Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“Did you have that embroidered on your top?” Over my top left breast, the words dead inside are stitched in rather nicely, if you ask me. I know between my own pink hair and bright gray-blue eyes, my dark outfits can confuse people, but I don’t care to be labeled. I wear what I want.
“Juliette did it for her. I’ve never known a better seamstress than her,” Grams chimes in. “Her work is impeccable.”
“You heard Grams. Impeccable. Like me.” I hop off the kitchen island. Alfred grabs a cloth and wipes the spot I’d been sitting on.
“There is no time to change, is there?” Blake looks to Alfred. He shakes his head no.
“Security said Mr. Matty is pulling up the drive now.”
“Matty? That’s his name?”
“Don’t start.” Blake points one of her perfectly painted pink nails at me. “You promised.”
“All right. I give.” I grab my bag and kiss Grams on the cheek before we head toward the front door.
“I’m to open it,” Alfred calls after us, but it’s too late.
I swing one of the giant double doors open to see a man in a suit. He’s pretty basic but not terrible. Definitely Blake’s type. She’s been going on about this guy for a few weeks. They’ve been chatting it up on some dating site, but still, she didn’t want to go alone. Hence me being pulled into this mess.
Blake and Matty do their cute little hellos. “Where’s mine?” I glance toward the Land Rover, trying to get a glimpse of whomever it is that I’m supposed to be hanging with tonight.
“We’re going to pick him up.” I read between those lines. This guy didn’t want any part of this date either.
I should have asked Blake if she’d given Matty a picture of me and he showed it to this man, and that’s why he’s being pulled into this mess. “This is your place?” Matty glances around. I step out, closing the door behind us.
“Yeah, it’s super old. Can get drafty. I swear it’s haunted, but no one wants to believe me.”
“She’s joking.” Blake forces a laugh.
“Am not.” Okay, maybe I just want it to be haunted ‘cause that sounds badass, but whatever.
“What was your name again?” Matty asks.
“Morgan” is all I give. “Shall we get this show on the road? I’m hungry.” I make my way over to the SUV and let myself into the back seat. Matty opens the door for Blake to get in before he jogs around to the driver’s side, and we’re off and through the gates headed toward the city.
“Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living, Morgan?”
“I’m a tattoo artist.”
“A very sought-after one,” Blake is quick to add. “You have to send in a request, she has to review it, and then maybe she’ll do the art for you. But she only does females.”
“Interesting,” Matty responds in a tone I’m not sure how to take.
“Yeah, it was a hard toss-up for me. I was swinging between being a mortuary cosmetologist or tattoo artist, but tattooing won in the end. I suppose I could change careers one day. I’m still young.”
“She’s joking!” Blake rushes to say. I don’t need to see her face to know her cheeks are flushing. “Morgan loves being a tattoo artist. She doesn’t even have any tattoos herself. She will only do tattoos that she feels have meaning behind them. It's part of the form you have to fill out to even get an appointment to meet with her.” Blake turns to look back at me, beaming with pride.
God, I love her. Otherwise, I’d be back at the Hoffman estate grooming Grams’ three Welsh corgis. All of which don’t like me. I try not to take it personally. They only like Grams.
CHAPTER 3
EROS
“Oh hell,” I curse when I see the text message from Matty that he’s five minutes away. Time had gotten away from me.
“You’re not going on a blind date dressed like this, are you?” Mom cries in dismay. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”
“I’m going to put on a different shirt,” I yell as I bolt down the hallway. What do I even have to wear on dates? Even when I go to the gallery, I show up in jeans and a T-shirt. I’m an artist. I can wear whatever I want because people expect me to be edgy and different, when the truth is I don’t pay attention to shit that doesn’t interest me. Clothes do not interest me. I rifle through my closet and find a plain white shirt with an actual collar. While I’m buttoning it, I hear my doorbell ring. I tuck the tails in, belt my jeans, stick my wallet in my back pocket, and head to the front door. The bell rings again.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” I shout.
Mom is already apologizing for me when I arrive in the foyer. Unsurprisingly, Matty is dressed in a sharply tailored blue suit. At least he’s not wearing a tie.