My pulse started to race. Shuttering my expression, I looked down at the file I’d been in the middle of scanning. I’d worked at INKarnate for three days and had barely made a dent in the files. “I’d really like you to stop flirting with me,” I said primly.
The sound of movement brought my head up, and my eyes widened at the sight of Cole rounding the desk. I leaned back as he deliberately crowded me in against it, his hands coming to rest on the desk at either side of me. My breathing stuttered as the air thickened. Heat danced from his body to mine, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop the tingling between my legs or the swelling in my breasts as he stared down at me with blatant sexual intention.
He lowered his head and I braced myself. Instead of kissing me, though, he murmured against my mouth, “That might be a problem for me.”
The sound of the front door opening drew Cole back from me, and I gratefully gulped in some air. I felt like a total idiot.
“Tamara,” Cole said, surprise in his voice. Catching sight of the pleased smile on his face, I whirled around to have a look at this Tamara person.
I frowned.
A tall, curvy brunette was walking across the studio toward Cole with a huge smile on her pretty face. She enveloped him in a hug, so tall in her high-heeled boots that they were the same height.
They fit perfectly together.
Something I was determined not to admit was a wave of jealousy slashed in a fiery pain across my chest.
“What are you doing here?” Cole asked as they stepped back from their embrace.
Tamara shrugged with an excited smile. “I’m here on a talent scout and was hoping you might be able to fit me in. I know it’s last minute and you’re a very busy boy.”
Fit her in? Busy boy?
My stomach dropped.
Finally, here was evidence of Cole the player. I had no right to feel disillusioned and disappointed. None. So I didn’t.
Really. I didn’t.
No, siree, not me.
I waited nosily to see if Cole did have time in his man-whore schedule for her but looked down at my work as though I didn’t care.
“Shannon, I’m free for the next hour, right?”
“Two,” I said without looking up, “if you count lunch break.”
“Is it just a small tat? Two hours enough?”
“More than.”
My hands stilled on the scanner button. They were talking tattoos . . . not a sexual hookup? I bit my lip, hating that the jealous burn in my chest was already disappearing. Glancing up at them from under my lashes, I saw Tamara watching me carefully.
Cole noticed her appraisal of me. “Tamara, this is our new receptionist and Rae’s flatmate, Shannon. Shannon, this is Tamara. She’s an A-and-R executive for Tower Records in Glasgow. We went to Edinburgh College of Art together—Tamara is a graduate of the Reid School of Music there.”
Bloody hell. She was gorgeous, accomplished, smart, and successful. She scouted talent for a living while I . . . scanned stuff.
“Hi,” I said.
What else was there to say?
Tamara gave me a nod in acknowledgment, a small smirk playing on her lips as she drank me in. She turned to Cole after scrutinizing me. “You never change.”
Cole stiffened.
What the heck did that mean?
Whatever look Cole gave his friend, she shrugged unapologetically. He sighed and turned to lead her across the studio, and thankfully I got to ignore his departure because a customer walked in.
The young woman was looking to have her ear cuff pierced. After I alerted Simon, who was on his lunch break, he came out into the main studio. He talked quietly to the girl in the waiting area and gestured for her to go into the back room. He stopped by my desk before following her. “You met Tamara?”
Warily I nodded.
“Gorgeous girl,” Simon said. “Not the girl, though.” And with that rather enigmatic statement and a cheeky wink, he disappeared after his customer.
Not for once I cursed fate’s twisted sense of humor for handing me a good job in the worst possible setting. I was in bad-boy heaven. Or hell. Whichever it was, it was the wrong place for me.
Beggars can’t be choosers, Gran had always said.
Sighing, I looked back out the window, my annoyance level increasing when I saw the shivering dog’s owner approach to untie him. The dog jumped up at the man, his tail wagging pitifully. All attempts to greet his master were ignored, his owner shooing him down before leading him away. The dog might as well have been invisible on the other end of his lead. My heart clenched. I wanted to run across the street and steal that lonely dog away and shower him with affection.
It occurred to me as I watched the guy sway a little on his feet that there were just some people who didn’t know how to love. I had to wonder why, then, if they couldn’t learn, they even bothered trying. Their attempts only harmed those foolish enough to try to love them in return.
CHAPTER 3
I still don’t forgive you. I just want to know you’re not dead.
S taring down at the text message from my sister, I pondered what to do. I’d been staring at the damn thing on and off for the last twenty-four hours. And for the last twenty-four hours I hadn’t been able to get her voice out of my head.
“When are you going to stop picking these losers to date? God, Shannon, it doesn’t say much about you, does it?”
“Another one bites the dust? What was it this time? Another woman? Drugs? A pregnancy scare? All of the above?”
“You’ve done it now. You invite scum into your life and we’re the ones dealing with the consequences. You’re so selfish, Shannon!”
I suppose that meant it was selfish to leave her hanging.
I’m not dead.
I stuffed my phone into my big slouchy bag where I carried my sketch pad and pencils. It was Friday, my day off. Since the studio was busiest at the weekends, I got Thursday and Friday off instead. Yesterday I’d spent cleaning the flat and reading a book Rae let me borrow. Today I was going to the castle. I couldn’t get the idea of trying my hand at landscape painting out of my head. I’d never painted before, but it wasn’t the first time I’d fancied giving it a go . . .
* * *
“What the hell is that?”
I stared at the box of acrylic paint he was pointing to. “Paints.”
“You don’t fucking paint.”
“I’m going to, though.”
“No. You’re not. You’re going to return those expensive-as-fuck paints you can’t bloody use.”
Unsure now, I stared at the box.
Sensing my sadness, he wrapped his hand around my neck, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were soft, concerned. “Babe, I’m sorry. I just want you to get this art thing out of your head so we can get real. I don’t mean to hurt you, but there’s not much of a career in it for most people and you really need to be megatalented to succeed. There’s no point sinking your time and money into something you’re not good at.”
That conversation and the many that had come before it played in my head as I made my way to Edinburgh Castle. I paid the entry fee and hoofed it to the top, where I had a wonderful view of the city. Battling against the soft wind that fluttered the corners of my paper up every now and then, I began to sketch it, already imagining painting it in nighttime colors with streaks of electric tones for the lights.