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Belle shrugs and her gaze leaves mine to dart around the room nervously.
“Do you want to step into my office, so I can see what I’m working with? Your…friend here tells me you’ve got some pretty fucked up ink that needs fixing. I hope you didn’t let anyone fuck with my design, Belle.”
“Wait, what? Your design?” the boyfriend sputters before spinning to face Belle. “How do you know him?”
“He’s tattooed me before,” she replies simply. As if that could even begin to cover the connection between us.
“So, my office, yeah? Let’s have a look at the damage.”
I stand by and hold out an arm to point Belle in the right direction. Then the boyfriend steps forward, puts his hand on the small of her back, and actually pushes her in my direction. I want to punch him, but I’m even more surprised when Belle doesn’t. She doesn’t even say anything!
What the hell has happened to her? The girl I met out in Miami would never tolerate this crap. But here she stands, meek as a kitten. I barely recognize her. It makes my blood boil.
We step into my office, and Belle’s eyes are immediately glued to the picture behind my desk. It’s huge, dominating the space, and a black-and-white photographic mock-up of Belle’s design. What she should have on her back. The girl in the picture, a model photoshopped to look as close to Belle as I could get, is kneeling with her back to the camera. She’s naked, with her long dark hair pinned up, and every inch of her back and ass is covered in delicate swirling ink. Belle gapes at it.
“Is that…?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“You should do something like that on Belle,” the boyfriend interrupts. His presence is really grating on me.
“Belle, would you like some privacy while I inspect the damage done?” I ask her gently. The asshole scoffs before she can reply.
“She doesn’t need to hide from me. I’ve seen it all before, if you know what I mean.” He winks leeringly at me, and it’s a battle to keep my expression neutral.
“Yes, please,” Belle answers quietly like he never even spoke, and he harrumphs.
“It’s my money, I’m not leaving. If I’m paying, I should get a say in what she has done.”
My patience, hanging on by the finest of silk threads, snaps.
I take a menacing step toward him, and at least he has the sense enough to know that all the money in the world can’t protect him from imminent danger. Me.
“Well, this guy is a fucking dick,” I growl at Belle without taking my eyes off him.
“Erm…You can’t say that,” Belle replies, even though I can see in her eyes that she agrees with me.
“Excuse me, I’m standing right here, you know…” The boyfriend sniffs, deeply affronted.
“Oh, look,” I say sarcastically, holding out the palm of my hand. “Nope…I’m fresh out of fucks to give you.”
“Hey—”
“It’s over. There’s the door. Get the fuck out of my shop, never step foot on this side of town again, and don’t even fucking think of speaking to my girl, or I’ll make sure you shit through the eye of a needle into an adult diaper for the rest of your life.”
“You can’t speak to me like that!” the weasel cries, outraged.
“I can, and I just did. Why are you still here?”
“B-because! I hired you! Your ass is mine for the day! You have to do what I say! I’m the customer, so I should be treated with respect.”
I look at Belle before answering. I can see how desperately she wants to stand up to this guy. I saw her recoil from his touch and shudder at his rudeness. She isn’t invested in this sham of a relationship and even if she doesn’t want to be with me. Because for some reason, she doesn’t seem able or willing to save herself.
“With all due respect, you may be paying, but Belle is my customer. She’s the one who’ll be getting inked, and she’ll be the only person who has any say in what goes on her skin. I don’t care how much you were paying me, her word was always going to be final. But now you’ve pissed me off, acting like you own her, so you can get the fuck out and be grateful I don’t tattoo a giant cock on your face.”
“Belle! Are you going to let him speak to me like that?”
