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Five
Wes
“Hey, beautiful,” I say with a grin as I answer the FaceTime call from Natasha coming through via the tablet I have set up on the table next to me.
“Oh, sorry. I can call back If you’re busy,” she says, arching an eyebrow at the man lying face-down on the bench beside me, his inked back on full display.
I shrug. “It’s fine. You don’t mind, do you, Tom?”
“As long as you don’t fuck up the ink,” he grumbles.
“Mate, have I ever let you down?” I say with a chuckle before rolling my stool closer and starting to prepare the needle. “What’s up, Tash?”
“You remember that woman who emailed me about her wedding jitters?”
“The one whose fiancé wasn’t giving her any?” I ask, mildly curious.
“Yeah.”
“What about her?”
“Well, I think she broke it off with him.”
“Good for her,” I say with a smile. “Let me guess, she wrote back to thank you for your amazing advice?”
“Uh…not exactly. He did.”
My gaze snaps up at her hesitant tone, and I can tell by the anxious look in her eyes and the way she’s chewing on her thumbnail that something isn’t right. “What do you meanhewrote to you? To thank you?”
“Um…no…not to thank me…”
“What did he say?” I demand, perhaps a little more harshly than is necessary.
“Uh…well,clearlyhe wasn’t expecting the wedding to be called off,” she explains. “And he doesn’t seem to have taken it very well.”
I narrow my eyes at her, knowing her well enough to tell she’s leaving part of the story out. “Can you forward me the email?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Well now Ireallywant to see it.”
She sighs, her head falling back in resignation. “Ok, fine. But don’t freak out.”
She scans her eyes over the screen, and I can only assume she’s looking for the email in her inbox. A moment later, I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. I snap off my latex gloves and pull it out to see an email alert on the screen. The same one appears on my iPad but I use my phone so I don’t need to switch away from the call with Natasha.
I’m not sure what I was expecting from the email. Some lovesick guy pouring his heart out about his breakup and pining over his lost fiancée, maybe? That would certainly explain the guilt flashing over Tash’s face.
But what I read is perhaps as far from that sweet image as you can imagine. The guy ispissedand for some reason he’s decided to take all his frustration out on my amazing and completely innocent best friend.
“That fucking prick!” I growl. I’ve only made it halfway through, but I’m already fuming. How dare this arsehole blame Natasha for his relationship problems? How dare he take his anger out on an innocent woman who was simply doing her job?
“What did he say?” Tom asks, clearly curious about the conversation going on around him.
I’m too angry to speak, my whole body is absolutely thrumming with it, so I shove my phone under Tom’s face and he takes it from me so he can read for himself. Then I pace around the small area of my tattooing room, willing myself to calm down because I know I won’t be able to do the work Tom’s scheduled while I’m all riled up like this.
“It’s okay, Wes. Calm down,” Natasha says from my iPad screen. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is,” I growl. “You’re upset. I can tell. This guy had no right to say this crap to you.”
