Written By Fate Read online

  “What if I did, Sawyer? Why is that so shocking?” I ask tersely. He narrows his eyes at me and glares.

  “I guess it’s not. I just thought you knew better than that,” he throws in my face.

  “Knew better than what?” I clip. “Do tell.” He’s right and I’m really being bitchy. He sighs and drags a hand down his face.

  “Clara, you can screw whomever you like, okay? I know that. I get a bad vibe from him. He looks at you like he wants to own you, not like he wants to love you. He comes from money, and we both know what kind of lifestyle that is,” he says and shoots me a knowing look which temporarily irritates me even more. I don’t need reminding. I lived it. He did not.

  “I know. That’s why I hate him and his pompous attitude. The attraction’s just... physical. I have no idea what the hell he’s doing here but tomorrow if he comes in I’ll find out, all right?” I gripe. Sawyer’s leg stretches out and rests across my lap and I know that’s as much of a concession as I’ll get from him tonight so I let everything go and attempt to enjoy what’s left of our evening.

  Curling up in bed, I decide to text Amanda and find out what she knows. I burrow under my covers, grab my phone, and start typing.

  Did you talk to Napoli today?

  Amanda: Emailed him that you weren’t interested and to stop bringing your name up

  What’d he say?

  Amanda: That he really needed to know more about you...I tried to turn him off.

  By saying what... I have genital warts?

  Amanda: Ha! No, that might have worked better. I told him you’re a tattoo artist

  Fuck

  Amanda: What?

  He showed up today at the shop.

  Amanda: WHAT?!

  Yup. tried to make an appt. told him to come back tomorrow 'cause we we’re closed.

  Amanda: Think he’ll show up?

  Undoubtedly.

  Amanda: Shit, sorry.

  Not your fault.

  Amanda: Still how’d he know where?

  My guess, if you Google Clara Lord my Inked magazine art shows up- has the shop’s location.

  Amanda: Damn- that's right.

  Gotta go... early morning.

  Amanda: Keep me posted.

  Will do. xoxo

  Well that explains a lot, like how he keeps finding me. I whip open my laptop and pull up the article Amanda wrote so I can read his bio. It’s a little daunting knowing that he emailed with Amanda this morning, and by four in the afternoon had found me and made it to Virginia. I mean who does that? I open the attachment and start reading.

  “Dominic Napoli, 35

  Devilishly good looking and impeccably dressed, Napoli is owner of Hurricane in Boston and Deux in Miami and L.A. and host to some of Hollywood's hottest. He spends most of his time at Deux, arriving as early as 10 a.m. and staying until the place closes. Although he caters to the stars, Napoli is a friendly, normal, down-to-earth guy, who just happens to have three motorcycles and a house in the Hollywood Hills, as well as the penthouse suite at Morte Hotel in Boston. He owns the Morte chain of hotels and has been credited with taking a hotel chain that was losing $40 million a year and, within five years, turning it into a $100 million-a-year-plus hospitality business. And he did it while taking strokes off his golf game. But ladies, thus far Mr. Napoli hasn’t been lucky in love. He’s still on the market and looking for someone ’intriguing.’”

  Well, that’s a load of crap. Seriously, that really gives me no insight into the man who seems to be all about appearances. I haven’t seen this motorcycle side of him; if anything, the thought of Dominic on a bike makes me snort with laughter. He’d look absurd riding a bike in his groomed expensive attire and haughty attitude. Whatever. I Google him some and basically find that all the results are the same. Little insight and fluff filler about how cool he is. I click images to see what pops up: lots of paparazzi shots with numerous women on his arm at different charity functions, galas, and some at his club. All the women look like models and look fake. Fake hair color, fake tan, fake body, fake nails, just fake. They look bored and are probably there simply to be eye candy or pampered. Gag. In the pictures at clubs the women are scantily clad, leaving little to the imagination. The charity functions and galas show Dominic dressed to the nines looking dapper as ever and his dates fit the same bill. Coiffed to perfection but vacant eyes. I momentarily feel bad for him. It looks like he has no real relationships with real people. I remember a time when I pretended I no longer preferred jeans, and never left the house without a perfectly applied application of make-up an inch thick covering any natural beauty I had to offer, when all I really wanted to do was tug on jeans, a hoodie, and a quick coat of mascara before heading out for the day. I’d been so sucked into Daniel’s world that I’d forgotten who I was entirely until it was almost too late. I shake the memories from my head, close the laptop, and kill the light. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a whirlwind day.

