Closing the distance between us, I scoop her into my arms and, ignoring her insistence that I put her down, carry her into the empty break room.
“Knight, what the fuck? You can’t act like a caveman when I’m at work,” she snaps angrily.
“Lunch is at 1300 hours. It’s 1322. We need to eat.”
A look of understanding flashes in her eyes, and she glances at the clock on the wall, then back to me.
“Lunch is at 1300 hours,” she says back to me.
“I nod.”
“Okay. But I don’t have time to go out and get anything to eat right now. I need to clean my station and get set up for my next client.”
“I’ll order food for us,” I tell her, hating the gnawing sensation that’s clawing beneath my skin with each second more that passes, taking me further and further away from my schedule.
“Okay,” she agrees, much more amiable now.
Searching for the number for Granny Annie’s Diner, I place a food order, then offer the delivery boy a fifty-dollar tip if he can get the food here in less than ten minutes. Seven minutes later, a red-cheeked and breathless teenager bursts through the door, our takeout bag held proudly aloft.
“Seven minutes,” he says through gasping breaths.
Nodding, I descend the stairs, hand him his tip, then take the bag from him and climb the steps again.
“Same time tomorrow?” the boy says, smiling hopefully.
“If you can get it to us before one p.m.,” Octavia says, smiling softly at me.
“How about I come get the order in person at, say, twelve? I could get food for everyone, then deliver it before one?” he asks, optimistically scanning the faces of the other people in the room, before ending on me.
“That actually sounds like a great idea,” Betty says, looking up from the leg tattoo she’s working on. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Jaiden.”
“Okay, Jaiden, we’ll see you tomorrow at twelve. I’ll speak to Granny Annie about getting an account set up for the studio.”
“Awesome,” the kid says, fist pumping the air before he turns and leaves.
Placing the takeout bag on the bed, I rip it open, then hand Octavia her grilled cheese and cup of soup before I pull out my sub. I finish it in four bites, but I don’t know if it tastes good, because the need to eat as quickly as possible is all my mind can settle on.
Octavia tattoos two more clients before she finally waves goodbye and slumps down tiredly into her chair. I watch with rapt attention as she systematically cleans and sanitizes her station, each action done with repetitive precision. When everything is clean, she checks her storage cabinet, then once she’s satisfied, she closes and locks the sliding door, finally rising from her seat and lifting her arms over her head in a full body stretch.
“Are you in tomorrow?” Betty asks.
“Yep, full day. You?” Doll asks, turning to face her friend.
“Just the morning. I have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon.”
“How ’bout you guys, Cyrus, Leo?” Doll calls out, looking from Cyrus with his palpable anger, over to Leo, who has her feet up on the desk, her cell phone in her hand.
“I have a fucking wannabe badass who’s booked a full-day session tomorrow,” Cyrus snarls, not looking up from the sketch pad he’s working on.
Something about this man makes me uneasy. I’m not threatened by him, nor do I feel like he poses a threat to my doll, but there’s something about the anger that seems to exude from him in waves that sets me on edge.
“You booked someone for a full day?” Octavia gasps.
“I told him he wouldn’t sit that long. I tried to tell him to start with four hours max, but he thinks he’s a fucking baller, and even though I told him he’ll still have to pay for the full day no matter when he taps out, he’s confident that he’ll make it all eight hours.” Cyrus laughs dryly.
“First tattoo?” Betty asks.
