Page 2 of Ink

Was the job ad some kind of prank?

“You want to work in a tattoo shop?” he asks slowly, his tone full of disbelief.

Old Sutton would have never applied to a place like this. This type of atmosphere has been shelved away in the little section of my brain that houses how I wish my life would be. The part that houses all of your desires and best-kept secrets. But new Sutton?

New Sutton is done letting someone tell her what she should and shouldn’t be doing. New Sutton is going to finally get something she wants out of life.

“Yes.” I swallow, raising my voice to what is a normal volume to most but loud for me. “I want the job. I’m good with administrative tasks.”

“Okay.” He inclines his head and raises his eyebrows. “Looks like I’m doing your interview. Ink’s not in yet. I’m Gage,” he says, holding out his hand.

Jesus.

His hand is as big as my head.

I grasp it lightly, praying that he doesn’t feel how bad I’m shaking. “Sutton. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Sutton. Let’s sit down over here.” He comes back out from behind the desk and leads me to the front of the shop, where a small futon-style sofa and two chairs sit by the window.

He gives me a small smile. “I don’t have your application on me to look over everything. I’m sure Ink has it somewhere in the back. Do you have any admin experience?”

Well, that makes me feel great. He wasn’t even expecting me.

“Yes.” I nod, swallowing the awkwardness of this conversation down. “I used to be a personal assistant at a law firm.” At least I was until it “wasn’t a good look anymore,” but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh, fancy.” He lets out a low whistle as his eyebrows shoot up.

It sounds fancy and looks fancy because of the clothes you have to wear, so I guess for all intents and purposes, it is fancy. If only it came with a fancy paycheck for the amount of crap you had to put up with.

“You know what?” Gage starts off, slapping his palms on his knees. “I don’t know how to fucking interview someone. I say you’re hired and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out, yeah?”

My mouth parts open slightly as I try to process what he’s saying.

“Yeah,” I say in disbelief.

I can’t believe I got the job just like that.

“Cool. Tomorrow at one work for you?”

“That’s perfect,” I whisper.

I can feel the stress finally starting to ease its grip. The longer I went without a job, the more the doubt crept in, making me question if I could really make it on my own. If only working in a tattoo shop is as easy as it seems.

Chapter

Two

INK

“Fuck!” I groan, rolling over on to my side. Squeezing my eyes shut, I hope it will make the room stop spinning. There’s nothing worse than waking up hungover and still a little drunk at the same time. You would think at thirty-five years old I would have learned by now.

Blindly grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I squint to read the time.

1:05 p.m.

Evan wasn’t lying. These blackout curtains don’t fucking mess around. She told me she was sick of hearing me pace back and forth at night when she and Prez stay here. I’ve suffered from insomnia for as long as I can remember. It’s a bad childhood habit I haven’t been able to kick. I’ll never admit it out loud because that would make me look like a giant fucking pussy, but that nagging feeling to stay awake to make sure nothing bad has happened never really goes away.

Now I just channel it into art for my clients.