Chapter Two
Lauren figured her shitty financial situation had finally fried her brain. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt or tactless, especially to Van Gogh. The poor guy looked like the bullet-hole tats on his arms were real and causing serious pain.
He hung his head.
She hoped to God he wasn’t going to pass out or cry. She’d thought Dante had been kidding about Van Gogh being so emotional.
Even if he hadn’t been, what was the matter with her? As a human resources professional, she was supposed to be careful when delivering bad news to a staff member. She knew to be firm yet gentle, explain why the company was downsizing the department or division, and assure there would be severance, a letter of recommendation, and a decent transition from full-time employment to being thrown out like so much trash.
As she’d been professional the afternoon the powers-that-be fired her, two days before Christmas. Prior to the awful news, she’d planned to go shopping at the mall after work, get into the holiday spirit, maybe have a nice dinner out, then decorate her condo while old holiday movies played. Even though she’d be alone, she was okay with that. Her work buddies had husbands, children, boyfriends, or family members to spend the holidays with. She was happy for them.
Okay, she really envied what they had. Her mom had passed away more than a year ago. Frank had been missing for decades. There wasn’t immediate family, a spouse, or anyone remotely close to a boyfriend in her life. But hey, she’d have fun even if it was by herself.
Those plans had died when the CEO had called Lauren into his office shortly after lunch. She’d thought it might be for a holiday bonus, especially because her supervisor was in there, a sweet matronly woman who was a vice president. Next to her sat a security officer.
His presence confused Lauren. Still, she had hope until the CEO, a grim man, regarded her as he would a particularly nasty specimen he’d viewed under a microscope.
For the first time ever, Lauren’s supervisor avoided her gaze.
Her heart started to pound. She sank into a chair and worried about what she might have done wrong. Before she could ask, the CEO spoke.
“I’ll get straight to the point. Your position’s being eliminated. The company’s moving in a new direction. Today’s your last…”
His mouth kept moving, but she’d stopped listening. She couldn’t, actually. Her ears rang too loudly. The room lurched. The CEO pushed papers at her that she could barely read much less understand given her shock. If she refused to sign the separation contract, the CEO warned there’d be no severance. He made a veiled threat that the company might even fight her on unemployment benefits.
That got her to read faster than she would have liked. Her hand had shaken so badly, her signature was illegible.
The CEO took the signed contract from her, gave it to Lauren’s former supervisor, then strode to the door. “That’s all.”
No have a nice day, Merry Christmas, or go to hell.
Six years she’d given the company, working her usual ten-hour days, and the man had altered her future in less than fifteen minutes without breaking a sweat. The security guard escorted Lauren to her desk as he might a convicted felon. As she packed her few personal items into a box, which the company generously provided, Mr. Rent-a-Cop had watched closely, then followed her toward the elevator.
When she walked past her colleague’s workstations, none of her former friends bothered to look up. No one had said good-bye. She’d organized birthday parties for them, celebrated their marriages and their children’s births.
Halfway home, her tears started, making it impossible for her to see. She pulled into a strip mall. Holiday music pumped from the storefronts. Kids bolted down the sidewalks to the toy and sports stores. Young couples strolled arm in arm, window shopping, probably dreaming about Christmas.
She spent the holiday in bed, curled in a fetal position, too defeated to do anything.
Lauren wanted to tell Van Gogh that if it came to liquidation, he’d get a decent severance. If she sold Wicked Brand, he’d have a job with the new owner. Anyone in his right mind would want Van Gogh as a tattoo artist. Trouble was, she couldn’t promise something that might not come true. She had no idea what shape this place was in. It was solvent for the next few months because of Frank’s insurance. After that…
There weren’t even any customers in here. She hoped things weren’t always this slow.
She was afraid to ask and risk Van Gogh’s meltdown. “It’ll take a couple of weeks, maybe a few months, before anything happens. I’ll do everything I can to make the transition as easy as possible.”
He looked at Dante the way a younger brother would, needing confirmation of what she’d said, or maybe he wanted a hug.
Dante clamped his hand on Van Gogh’s thin shoulder. “Everything will be all right. It always is.”
Lauren wished she had his confidence or knew what else to say. Spanish guitars sounding from the radio didn’t drown out the strained silence.
The door swung open.
Jasmina strode in, ponytail bouncing, a large white sack in her slender arms. She beamed at Lauren, then noticed Van Gogh’s downturned mouth and crushed demeanor. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dante pulled the bag from her. “This is Lauren. Frank’s kid.” He inclined his head to her.