  Surprise Torture

  Our morning starts out rough. Getting ready to drop Allie at sleepover soccer camp brought havoc on me. I was a goddamn ball of tears and blubbered like an idiot as she tried to peel away from my clinging hands. It’s the first time ever that we’ve been away from each other for longer than two days and I’m clearly not dealing well with it. To make matters worse she seems like she couldn't care less. It takes me forty minutes to stop sobbing in the car. When I finally made it to work I blew in, head down, and hit the bathroom to reapply my runny make-up.

  “You alright, muffin?” Sawyer pats my back as I exit the bathroom. I sniffle, trying to fend off the next wave of tears as he pulls me into his chest. “Our little girl is growing up,” he says with a hint of sadness. His words cause me to break down all over again as I try to tell him through my sobs that she didn't even care that she wouldn't see me for a week. He chuckles softly and tells me to get it together. I’m an emotional wreck so I stand clinging to him a bit longer until some stupid tart, named Kylie, clears her throat next to us.

  “Who died,” she says flatly while glaring at me. Sawyer stiffens.

  “Back off Kylie,” Sawyer clips his warning.

  “Oh, excuse me for stepping on toes but it’s not exactly every day I stop in to visit my boyfriend and find him wrapped around another woman,” she barks. Sawyer sighs and hesitantly drops his arms and I momentarily become a jealous shrew.

  “You know, Kylie, from the moment we met I knew I was going to spend my life avoiding you,” I snap, stomping off, leaving them to their business.

  “Clara?” a deep voice booms. My steps falter as I look up to Dominic. Today is just not my day.

  “Dom, hi,” I say. His lips twitch at my nickname.

  “You’ve been crying.” It’s not a question.

  “You’ve been perceptive,” I throw back, earning me a smirk. Sarcasm falls out of my mouth like stupid statements fall out of his.

  “Anything I can help with?” he asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

  “Sure, you can tell me why you’re stalking me,” I grind out, unable to deal with him right now. His eyes flash dark before lighting again. It’s like I have some strange effect over him. I snort at my train of thought. Yeah, right.

  “I told you. I’d like to make an appointment with you.”

  “You do know what I do for a living, correct?” I retort curtly.

  “I’m aware, yes. I’ve even seen some of your work.” And there it is--he checked out the spread in Inked. Glancing at the date book, it appears I’m available until eleven.

  “Well, come on back, Dom, I’ve got time to do you now if you know what you want done,” I purr. He looks shocked and I can’t help but chuckle. “You do want a tattoo, right?” I chuckle.

  “Yes,” he says a bit hoarsely and follows me back to my station.

  “All right, lay it on me,” I clip.

  He shrugs out of his suit coat and I watch as his eyes dart around looking for some place suitable to hang it. I reach for it and he
hands it over willingly. I toss it haphazardly on the stool next to me. I’ll be damned if he thinks I’m going to cater to his high-class needs. He cocks his head and eyes me warily. I keep my poker face intact and wait for him. He starts unbuttoning his shirt and my chest starts heaving as I watch his slow deliberate movements. I glance around and notice Kylie watching him like a hawk as he starts to peel his shirt off. My gaze drifts back to the Dom show and it’s definitely a show to see.

  I’ve tattooed plenty of amazing bodies but for some reason I can’t stop the drool starting to pool in my mouth at Dom’s physique. He clearly works out regularly. His chest and shoulders are broad and well-developed. He pulls his white under tank up over his head and I think my insides burst into flames at the same moment my lungs stop working.

  He has a perfect six-pack that contracts as he shirks his tank and tosses it on top of his shirt where his jacket lies. I watch his muscles twitch, like a fool, before screwing my head on straight.

