Page 3 of Tattooed Boss
“How old were you when your mom died?”
She swallowed, the long column of her neck bobbing. “When I was fifteen. Breast cancer.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah it does.”
“I have a dead parent, too. My dad.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Wasn’t even born yet. Construction accident.”
She inhaled, keeping it just shy of a gasp. Her hand landed on her chest, the black and gray rose on her hand drawing his attention. The detail was exquisite, and it had the signature markings of her style. It was clearly a design she created.
“That’s fucking awful,” she said.
“Yeah it is.”
“Did your mom remarry?”
He sighed, thinking of his mom and the life she could have had. “No. Twenty-six years later, and my mother still grieves.” He had always wondered what his mom was like before the accident. Did she smile for no reason? Laugh until it hurt? They seemed like simple joys in life, yet they were things he rarely saw his mother do. She held so tightly to her grief that Garrett honestly believed she died the same day his father did.
“Wow, that’s really sad.”
Sad. Pathetic. He wasn’t really sure. But there was one thing he was sure of: love wasn’t worth it. Not if you could lose the person and spend the rest of life in a state of misery. Fuck that. He preferred to be happy.
Harley blinked up, her dark eyes meeting his. “I thought my parents had the same kind of love. You know that whole ‘I can’t live without the other person’ love. Then Mom died, and not even a year later, Dad remarried. Made me question everything I knew about love.”
“How so?” he asked, surprised at how intrigued he was by what went on in her head.
“If you can fall in and out of love so quickly, how special can it really be?” There was a bitterness to her tone that seemed to go deeper than animosity toward her father. He had no doubt someone hurt her.
“Funny,” he said. “I always wondered the opposite, to be honest. How else can I explain my mom’s grief two and a half decades after the loss? Had to be something spectacular, you know?”
“Maybe it’s true that love comes in all different forms.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I finished my sketch and would love to get your thoughts. See if you’re ready for me to permanently put it on your body.”
Grateful for the subject change, he clapped his hands together. “Let’s see it.”
She bent to get her sketchbook. His eyes skimmed her undeniable curves that were on full display. As her boss, it was extremely inappropriate, but he was only human. Besides, there was no harm in looking.
Harley was similar to the pinup models she was famous for portraying in ink—curvy and breathtakingly stunning. Her purple and black hair fell over the full roundness of her breasts that pushed out of the black tank top she wore. He quickly darted his eyes to hers, so she wouldn’t catch his improper gaze lingering on the necklace tattooed on her chest that draped elegantly above her tits and extended to her shoulders. It looked as if it was a real necklace from another time when women hid their curves beneath boxy flapper dresses.
“You ready?” She pressed the sketchpad to her chest, hugging it tightly.
“Definitely.”
“If you hate it, tell me, and I can make adjustments or start over completely.”
“Harley, let me see the sketch.”
She bit her lip, worrying the plump flesh before placing the sketchpad on the counter.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the attention to detail. The crisp, straight lines were a tattooers dream that separated the good from the great. It was in her usual pinup style, a sailor girl sitting on an anchor as if it were a swing. It was a nod to the water he grew up by and the water he now could see from outside his shop door. The girl’s face was a classic beauty, delicate yet sexy, with black hair wind-blown beneath a sailor cap. Her hand angled to hold the hat in place, and her generous bosom naturally pushed up from the movement.
“You hate it,” Harley said, defeat tinging her words.
He met her eyes and smiled. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that? This is amazing.”