tell her?

“Then leave,” Margot said, and jerked her thumb back toward the door. “Get out of my shop.”

“Our shop.”

“Don’t,” she said. “You don’t get to call it yours. This was my father’s place. He worked to the bone to make it run without any help from your dad or anyone else. It’s mine now. He left it to me.”

“We can debate semantics all you want,” I said. “I’m not interested.”

Margot bit her lip hard. She trembled on the spot. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck, Cain. Please.”

“What was that?” I sat forward in her chair, and cupped a hand to my right ear. “I didn’t hear what you said, there.”

“Please, Cain, please. I need this to work.”

“Why? Why is this such a big deal to you?” I asked. “It’s just a shop. It’s just a job.”

“No, it’s not. It’s my life. It’s my everything.” The declaration was so strong and out there. Her cheeks were dry, and fire burned in her eyes. Fuck, she was irresistible when she looked like this. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t.”

“I need this.”

I stood up and walked around the desk, right up to her. I pressed my finger to the center of her forehead, the least sexiest spot I could think of. The contact still made her shiver, and my cock twitched.

“I’ll give you what you need,” I said. “And it’s not a TV show.”