THE VOW (Manhattan Nights #1)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

BRETT

I haven’t seen Elsie Carpenter in seven goddamned years.

A long f*****g time to not talk to someone. Too long. The second her text message hits my cell, I already know who it will be, the warning message from Kayla burning a hole in my brain that my favorite band-aid—work—won’t even fix. This evening, I keep the shop open later than usual.

The job never sleeps. And neither do I.

Even though I was told Elsie asked for my number, I never thought she would use it. Seven years of silence was enough to know when someone f*****g hated you, and when you knew that person—intimately, every passing year made the quiet between you two more acute. More aware. And not for nothing but I happen to know little Elsie Carpenter like the back of my hand. Or, at least, I once did.

A long time ago. And the text lets me know that not much has changed.

She writes: Can I stay with you?

The strange part? Sitting here in near solitude, all it takes is that five word text from her to send my self-absorbed ass back into the past, my mind thrown into a thousand different directions instead of on the work right here in front of me. Or rather… the woman right here in front of me. Sitting here. Half-naked. Alone. With her breasts bared for only me to see in this tiny room.

Marilyn Daniels has skin that was made for tattoos, her body a perfect canvas. And everyone knows it.

It’s the planes of her; they’re smooth and even. With silky porcelain skin, the soap opera actress with an affinity for ink and tangling with the paparazzi has been one of my most faithful clients over the past year. And, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful.

My hand steady, my gaze straight, I place the finishing touches on a heart tattoo beneath one of her highly-famed t**s, and she looks down at me, her pink n*****s held in her hands, her voice a breathy whisper as she stares softly into the mirror behind us. Her words are a sigh.

“I love it, Brett. You’ve outdone yourself.”

I slide back on my rolling stool, dropping the ink-tipped needle to the table, looking at an hour’s work. I smile at her in the mirror. “It’s only a heart, Marilyn. Nothing to get excited about.”

“But it’s not.” The sultry brunette shakes her head. “The detail. The shading that you add to the shape. The dimension you give it.” She stands to her feet. “You have a gift, Mr. Jackson. You really do. And I can’t wait to see your gift all over the small screen. Reed Hutton told me that he loves your work. He really does.”

I nod slowly. “Yes. Because it’s important to get the approval of a man who produces TV trash like ‘Hollywood Babymamas.’” I snort, glancing at my client. “I certainly feel validated now.”

Marilyn shoots me a pointed look. “You should be. Reed Hutton has the ability to change lives.” She juts a finger in my direction. “He could change your life. You could have your own show, and the world would see you for the amazing artist that you are. Just meet with him and hear what he has to say. You can open up the second shop. And I can stop braving the long trek here to Brooklyn just to see your ass.”

“I thought my ‘ass’ was the reason you were coming here in the first place.”

She scoffs, lowering her shirt, after I place a white bandage over the brand new ink. She winks down at me as my fingertips touch her skin. “You wish, pretty boy. I’ll see you on Friday.” She grabs for her coat, sauntering to the closed curtain that separates us from the front room. I yell as she heads towards the exit.

“And I’ll see you on Thursday night at nine pm. I never miss an episode of… What’s your show again? Beverly Botoxed Faces?”

I listen to her retreating footsteps. “You’re a d**k, Brett,” she shouts in a sing-song voice, one that makes me chuckle, my head shaking as I shoot back a sentence I know she hates.

“Never claimed to be anything else!” I close the curtain, getting back to my tools, my ears perking as the bell dings over the front exit, signaling Marilyn’s sudden departure. I pick up my needles. With gloved hands, I wipe at the now-colorful tips cleaning each one.

A tattoo artist is only as good as his tools, and a “d**k,” as Marilyn likes to call me, is only as good as the one in his pants. Which reminds me…

I fully intend on using mine tonight.

A busy day in the shop ran me f*****g ragged, and to top off an even more hectic day, I’ll soon have to see my sister’s longtime best friend. A disappearing siren. A shy, curly-haired blonde I’d watched grow into a strong sensual young woman. A surprisingly sexy, smart girl…with an even smarter mouth.

And the object of my past, and sometimes present, fantasies.

My needles aren’t the only ‘tools’ in the shop. I suspect I’ve always been. Had to be.

Brothers who crossed boundaries with their little sisters’ best friends were bound for Hell. And I’m not sure I ever doubled back. But tonight, I needed to get my teenage dream out of my head. To get her out of my head.