Jasmina perked up again. “Yeah? Well, hey.” She threw her arms around Lauren and hugged hard.
Not expecting that, Lauren stiffened but embraced Jasmina in return. The girl smelled like baby powder. Somehow, Lauren wanted to protect her as she would a younger sibling.
Jasmina gave her another squeeze and stepped back. “I’m so sorry about your dad. Frank was the absolute best. Unbelievably nice. I really needed a job so I could pay for school. Told him I’d die if he didn’t hire me, so he did.” She bounced on her heels.
Lauren nodded dumbly, stunned at Frank’s kindness to others. She supposed it wasn’t too shocking as far as Jasmina was concerned. Not only was she sweet, she was even better looking than she had originally thought. Flawless skin dewy with youth, large dark eyes surrounded by sooty lashes, a mouth Angelina Jolie would have envied, her mood filled with excitement and hope because no one had crushed her dreams yet.
She didn’t want to be the person to do that. Not today. No matter what Lauren had told Dante earlier, she didn’t want to hurt the people here.
“So you’re in college.” She hoped Jasmina wasn’t studying human resources, a dying field. The corporate community’s newest way to make an extra buck was to outsource HR functions. “What are you taking?”
“Business administration at the community college.” Jasmina jabbed her thumb at something behind her, presumably the school. “So far, I’ve gotten nothing but A’s in my courses.”
Dante flashed a grin like a proud older brother. “Jasmina’s our resident brain.”
She waved her hand dismissively, though her smile widened. “Dante’s just kidding. He’s the one with the brains. He’s—”
“This is getting cold.” He lifted the bag.
Van Gogh muttered beneath his breath and shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are.” Dante slapped him on the back. “Throw on your shirt and join us. Lauren, you’ll eat with us, too.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” Jasmina looked concerned. “You don’t like Mexican food? You want me to get you something else?”
“No, please don’t. I’m good.”
“With this, you’ll be better.” Dante had already opened the top Styrofoam container. Four enchiladas swam in red sauce. Cheese blanketed them. To the side were scoops of sour cream and guacamole, refried beans smothered in more cheese, and a mound of Spanish rice.
Amazing scents from corn, beef, chicken, garlic, and onion wafted toward Lauren. Her taste buds came alive.
Dante eased the container closer to her. “Smell good?”
Better than any perfume she’d ever owned. “Yeah, but I really don’t want anything. I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach growled loud and long. She pretended it hadn’t. “I’m not. Seriously.”
Dante gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying it. “There’s enough here for everyone, including you.” He elbowed Van Gogh. “Come on. Things are going to be all right.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Jasmina took everyone in.
This time, Lauren kept her big mouth shut.
Dante shrugged. “No reason. Just making conversation.” He led the way to the back.
Van Gogh slunk into a side room, presumably for his shirt. Lauren followed Dante and Jasmina until the obvious hit her. She stopped. “Shouldn’t someone be up front in case a customer comes in?”
Dante halted. So did Jasmina.
“I could wait on the people who arrive.” Lauren backed up. “I don’t mind. You guys go ahead and enjoy your meal.” Without her hanging around and intruding, they’d be certain to do that. Van Gogh could curse her or cry. Shit, she felt like a jerk, especially when he came back out fully clothed, his face glum.
“It’s early.” Dante faced her. “This place doesn’t start hopping until four or so.”
So they did have some busy times here. That was a relief and a good selling point she’d mention to a buyer. Even so, Lauren didn’t budge. No way would she intrude. “What if someone comes in and steals a tee or something else while we’re in the back?”
Dante regarded her. Not as an employee or coworker would.
As a man.
He lingered on her mouth before raking over her boobs and legs, as if they were alone and he had the right.
His manner should have disturbed her, but instead she was aroused and dizzy with need. Although she was technically the boss, with a look, Dante had taken command.
“It’s only stuff.” He shook the bag. “Come on before your food gets cold.”
She didn’t know what to say or how to argue. He’d included her so easily, making Lauren a team member with people she already liked and would eventually tear apart, sending each on his or her way. Never seeing them again.
Especially him.
That shouldn’t have bothered her, considering they didn’t know each other, but already she felt comfortable in Dante’s presence and inexplicably drawn to him.
His scent drifted close. The fragrance made her stomach flutter with excitement, but it was soothing, too. Everything about him was so wonderfully big and protective. She loved the way he treated Jasmina and Van Gogh with true affection. That was more important to her than his killer good looks. Dante seemed like a good guy. One of the few she’d met in her life.
