Page 10 of Ink

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

I hadn’t rehearsed what I was going to say, but I didn’t need to. There was no use dancing around the subject.

“You didn’t fuck up,” I said. “It was the system.”

She pressed her shoulder against the door frame and crossed her arms against her chest. Even with the small porch light glowing down on her, I could make out the outline of her breasts beneath the shirt. No bra. Nipples poking against the fabric.

Fuck.

“So? What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t fuck up. I’m hiring you back.”

She blinked, as if she couldn’t believe what it was she was hearing. I had never expected to be put in this position, so I understood. I never gave second chances. She was lucky she was getting this at all.

“So from what I’m hearing, it was your fault and you owe me an apology?”

I would have glowered harder at her had it not been for the mischievous gleam in her eye. Had she just cracked a joke?

I fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. “Do you want the job or not?”

She straightened at the brisk tone but eventually sighed and nodded. I could hardly see with the lone lamplight, but maybe I imagined the color rising on her cheeks.

What I didn’t imagine was a wall slamming closed behind her eyes and that mischievous glint vanishing, replaced by something almost shy and demure instead.

A complete turn from what she’d been like before.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’d like the job back, please.”

I nodded and then stood there.

Awkward beats passed between us and neither of us said a thing. I should have turned around and walked back to my bike, but something about the woman beneath the light was fucking hypnotizing.

The cutting, sharp points of her thick brows, the fierce angled edges of her eyes.

She was beautiful, of course; I’d fucking known that the moment I saw her. But there was something particularly mesmerizing about her right then. Stripped of the makeup she wore like armor, she looked different, and I hated how much that captivated me.

“Right.” I took a step backwards. “See you tomorrow.”

She started to close the door, but a voice filtered outside.

“Xiomara, who is that at this hour?”

An older woman appeared from behind her. Wrapped in a shawl to protect herself from the night chill, her graying hair frizzed around her forehead and cheeks. There were wrinkle lines around her eyes, the creases of her skin pulling her expression down into one of displeasure.

She glared at me, her eyes taking me in the way the señoras always did. With judgment. Disdain.

That was normal, and I didn’t take it personally.

“Who is this?” the woman demanded.

“Ma, this is my boss,” Xiomara introduced slowly.

Her eyes cut to me, and in them I read the note of panic.

I wondered if she’d told her mamá I’d fired her. Probably not. I wouldn’t mention it.

“Buenas noches, señora,” I greeted. “Sorry if I woke you. I was just telling Xiomara that I would pick her up for work tomorrow.”

---