Page 15 of Church Girl
It would have to be.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just get there as soon as you can. I don’t mind having Gia at King Tattoos for a little while, but not all day.”
I’m good with my employees, and most of our clients are cool people. But a tattoo shop with strangers coming in and out, and language that isn’t always clean isn’t the best environment for a seven-year-old.
“Okay, I understand. I’ll be there as soon as possible. And, Mr. Howard?”
“Von,” I correct, a note of impatience creeping into my voice. All the other details we can hash out at the shop. I need to get Gia and be out.
“Von,” she murmurs, and that soft yet husky lilt wrapped around my name slides right through me, strokes over my skin. Fists my dick.Gotdammit. “I just wanted to say thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to proving you wrong.”
A smile curves my lips before I can contain it. But as soon as it tips the corners of my mouth, I deliberately straighten it. “I hope you do, Aaliyah. See you in a little bit.”
Without waiting for her to say goodbye, I end the call. And stare down at the phone screen. Giving my head one last hard shake, I turn to find G. It’s a little too quiet, and something tells me there’s more playing with stickers going on in there than dressing.
It’s never a dull moment around here.
“Hey, Von. Aaliyah Montgomery is here.”
I glance up from adding ink to the caps lined up on the red tool chest and give Malcolm a nod. “Cool. Thanks. I’ll be right out. Gia still up front with you?”
“Yeah. Heads up. She’s rearranged the piercing case by prettiest to ugliest.”
I cock my head. “Malcolm, seriously? I left her up there with a week’s full of coloring books. And you let her fuck with the jewelry?”
He shrugs, completely unrepentant. “Listen, man. I don’t know how it happened. One second, I was saying no, stick with the crayons, and in the next, she hit me with the lip tremble. I’on care what you say. Drag me. But yeah, I gave in and let her do whatever she wanted. Your daughter’s a savage, bruh.”
“Weak ass,” I mutter. I can’t really blame him, though. Gia uses her cuteness like a weapon of mass destruction. “Here I come.”
“Bet.” He claps the doorjamb and disappears.
“Terrel, can you give me a minute? This won’t take long at all,” I say to my client, peeling off my black gloves.
“Yeah, no problem. Handle your business.”
He gives me a chin jerk over his shoulder. I already transposed the design for his back tattoo onto his skin. The blue outline of a grim reaper grasping a scythe and a pocket watch dangling from his long, bony fingers looks bad as fuck, and I haven’t even started tattooing it yet. Terrel is a longtime customer, and one of my firsts. He’s allowed only me to do his ink for the past fifteen years. The first five when I worked in my uncle’s shop and the last ten here at King Tattoos. Even though he no longer lives in the Chicago area, having moved to Charlotte, North Carolina, a couple of years ago, he still comes to see me and get new work done when he’s here visiting his family. Which is why I couldn’t miss this appointment. Not only could he not reschedule since he leaves for Charlotte in the morning, but he’s a friend and loyal client who I didn’t want to cancel on.
I head out of my room, closing the door behind me. It’s a perk of being the owner. My artists have wide, spacious booths, but I work in my own room. Plus, if I have celebrity clients like athletes or artists, it affords them privacy.
Reaching the opening that leads into the lobby, I frown at the sight of Gia’s head poked into the jewelry display case. The fuck? Now we’re going to have to sterilize everything in that damn thing. Still, watching her jerk and shift to the latest Gunna hit playing through the shop’s speakers in what, I guess, is her idea of dancing almost draws a smile from my face. Then I remember she’s fucking with my shitandrapping along to a song she has no business knowing the words to.
“Gia,” I growl.
She stills, and slowly—because her little ass knows she’s wrong—emerges from the jewelry case.
“Hi, Daddy.” She beams, and while that smile might pinch my heart, I fold my arms across my chest and don’t lose the frown. Seeing this, she even has the nerve to give me a little finger wave. Again, I have to force myself not to smile. “I was helping Malcolm! Do you like it?”
“Gia, what did we talk about on our way here?” Her eyes lower and shift to the side, her mouth twisting into a small pout. Yeah, she knows she’s wrong as hell. “G? What did I say?”
“To sit my little ass down and color and don’t touch nuthin’,” she mumbles.
“That’s right. And when you get your allowance Friday, you gon’ give me a dollar for the swear jar.”
“But, Daddy,” she whines, her face balling up. “That’s what you said!”
“Aye, lower your voice when talking to me. You know I don’t do that. And yeah, I said it. Butyouknow not to repeat that word. You think you being slick. For trying to play me, I should make you give me two dollars.”
Wisely, she doesn’t say anything back. Even though she’s seven, my baby values those five dollars she earns at the end of every week. She probably has more money in that dragon-shaped bank than I have in my bank account.
