“What a convenient excuse.”
His jaw ticked. “Are we doing this, or am I leaving you a one-star review on Yelp?”
My annoyance deepened into anger as I rose from my seat. “We’re doing this. But not because of your Karenesque threat, so don’t look so smug.”
His lips twitched, and I had to force my gaze away from them. Not that looking at his eyes was any better. They weren’t just blue; they were a rich, deep cobalt that seemed to sparkle when they caught the light.
Why were the hottest people always the most insufferable?
I started toward him. “We’re doing this because I spent another hour on your design this morning, and youwillpay me for my work.”
His gaze raked over me as I approached, and something swept over his face, there one second and gone the next. Something cold and calculating andpleased. It was probably the same look a female mantis wore right before ripping the head off her partner.
I stopped a few feet away from him, cautious of his freakishly long arms and glistening mandibles. Okay, so maybe the latter was imagined, but I hadn’t seen his teeth yet, so I figured it was best to err on the side of caution.
Up close, he was even more striking, twice as wide as me and well over six feet. As a tall girl, the first thing that flashed through my mind wasThis is the height difference I deserve.The second was a chastisement for letting my thoughts even go there. So he was hotandtall. So what? He was also a prick. Andblond. My standards were low, but they weren’t in hell.
“So youareStella,” he said, a taunting edge to his tone that made me feel like he was making fun of me somehow.
“Yup. And what was your name again?” I knew damn well what it was, but being this level of petty felt like the correct response to his douchery.
“Theo,” he said with a wink. “You’re gonna want to remember that.”
I feigned a gag. Normally, I wasneverthis rude to new clients, but there was something about this guy that instantly set me on edge.
He grinned. “Or you can call me Mr. Strickland, if you prefer.”
“I’m not calling you Mr. anything,” I shot back. “You’re not my dom.”
That startled a chuckle out of him, his eyes shining as he looked me over again, slower this time.
Was he . . .enjoyingthis?
I turned on my heel. “We’re back here.”
Not checking to see if he followed, I led him toward my booth at the end of the hall. We passed Derrick, working on his last client of the night. Everyone else had already cleaned up and gone home. My jealousy burned. I needed to stop overbooking myself like this. Exhaustion and stiffness made me crankier than usual, and yeah, Theo might deserve my animosity, but what if tomorrow I snapped at someone who didn’t?
Resolving to try to be civil, I indicated the client chair in the center of my booth. “Have a seat.”
Theo ambled toward it, dropping his gym bag with a thud before turning to take in the room. The walls were painted a deep green. Gold-framed portraits and landscapes hung in a gallery on the right. A rose-colored velvet settee sat opposite, draped in pillows and blankets. There were bookshelves and potted plants and a giant brass deer head draped with faux moss. It was a veritable feast for the senses.
Theo looked overwhelmed. “I think I’m getting a headache.”
“Then close your eyes and lie down,” I told him.
His gaze slid to mine. “Only if you promise to be gentle.”
I sent him a flat look and turned my back on him. Stupid, sarcastic, meat-headed motherfucker. I should have known he’d be a problem client. We’d only interacted via email up until now, but we’d done so much back and forth on the specifics of his design that I almost hadn’t agreed to move forward with this consultation.
Picky clients I could deal with, and I did so on a regular basis. Tattooswereforever, and I understood why someone would want to ensure the artwork was exactly to their specifications. But Theo’s emails had been next-level, nitpicking every tiny detail of my rough sketches. And then he’d demanded I print out a full-color temporary tattoo so he could see how it would look in place. Which brought us to tonight.
I snagged the design from my desk and turned back to him. “You need to push your sleeve up.”
He shook his head and flexed, muscles popping. “It won’t go. I’m too swole.”
I was about to gag for real when his hands went behind his head and he pulled the tee off in one fluid motion.
The sight of him standing there, shirtless, punched through me. I didn’t know where to look. Some weightlifters turned veiny when they got too lean, but Theo had enough fat on him that his muscles were covered by smooth, golden skin. He must have waxed because there wasn’t a single hair on his chest. Beneath the glow of the overhead lights, he looked unreal. Obscene. Like an angel getting ready to fuck.
