Page 203 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“I’ll bring another camera, too. I can’t imagine why I agreed to leave you without any cover in the rear, Bren.”
Because I was down to my last fifty cents when I refurbished Rufus’s shop, so my budget for the CCTV system was thin, and it never occurred to me to upgrade. And because Logan never has liked me. But saying so will not improve his opinion and I don’t want him to stop me from seeing Emily. Or bad-mouth me to Mac, although that’s not Logan’s style. “Sorry, sir.”
He grunts. “Two and a half hours. I’ll bring Emily with me and you know she’ll bring lunch, so be ready to eat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“See you then.” He hangs up.
Emily texts me before I even put the phone away.
Daddy says no charge. See? He likes you really.
Weeell, he might be warming to me a little.
I want meat for lunch,I text her back.
Meat for dinner. Meat twice a day isn’t good for you. Eggplant parm for lunch.
Fuck, I’d kill major portions of the greater New York population for Emily’s eggplant parm.
I hate eggplant parm.
I know. I’ll bring extra. I have cupcakes, too. But only if you eat all your veggies. That’s the rule.
Bitch.
If Daddy sees that, you’re in trouble. I’m deleting the thread.
A true friend is a friend who helps you hide the evidence.
I smile into the phone before I tuck it away and join Nicky in the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
My first client is in for more work on a chest piece that he’s been adding to for over a year. It’s a massive piece, covering his barrel chest and gut. Interlinking, black and white portraits of his whole family: kids, parents, brother, two sisters, grandparents. He’s saved his right pec for his wife and I’ve been working on sketches for over a month. It has to be perfect.
I’m still working, and in my zone, when Logan and Emily arrive. I hear Nicky talking to them, then Emily pulls the curtain around my station aside, sits in the guest chair, and quietly watches me until I’m done.
“That eggplant parm better not be getting cold,” I tell her.
“I can heat it up. Bren, that’s really beautiful.”
I wipe the fresh tattoo down reverently. Sometimes what comes out of my needle doesn’t even feel connected to me. It’s not something I’ve created. It’s something I’ve pulled up out of the skin. Something that was always there and just needed the percussion of my needle to bring it out.
“Want to see it, Bob?” I ask my client.
“Naw, Bren. I’ll see it in a couple days when I unwrap it. I felt it going down. I know it’s perfect.”
I smile at him. He’s had so much work now that he probably can feel it. I smooth gauze over it and tape it down before I hand him the printed card of aftercare instructions. He knows the drill better than I do, but I always give every client the instructions after I finish. No exceptions.
I close the shop for an hour so we can all go up into my apartment to enjoy Emily’s eggplant parm. I have no doubt she brought enough not just for the three of us but for Nicky and my piercer, Jules, as well. Hell, she probably brought enough for Bob. But Logan doesn’t like strangers being around Emily, so I don’t invite Bob, even though the guy’s practically family at this point.
Over the Tri-State’s best eggplant parmesan, green salad with lemon vinaigrette, and tiny, grilled eggplant rolls stuffed with ricotta, Logan tells me he’s replaced the back-door lock with a double-deadbolt smart lock that can be operated from my phone or a key fob. There’s no external plate, so even if the jackhammerer returns, there’s nothing to smash. He’s also installed not one but two cameras, both of which feed into my phone. Tears prick in my eyes as he shows me how the feed uploads to a cloud server, so it doesn’t chew up my phone’s memory. I couldn’t deal with a Daddy Dom, but I have to admitthat in less than an hour, he’s made me feel safer than I have since I first opened the shop.
“Thank you, sir. You have to let me pay for this.”
“We’ll talk about it later. Eat your cupcake.”
I bury a “yes, sir” in the cupcake and try not to sniffle.
