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I deserved the heartbreak and every bit of pain that came with it.
1
JUDAH DAILEY
I shoved open the door of the tattoo parlor, huffing and rolling my eyes as I left.
“I told you names were a bad idea,” a man called. His laughter was abruptly cut off as the door swung closed, only for it to pop open again as Hilton rushed along, following my footsteps exactly the way he had since we’d started messing around together.
He had no spine, and I would’ve thought him doing anything that showed some independent thought would be great, except this. No, this was a nightmare.
Hilton reached me and grabbed my wrist, tugging, but I didn’t slow down until I arrived at the driver-side door of my Bentley. Not even the classic lines of my car could stifle my irritation. He slammed his body against the door to keep it closed. I hissed as a high-pitched scratching sound from the green metallic paint tugged on my attention, but then he was pawing at my arms.
“Stop!” I put my hands on his shoulders and moved him about three feet away, then took a step back. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked coolly.
Hilton flushed and ran a hand up his slim neck to his five-hundred-dollar asymmetrical haircut with sprayed pink tips. He always looked like he’d stepped out of a salon less than five minutes ago. He stared up at me with watery brown eyes and pouted his beautiful lips in my direction. No one could argue that Hilton wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. Hell, his part-time job—which he went after with all the gusto of a lazy house cat—was modeling. But to this day I couldn’t figure out what I’d been thinking the night I’d asked him to come home with me from Black Out.
He just wasn’t my type, and he’d been a barnacle stuck to me for the past two months.
“I thought you would like it!” he said, voice wobbling.
And that was another thing I hated. I couldn’t fucking stand the waterworks any time I raised my voice. Even just a bit. Tears spilled down his face, and I rolled my eyes. If I talked too loud, would he fall to the ground and play dead? I could make a getaway then.
Grabbing his arm and holding up his wrist, I glared at my name scrawled there—Judah. The tattoo itself was amazing work, but I dropped his arm like it was on fire. He cradled it against his chest like I’d slapped him, which I definitely hadn’t. I probably would’ve knocked him on his ass if I’d even thought about hitting him because he was dainty compared to me. Yet another reason he wasn’t a good fit.
“This is some manipulative shit,” I said, glaring at the scratch on my car door. I was pretty sure the decorative buttons running down the sides of his jeans were the culprit. “I told you we were only fucking. You acknowledged the fact that we were only fucking before my dick ever went in you. You have dollar signs in your greedy little eyes. You saw my family name and thought you were picking yourself up a new meal ticket, since you’re too self-absorbed to work.” I spat the words at him, and he flinched before his face flushed a pretty red. “This—” I pointed at the tattoo that was so new it was pink around the edges. “—isn’t the way to get on my good side. I don’t want a relationship with you. I can’t believe I left a finance meeting for this.” I ran a hand down my face and stared at the scratch on my car again, annoyance clawing at me.
He screeched and slapped my car, and I moved protectively in front of it.
“You care more about a hunk of metal than me!” More tears. Probably someone else would’ve put their arms around him and hugged him, but oh well. If he thought this would do anything to get on my good side, he was twice as delusional as I’d already suspected.
“Yeah.” I shrugged.
He huffed and glared at his wrist. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Snorting, I dragged out my wallet and tossed all the cash inside into his face. He blinked at me, then stared down at the money on the ground with a pout. A hundred-dollar bill blew away before he thought to crouch and gather the rest of the money.
“Get it covered up, you dumbass. Don’t call me again.” I opened the car door and slid inside.
“I hate you!” he shouted, and the bitterness in his voice sounded real enough. I didn’t bother looking at him.
Twenty things I could say flitted through my mind, but in the end, he didn’t matter enough for me to make the effort, so I shut the door. I caught sight of Hilton going back into the tattoo parlor in the side mirror. Shaking my head at the strange turn of my Monday, I started the car and took her out into traffic.
“My poor scratched baby. We’ll get you an appointment to fix that paint.” I patted the dash.
The phone rang, and I hit Call Accept on the console. “Talk to me!” I said with a grin.
“Hey, kiddo!” Dad’s delighted voice rang out through the car, and I smirked. In the background I could faintly hear “Margaritaville” playing. “How’s the expansion going?”
“Great, Dad. I’ve got the financing lined up. Just waiting on the paperwork. How’s Key West?”
“Great, too! As always. Just close enough to the Caribbean for me to consider retiring.” He chuckled. “Do you think you could run two companies at once?”
“Let me get mine situated first, please,” I said, tone dry. Nerves tangled in my stomach for the first time today.
“Aw, you could do it,” he said, and there was a burst of laughter in the background. “You on lunch already?”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “No. Running an errand,” I said.