  Under his right arm spanning the length of his glorious side is an intricate cobra. Color me shocked because the man before me is definitely not a man who has tattoos. The tail starts just out of view below his pants and the body snakes up his side, surrounded by roses in really fine detail. When he twists it appears almost as if the snake is actually slithering. The body bends left just under his armpit, wrapping around the edge of his shoulder blade leaving the head, poised to strike, on his shoulder. It’s stunning and it’s only an outline really.

  “What do you think?” he asks as I remain silent.

  “Nice tatt,” Kylie purrs, running a pointy fingernail down the length of it. Dom grimaces as if her touch revolts him and I can't help but giggle. Serves her right.

  “If you don't mind, Kylie, please refrain from touching the clients,” I say loud enough for Sawyer to hear.

  “Kylie, what the hell?” he clips, making his way over to us. Taking in Dom’s impressive tattoo he asks if he can inspect it further and Dom agrees. “This Miller’s work?” he asks, clearly curious.

  “How’d you know?” Dom asked, surprised.

  “Didn’t Clara tell you we apprenticed with him?” He raises an eyebrow in my direction.

  “I didn’t have a chance yet,” I answer flatly.

  “Anyways, yeah, we did,” he snorts, stands, and walks back to his client, taking a grumbling Kylie with him.

  “Is that his girlfriend?” Dom asks, bringing me out of my trance.

  “Oh, ah, sort of. Why, you want dibs?” I say casually. Dom snorts his disinterest.

  “No, I assumed you were his girlfriend yesterday,” he answers honestly.

  “Once upon a time,” I reply, though I don't really want to give him any insights into my life.

  “Interesting,” he says, watching me closely as if he’s searching for something.

  “You say that a lot,” I snap. “This looks great, why are you here?” I say, guiding our conversation away from me.

  “I want it colored in. I saw your spread in Inked and I like what you’re capable of,” he explains.

  “Dom, that much color is going to be expensive, as I’m sure you know, and will take hours and multiple sessions to complete. I’m fairly certain a man of your standing,” I throw his words back at him, “doesn't have time available to fly to Virginia once a week for a month or two to finish this.” I can’t get a read on his thoughts as he contemplates my words.

  “Time and money are not a concern,” he finally answers. Right. Of course that would be his answer.

  “Miller is amazing. I’m sure he’d be happy to do this for you. In fact, I know he would,” I push.

  “As I said before, Clara, time and money are not an issue. I want you to do it.” His voice is firm as if this conversation is now over.

  “It’ll run you a grand and I only take cash,” I explain.

  “I’ll have my driver withdraw the money while you work.”

  I want to protest but I really want the money.

  “Fine, fine. What coloring did you have in mind?” I sigh.

  “None. I want you do what you do best: create a work of art.” He smiles. His smile is dazzling. Bright and broad and perfect.

  “Uh. That’s a little unprecedented for me. I like the client to tell me what they envision so I can create something they love,” I explain.

  “Clara. I have faith you can handle this. I want you to do what you envision,” he encourages firmly. Who am I to argue with a grand? The bitchy part of me wants to fill it in pink just to piss him off but the artist in me has other ideas. After cleaning and shaving the area I have him lay on the table. I circle around him, studying the tattoo’s lines and how Miller laid it out, trying to see what he was going for. I knew Miller from Boston but Sawyer and I had learned from him in D.C. during a brief stint there. He’s notorious for being one of the most amazing artists out there.

  I trail my fingers lightly over the tattoo. His flesh is hot and smooth and I kind of want to taste and nip it. The way the snake evolves and the flowers sort of burst from the body, I get a fantastic idea for golds, greens, blues, and a fire-orange color for the roses. I vaguely notice Dom following my every movement as I set up and prepare to start. Just to be a tease I bend over grabbing something I don't need from the bottom shelf and wiggle my butt just a little. The air he blows out is so slight that I almost miss it but I don't. I stand up slowly. “I’ve got a client at eleven. That gives us roughly an hour or so. I might be able to slot some time in later if you’re still around. How’s your pain tolerance?” I toss over my shoulder at him.