Of course, she wasn’t privy to all his moods. Dating, falling in love, and marrying changed people big time. A work relationship was fun because deep intimacy wasn’t in the equation, nor was having to commit to forever-after, including the good and bad.
She had to remember that and keep her head around him.
Yet the heat simmered persistently within her.
…
For a workplace lunch, Dante was definitely enjoying this one. He scooped half his food onto a clean plate, placed it in front of Lauren, and sat across from her.
She twisted in her chair to take in the back room.
Although the area was snug, it had an open, airy quality thanks to Van Gogh’s wall-to-wall murals. He hadn’t left a single surface untouched. At first, he’d wanted to paint his rendition of the real Van Gogh’s Starry Night or Sunflowers in here. Dante, Frank, and Jasmina had nixed that, suggesting something less weird and more pleasant.
Van Gogh had grumbled but conceded and truly outdid himself.
Above them, his work created an illusion of a high stone ceiling pitted with age. He’d designed the walls to give the effect of sitting on a stone terrace, its graceful arches laden with flowering vines. The purple, pink, and white petals appeared to dance in an invisible breeze. The 360-degree view showed the sea stretching endlessly in every direction to mountains in the distance.
Lauren’s lips parted, naked delight and wonder on her face.
At last, she behaved like the person Dante sensed she was. A good woman capable of deep feelings, possibly willing to take a risk and have a good time…once she ditched the corporate clothes and loosened up.
He sensed there wasn’t anything put on about her. He liked that. She certainly wasn’t an outrageous flirt like most women he met.
And best of all, she had the kind of looks he favored.
He ate his enchilada but barely tasted the beef, cheese, and spicy sauce. Instead, he focused on Lauren and indulged in his fantasy about her welcoming smile and warmth. Both would offer more than excitement. They would give a man the comfort he truly needed.
She looked at him.
He smiled, probably more intimately than he should have. But even a gun to his head wouldn’t have stopped that.
Her face and throat blazed red. She stared at her plate but didn’t eat. Exactly how he’d behave when faced with a vegan meal or a salad.
He licked sauce off his fork. “You don’t like enchiladas?”
“I love anything Mexican, but you gave me too much.”
Dante hadn’t given her anything at all, at least not what he sensed they’d both enjoy: having fun in bed and out. He wanted to get to know her on a deeper level. Hell, if they became friends, he wouldn’t complain. There was something about her…
“This is your lunch.” She pushed her plate to him. “I can’t accept all of this.”
“It’s only food. I can always get more.” He eased it right back. “Come on, no more excuses. Eat.”
“But I’m not— Okay, fine.” Face flushing, she nibbled at her meal.
At that rate, it’d take her until dinner to finish, if she did at all.
He wasn’t absolutely certain what she was doing. Unless she wasn’t eating because she was self-conscious about her figure, like a lot of women were, and was on a diet.
Dante wanted to haul her to his station, turn her to the mirror, and show her how outstanding her curves were. How fucking feminine she was, no matter what Madison Avenue claimed men wanted. He was a damn man, and he liked meat on a woman. Maybe it was due to his cultural heritage, but ample boobs, hips, and a plush ass made his blood sing. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time to get into that. “Tell you what.” He inclined his head to Van Gogh. “At least try to do what he’s doing.”
Oblivious to everything except his lunch, Van Gogh shoveled forkfuls of his monster burrito, rice, and refried beans into his mouth. His thin cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s. A cheese string hung over his bottom lip.
“Scratch that.” Dante wagged his finger at Lauren. “Don’t mimic everything he’s doing.” He tossed a napkin to Van Gogh.
Ignoring it, the young man kept his face down and concentrated on his meal as if it were his last one before Lauren liquidated him.
Jasmina was blissfully unaware of the dynamics going on. She snuggled her pink smartphone against her ear, stabbed a forkful of lettuce and chicken in her tostada, laughed until she was breathless, then spoke baby talk to her boyfriend. A guy she’d met at the community college. Brad had big dreams about someday being a McDonald’s franchisee. With Jasmina’s enthusiasm behind him, there was little doubt the kid would make it.
Lauren scooped rice onto her fork and took a tiny bite.
Dante stood.
She stopped mid-chew and lifted her face. Worry touched her pretty features. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He liked how bummed she sounded. “Only for a sec.”
Her attention shot to the door. “There’s a customer?”
