Charlie’s head fell back with laughter. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life,” she said.
“Not knowingiskind of exciting,” I admitted, caving and grabbing a piece of chocolate from the table.
“I guess.” Oliver tapped his fingers together, before snapping and leaning forward. “Hey, speaking of this trip and Harrison?—”
“Were we still speaking of Harrison?” I asked.
“You helping him with his site would be the perfect way to bury the hatchet between the two of you before this trip.”
“I’m not the one wielding the hatchet in the first place,” I argued. “I would love nothing more than to get along.”Understatement of the century. I’d like to do a lot more than just get along...
I shooed the unwelcome thoughts away.
“Then help him. Please, Lila.” Oliver rose from the couch. Dropping to his knees on the floor, he clumsily shuffled his way toward me before taking both of my hands from my lap and looking up at me with his best puppy dog expression. “Please.”
“Oh my gosh.” I took my hands back and playfully shoved him in the shoulder. We were both laughing now. “You’re desperate.”
I glanced up at Charlie, who simply shrugged with a casual “Do what you want” expression.
Maybe Oliver had a point. Helping Harrison with his site wouldn’t be all that challenging for me, and then maybe he’d finally realize that I wasn’t as bad as he’d made me out to be in his head. Then, we’d go into this trip as civil acquaintances and maybe even get the chance to bond, or something.
It seemed far-fetched, but, honestly, it kind of drove me crazy that Harrison couldn’t stand me. I valued being liked. I was a people-pleaser, through and through. Maybe that wasn’t the healthiest trait, but I thrived on it. I loved seeing gratefulsmiles when I brought the good coffee to work, or the relief on my employees’ faces when I stayed late to help them meet a tight deadline. And I couldn’t help but bask in the appreciation whenever someone called me a lifesaver for doing them a favor.
So, for those reasons, I found myself telling Oliver, “I’llthinkabout it.”
FOUR
Harrison
“Hey, boss, any other clients today?”
Shane poked his head of spiky blond hair into my closet of an office, the only contents of which were an ancient desktop that took twenty minutes to power on and a couple of chairs.
“Done for the day.”
Shane whistled. “Wow. It’s only seven on a Friday.” He held up his hands when his eyes met my glare. “I’m just saying,” he said defensively. “It’s a bit slow this weekend.”
“I don’t see you flush with business either,” I grumbled, even though I knew the shop was partially to blame for that.
While the artists at my shop were responsible for taking their own bookings, the shop’s website typically drove at least thirty percent of their traffic. The website that was currently down because of an error I’d made trying to set up new links. I had been on the phone with tech support for an hour yesterday trying to fix it. My technological ineptitude knew no bounds.
I followed Shane out of the office and into the main—and only—room of the shop. It was just a giant square, with each artist having their own station in a corner of the room and a small desk and waiting area at the front. Aside from that, we hada small piercing room in the back. The other artists had already gone home for the evening, and I was about to pack up.
“This is the deadest we’ve seen it in months,” Shane mused, tossing a few papers into a brown leather backpack.
“Why do you keep feeling the need to point out the obvious?” I asked.
Shane had been here the longest, so I knew he wouldn’t take my brusqueness personally. We’d apprenticed together at the same shop south of the city for a few years, back when I’d first moved here. Oliver and I had always known college wasn’t in the cards for either of us, and moving to Denver was something we’d talked about all through high school. I, for one, couldn’t get away from the town we’d grown up in fast enough.
It was bad enough that my peers already thought I was too shy and too poor; as time went on and I found my passion for drawing, I also became the “weird art kid.” Despite my size—and despite Oliver always begging me to try out for whatever sport he was playing—I’d preferred spending my free time in the cramped studio, sketching in silence alongside the school’s ancient art teacher, Mr. Coleman. It hadn’t done much for my popularity, but aside from a few snide remarks, most people left me alone.
That was probably because of the time Kyle Rogers, football star and all-around asshole, cornered me in the hallway with one of his lackeys. They’d ripped up one of my portraits, so I hit him right in the face. When they’d started to fight back, Oliver jumped in, and we started wailing on them both before some teachers broke up the fight. I got suspended for a week, but it had been worth it to see Kyle’s crooked nose for the rest of high school.
Tattooing was art in its most badass form. Who was going to fuck with someone covered in ink from head to toe? Maybe it wasn’t the most noble reason to enter the profession, buteighteen-year-old me had longed for a way to pursue my art in a way that ensured I wouldn’t be messed with. And by now, I’d grown to love the form of expression. Saving up for and starting my own shop was my biggest accomplishment to date.
“I’m just saying, a year ago, we were booked months in advance, and now we’re desperate for a walk in.”
“The climate was different a year ago,” I insisted, but I wasn’t even sure if my statement was accurate. Business wasn’t my expertise, but I had still managed to do well for myself. I had always been financially responsible, at least. Growing up the way I did had given me no choice.