I start to clean up the shop, my thoughts drifting to a night with Sophie when the bell above the front door of the shop dings, the sound reaching my ears at the back of the shop.

“We’re closed,” I call out. But the footsteps don’t stop. I reach for a set of brass knuckles near my tabletop when the shuffle of shoe soles just keeps coming. I stand to my feet, wrapping the metal rings around my fingers. I open the closed curtain to my room, stepping into the small hallway, my fist raised and ready to swing at whatever’s coming my way.

Until I hear her voice.

She peers up at me, her brown eyes doe-like and wide. And just as I remembered. Only these slightly older eyes are more hostile. More hardened. More cold.

She looks at me, at the brass knuckles in my hand—staring. She glances back up at my face.

“Is that how you welcome customers?”

I exhale, lowering my closed fist. “When we’re closed, it is.” I point towards the bell above the entrance door. “I tried to warn you that we weren’t open.”

Elsie nods. “A locked door would’ve said that better.” She looks around briefly, her eyes bouncing around my shop. Her wary gaze stops on the walls, her glare combing the sketches posted there. My sketches. Absentmindedly, her hand reaches out to touch one but before her fingers make contact, she withdraws them as if her hand were on fire, her hand flinching before dropping to her side.

“Your shop is amazing,” she utters softly. “Kayla said it would be.”

I gaze at her face. “Thanks. It’s a f*****g mess to me. But that’ll change with the renovations.” I finger the brass rings in my hand. “How are you?”

Elsie glances up at me, her brown eyes liquid. “Me? I…” She hesitates, her gaze going to the floor and back. “I’m fine. Just a long day, is all.”

I can’t stop staring at her, my eyes soaking in every single detail. I almost can’t believe my eyes. The words slip off my tongue in almost a whisper. I look at her face. “You look so grown-up.”

Elsie blinks, her eyes slanting. “That’s because I have grown up.” She snorts softly. “And clearly you haven’t.”

I shake the shock off, my stare shifting. “s**t. Sorry.” I place my brass knuckles in my jeans pocket. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds. I just mean you look different than the last time I saw you…” I motion in her direction. “Like an adult.”

“And what’s that look like?”

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “Probably the usual. Bored and utterly f*****g unhappy.”

“Okay.” Elsie grabs a rolling suitcase I hadn’t noticed until now. “Sorry for wasting your time.” She turns and walks towards the door, heading fast. I follow in step behind her. I reach out and grab her wrist but she wrings it from my grasp, whirling.

In a silver slinky tank top and cut-off denim shorts, her hair wild and curly, she looks angry, semi-crazed. And completely irresistible. And in that second, I forget all about Sophie. I shove my hands into my jeans to keep from touching her further. My fingers tingle.

“Elsie, stop. Don’t take off. I’m being a d**k,” I exhale. “It’s what I’m known for.”

“So I remember.”

“Look, I might be an asshole, but I’m not a cruel one. You caught me off-guard. Kayla didn’t tell me you were coming tonight. I got your text but I was with a customer and planned to respond after shop clean-up. I would have prepared.” I run a hand through my hair, calming the frayed strands. “Listen, you can…” I hesitate over the words. “Come home with me tonight. Crash in one of my bedrooms. Might not be the ideal company you’re looking for, but it’s something. Something’s better than nothing.”

Elsie rolls her chocolate-colored eyes. “I’d rather stay in the local bar.”

“I’ve got better liquor.”

“Can’t assume your apartment will look much different than a pub.”

“I learned how to clean.” I cross my arms. “Or, rather, how to pay someone else to do it for me. Is that what Kayla told you about my place? That it’s as shitty as a local bar?”

“She didn’t have to,” she counters. “I’ve been in your bedroom before. Remember?”

I smile. “Only too fondly…” My grin grows wicked. “But that was seven years ago. Things have changed since then. I’ve changed since then. There’s only one way you’re going to find out. And that way just so happens to involve you not sleeping on a piss-stained bar stool.”

She scoffs. “You’re so eloquent with words.”

“Not as good as you, Ms. Carpenter. But I’ve got an extra bed and piss-free cushions. And if you think you can stomach my dickheadedness for one more second, I might even throw some hot food into the offer and one free ’Slap the s**t out of Brett’ card. Hopefully, you won’t have to use that tonight.” I grab for her luggage, swinging it over my shoulder. “But I can’t make any promises.”