  “I won't need a break if that’s what you’re wondering.” He smirks.

  “Stamina. Impressive, Mr. Napoli,” I tease. “You’ll need to pull your pants down a bit so I can get at it all.” Sawyer snorts in disgust from his station but I ignore him. I watch as Dom rolls to his side, unbuckles his belt and pants and pulls one side down, another few inches revealing the tail. The “V” cut of his lower abs has my eyes bugging out of my head. I shuffle to the stereo to stop myself from gawking at Dom’s body and push Play, letting Avicii’s “Levels” filter through the speakers rather loudly. Sawyer glances at me and smiles tentatively. He loves this remix almost as much as I do and at the shop it definitely sets the mood for us both to get lost in our work. Chuckling, Dom rolls back to his position and I slap on my gloves and clean and shave the newly exposed area with care as his scent wafts over me. My god. I really need to find out what he wears. Delicious.

  “What time’s your last appointment?” he asks as I get started.

  “Ah...I should be done at four,” I say distractedly as I begin the color process. I like the way his skin twitches as the needle hits it. His breathing hitches just a little as my hand splays across his skin.

  “Would you consider continuing our session after hours? You’ll be compensated of course,” he offers. With Allie gone and Sawyer undoubtedly hanging with Kylie tonight I don't have any reason to say no, outside of the fact that I’ll be alone here with him unattended. I don’t do well unattended with incredibly sexy, annoying men.

  “I don't usually do that, you know, safety and all,” I explain, focusing on what I’m doing.

  “Four to seven. I’ll give you fifteen hundred, all up front.”

  Damn. That’s an extra five hundred. I can feel Sawyer’s eyes boring a hole into my head so I glance up. He looks torn. He knows the money's too good to pass up but I know he doesn't want me here alone with Dom for three hours either. I give a little shrug and he backs down, giving me the go-ahead.

  “Done,” I tell Dom. Our hour passes quickly and surprisingly silently. At eleven I clean and bandage him up and watch as he redresses. He is one fine-looking man, a man that I would have bet money didn't have any tattoos. I was wrong. I rip off my gloves, throwing them in the trash, and walk him to the front. “Can you make it four-thirty so I can grab something to eat before we start?” I ask. Damn, I’m being pleasant. He smiles widely at me and I can't help but feel gidd
y, excited even. He steps to me. We’re toe to toe and I have to look up to see his face. Tiny electric currents shoot through my veins at what happened the last time we were this close. Butterflies burst out in my belly and I flush. He leans down and I swear he’s going to kiss me. I wet my lips without really thinking about it and pretty much stop breathing altogether when he jerks back up and shakes his head before stalking to the door. What... the... hell!?

  “I’ll bring dinner, we can eat together,” he states as he pushes through the door. I stand there, lip curled, wondering what the hell just happened. He didn't even ask me what I wanted. I run my hand through my hair and turn around. Sawyer is standing just behind me giving me an evil look. Oh. I guess I know why he didn’t kiss me.

  “What?” I ask innocently. He shakes his head at me.

  “Do what you need to get him out of your system but do it quick,” he clips and pushes past me. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  “What are you alluding to exactly?” I yell.

  “We both know you want to fuck him so get it over with already,” he yells back. My eleven o’clock appointment comes in mid-fight but I don’t back down. Why the hell is Sawyer so bent?

  “Screw you, Sawyer,” I hiss.

  “You’ve already done that, Clara,” he says and smirks. My rage bubbles to the surface and I lunge at him, fists wildly flailing. He catches my arms easily and drags me screaming obscenities to the back room.

  “Fuck, Clara.” He rubs his chest as he lets go of me. “That hurt.”

  “What’s your problem, Sawyer? Seriously. What is it about him that irks you so much?” I shout, still angry at him.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not my place. If you’re attracted to him then do what you gotta do but you and I both know you don't belong in his world. What happens when your picture appears in the rags with you on his arm? Huh?” he pushes and I know he’s right. I can’t risk it. If anything were to happen between us it has to be on my level. Low key. I suck in a few ragged breaths and nod at him.