Page 37 of Inked Desires
“Is he looking for you?” he asks, fiddling with the coffee machine.
I glance out the window. Looks like we’re not done withthistopic today.
“Probably.”
He nods again and presses a button twice.
“Would it be bad if he found you?”
I see what he’s doing. He’s trying to get information slowly, gently. But I have to be even more careful—because talking to him issodamn easy.
“You’re way more talkative since we had sex,” I say, deflecting.
He turns from the machine, clearly not surprised, and leans back against the counter, watching me.
“I trust you a little more now,” he answers bluntly.“I don’t talk much because people can’t handle the truth. But you haven’t run yet.”
I walk over to a chair and rest my hands on the back. I get where he’s coming from. People prefer pretty lies. When things get ugly, they don’t know how to handle it.
“I’d rather know I’m dealing with an asshole upfront... than find out too late.”
My voice comes out bitter. But it’s the truth.
“You think I’m an asshole?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Sometimes,” I reply, tilting my head slightly as I study him.
His smile widens, almost enough to show teeth.
“Well, this asshole is taking you shopping,” he says, stepping closer and pulling an envelope from his back pocket. He holds it out to me.“It’s payday.”
Surprised, I take it and open it immediately. Inside are four hundred dollars. I stare at him, stunned.
“Four hundred for one week?”
“It’s your salary,” he confirms.
My shoulders drop. That’s way too much for a front desk guy at a tattoo shop—especially one working under the table.
“You’re paying me that much because we slept together,” I say flatly.
There’s no other explanation. It feels like a bonus for warming his bed. I thought he liked me. What a fool I was to believe it.
“You think I pay for sex?” he growls.
“How else do you explain that amount?”
“I don’t need to pay to get laid,” he snaps.“When I want someone, I get them. Supply far exceeds demand, sweetheart. The shop does well, so I can afford to pay you fairly.”
He turns toward the coffee maker and pours himself a cup with an annoyed sigh.
“I don’t feel like shopping anymore,” he mutters before leaving the kitchen without another word.“Go by yourself.”
Shit. I fucked up again. My trust issues pissed him off, and I don’t know how to fix it. But that’s how I am. It’s always easier to expect the worst than hope for the best.
I toss the envelope onto the table and slump into a chair, burying my head in my hands. Why is adult life so damn complicated?
I almost catch myself missing the days with Jace. I wasn’t allowed to have opinions. He scheduled everything for me. All I had to do was exist. No need to think. No choices to make. I sigh, rubbing my forehead, then drop my hands and stare at the envelope.