She thought about money too much. As far as he could see, that was her only flaw. “Nope. Don’t worry, there will be.” Before she could comment, he hurried to where the magic really happened in this place. Van Gogh’s workstation.
He returned with a thick binder and placed it next to Lauren. “Go on, look inside.”
She stared at the thing and drooped. “The financials are in there? You don’t have them on a computer?”
“We have everything on our computers, thanks to Jasmina. You remember, the brains of this place?”
Nodding to whatever her boyfriend said, Jasmina also blew Dante a kiss, thanking him for his compliment.
He winked.
Lauren regarded the exchange between them and opened the binder.
Her wonder returned, eyes gleaming, breath catching. There was the woman he knew was inside.
Photo after photo showed Van Gogh’s incredible work. One man’s back boasted a series of star-shaped designs. Not the typical flat, cartoony type, but ones that appeared three-dimensional. Van Gogh had inked the customer’s skin to resemble stone. Parts of the rock fell away to show the universe beneath, a blue expanse—dark at the corners, the color fainter in the middle—that was studded with white light to depict the planets and stars.
Lauren ran her hand over the images.
Another picture showed a guy’s torso inked with ten female mouths, each identical. The teeth and lips looked so real the effect was downright eerie.
She paused at a woman’s tat that showed a frilly garter belt inked on her thigh. The garter seemed to hold up her skin rather than stockings, her flesh creased slightly beneath the clips.
One guy had a humongous eye smack between his shoulders, the orb nearly as large as his head.
Lauren curled her upper lip at that and frowned at the next pictures. “What’s this?”
“Fluorescent tattoos.” Dante tapped the first photo. “You can’t see them until you use black light, then—”
“They glow in the dark.” She flipped to the next page that showed the effects. “Wow. That is so cool.”
Van Gogh glanced up from his meal. “You want me to ink you with something like that?”
Dante prayed she wouldn’t say, “Absolutely not,” depressing the kid further.
“It’s amazing, really.” She spoke gently. “But not my style. I’m more into flowers and butterflies or other stuff that’s on the pretty side.”
“I can do that with fluorescent tats. Just say the word, and I’ll ink butterflies all over you. Even on your face and tongue.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m not really the type of person for that. But these are freaking awesome. Is there nothing you can’t do?”
Van Gogh guzzled his Dr. Pepper, crushed the can, then lobbed it into the corner wastebasket. “I don’t do black eye or corneal tattoos.”
She leaned away from him. “You mean people actually have their eyes tattooed?”
“Not by me.” He sagged in his chair. “That’s some weird shit.”
Dante grabbed a tattoo magazine off the counter, flipped to what he wanted, then gave the periodical to Lauren.
She stared at photos of men who’d had their scleras tattooed black or in various colors. One guy’s right eye was bright pink, the left neon green.
Lauren wrinkled her nose. “I’d ask why anyone would do something like that to himself, but I figure you’d only say, ‘Why not?’”
Dante leaned down. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Her luscious mouth turned up in a smile that said, “Sure.”
Already, she knew him—how he liked to kid around.
Van Gogh totally missed it. “I’ll do tongues, balls, and cocks, but not that. Or this.” He turned the page and showed her a human eyeball with thick black lines snaking from the pupil like spider legs.
Lauren smiled weakly. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a good guy.”
Van Gogh looked at Dante as he had earlier when she’d commented about the transition period. Like he wanted confirmation that she just said his job was safe.
Dante lifted his shoulders.
Van Gogh wilted. He dumped his Styrofoam container in the waste can and left.
Finished with her tostada, Jasmina tossed her trash without interrupting her now-serious conversation with her boyfriend.
“No.” Though firm, she used a mild tone. “I think we should scope out Burger King and Dairy Queen, too. You need to learn what the competition is doing if you want your future franchise to be a success.” She paused and listened, then shook her head at whatever he’d said. “You can’t count on corporate to do your thinking for you. Now listen to me…” Still talking, she wiggled her fingers at Dante and Lauren, then jogged to the front.
Dante settled in his seat, his legs stretched out next to Lauren’s.
She adjusted herself in the chair but didn’t pull her legs from his.
Her proximity made his cock and balls ache pleasantly.
After taking a bite of the refried beans, she flipped a page. Her chews slowed and stopped.
Dante didn’t bother to look at the magazine photo. He focused on her as he ate, chewing mechanically, not tasting much. His other senses had kicked in. Her perfume filled him again. Her gentle throat clearing made his hair stand on end. A peppy salsa tune pulsed from the sound system, the kind of music a man and woman could easily make love to.
Undressing her would be a joy. Hearing her soft sighs and tired laughter after their intimacy would enrich the private moments. Having her fall asleep in his arms, content to be with him, liking the person he was, made his skin tingle.
The air conditioner kicked on. Its cool breath provided needed relief for his feverish state.
Jasmina’s voice floated back to them, still friendly but businesslike, the way she behaved with customers. Dante hoped one hadn’t come in here for him.
A soft pink tint flushed Lauren’s cheeks and forehead. Her heightened color could have been from the spicy food or her emotions.
He bet on the latter.
She fiddled with her food, then looked at him.
He wanted to believe it was because she couldn’t help herself. His shaft thickened at how adorable she was. All dressed up to play boss, her clothes severe to the extreme, her gaze feminine and wanting.
Lauren lowered her fork. “You keep staring at me. Why?”
He could have asked “why not?” but figured she wouldn’t appreciate it. He might also have told her how attractive she was but sensed that would be a huge mistake. Most likely, she wouldn’t believe him. She’d probably think he was trying to save his job. “You have sauce on your mouth.” He pointed to his own to show her where.
She swiped a napkin across her lips.
He couldn’t help but tease. “Warned you not to mimic Van Gogh too much.”
“Don’t worry. No way am I getting a tattoo on my chest.”
God help him, after that he couldn’t keep his eyes north of her boobs. “I would hope not.”
She pressed in her chair. The way she sat and her bulky clothes hid her rack from him.
Dante fought a sigh and ignored his attraction to her. Time to get down to business while he had the chance. “You seem to like Jasmina.”
“Of course. She’s great.” Lauren looked puzzled he’d think anything else.
Dante knew how the world turned. He’d been in the real part with an honest-to-God career in the corporate community that stole his joy before he came to Wicked Brand, which was more like play than work. He leaned forward and kept his voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear. “I don’t want you firing her.”
Lauren’s color deepened. However, she didn’t say he was nuts or dead wrong.
He wished she had. “I know what you’ve been thinking. You need the dough. You can either take what your dad paid himself or what Jasmina makes. As far as Frank is concerned, he put more money into this place than what he took out, so that’s not an option for you. You certainly can’t get rid of Van Gogh; he’s what makes the parlor special and has kept us in business. You need me because I can also ink. Van Gogh’s a genius, but he can’t handle the volume by himself. Given what Jasmina does around here, you could easily take over her responsibilities and use what she earns to help meet your obligations. Am I right?”
Shame flooded Lauren’s face. She glanced away. “I’ve been out of work since December. Even though I’ve sent out hundreds of resumes, no one’s offered me a job. My benefits are going to end soon, and my savings are nearly gone. I have to survive.”
His heart sank worse than when she’d reacted to his comment about her being Frank’s little girl. He didn’t want to hurt her. If he’d had the power, he would have made everything better. “I hear you, and I’m sorry. But you still need to understand something. Jasmina brings a lot of business in here. She has tons of friends from high school and at the local colleges. One of the cheerleading teams is coming in this afternoon. That’s twelve girls who want at least one tat each. All because of Jasmina. I don’t think there’s a person alive who would find it hard to love her. She’s the best salesperson this place ever had. That’s why Frank hired her, not because she’s pretty or knows how to answer a phone. She’s been great for this place. That leaves me as the weakest link.”
Lauren looked appalled. “You want me to fire you? No way. You said you do tattoos. Van Gogh can’t do all of them.”
“He’s not going to have to, because you’re not firing me, and I’m sure as hell not quitting. Decide what you need salary-wise to get through your financial situation until you can sell this place. Take it from my pay, not Van Gogh’s or Jasmina’s. They need it. Van Gogh has student loans. Jasmina has her heart set on getting through her program.”
Lauren stared at him as she might an alien life-form.
He shrugged, sensing why. “It’s only money. Someday, I hope you’ll understand that. Until then, you really should try to relax. Have a little fun. Lose the suit. Enjoy your time here. Trust me, it’s not that bad.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Yo, Dante,” Jasmina called from the front. “Your appointments are here.”
Female giggles drifted down the hall.
Dante didn’t take his focus off Lauren. “Jasmina can show you where the books are.” He stood. “Do we understand each other?”
“Hey, Dante,” a female voice called. “Where are you?”
He shouted, “Be there in a sec.”
“Hurry.” She made a purring sound.
Numerous giggles followed.
“Welcome to Wicked Brand.” He gave Lauren a wink and left.