Carl’s eyes drift to my hand, and he stands, rising to a height that should be impossible. I thought Noah was tall, but Carl is more wall than man. When his hand envelopes mine in a brisk and firm shake, it’s like a giant shaking hands with a child.
Clearing his throat, he draws his hand back. “You’d better come through to the back.”
He turns before I have a chance to respond and makes his way deeper into the shop, leaving me with a view of his retreating form. And what form it is.
In his snug grey shirt, the V of his back is like an ancient marble carving on Hercules. His powerful ass and thighs are almost fighting to get out of the confines of his jeans. And his arms…oh lord, his arms. His biceps are bigger than the widest point of my leg.
As I finally find the brain cells to tell my body to move, I feel eyes on me. I don’t turn to look at the other men who are definitely staring at me with interest. They’re supposed to be working, and I’m supposed to be making a way more professional impression than I’m succeeding in.
Carl disappears through a door, and I stumble to keep up, finally stepping into an office space that is nothing like the customer-facing side of the business. In here, it’s sterile white, with a mishmash of generic office furniture and piles and piles of paperwork.
Two chairs are tucked under the desk and Carl pulls one out, offering it to me before slumping into the other. When I take a seat, I find myself sitting really close to him without the protection of a table between us.
Awkward.
“So, Kyla?” He sounds uncertain that he’s remembered my name correctly.
“Yes. Kyla Miller.”
Carl nods, jotting my name down on a scrappy piece of paper. “Have you worked in a tattoo shop before?”
Shaking my head, I feel the dread of failure already creeping in, but I straighten my shoulders and channel Dawn’s confidence. “I don’t know anything about tattoos, but I do know admin. I have experience in organizing small businesses and can put in place systems for bookings, finances, and human resource admin. I know how to get you out of this mess.”
My eyes drift over what is frankly a shambles of disorganization.
“Do you have a resume?”
“Not on me. This was kind of sprung on me this afternoon, but I can send it to you when I get home.”
Carl studies me carefully, the ice blue of his eyes scanning me like an x-ray machine. What’s he thinking right now? I’d love to know what’s going on in his head. He’s probably wondering why a scruffy woman has wasted his time without any evidence of being qualified.
“Well, you come very highly recommended,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
“By Dawn,” I smile. “She’s always singing my praises, but she’s not exactly a previous employer.”
“And this isn’t exactly a traditional small business. We’re all here because we love our art. The business side is just taking over. All I want to be able to do is hand it over to someone and get on with what we started this business for in the first place.”
“Well, I’m certainly happy to take it on.” I scan the office again, already itching to order some pretty pastel-colored files and one of those machines that prints out labels. I’ll have this place sorted in no time if Carl will just see that I’m made for this job.
“One week trial,” he says with determination in his deep voice.
“I have a job,” I say, “and I can’t give it up for a trial.”
“Can you stay now? Work three hours and take me through what you’ve done. I’ll pay your rate for the time you spend, regardless of whether you get the job at the end.
“Three hours?” I’m already exhausted from a long shift, but if that’s what it’s going to take for Carl to see my skills in all their glory, I’ll do it.
I tell him my rate, and he doesn’t even blink at the double Dawn suggested. With a simple nod, he stands and stares at the worst pile. “It’s all yours.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m left to sift through the worst disorganization I’ve ever seen in my life.
3
CARL
Kyla sifts through the surface piles of paperwork for three hours, forming piles amongst the chaos. There’s so much dust in that room that I almost head in there with a cloth for her to wipe her hands on but to be honest, I’m too embarrassed. It’s not like me to let life get into a disorganized state, but I’ve just taken on too much that I don’t enjoy, and I’m craving to get back to my passion.
As Kyla’s three hours come to an end, I hang out in the doorway, watcher her glancing around at the beginnings of the organization that she’s created, probably wondering if she’s done enough to get the job. She’s barely scratched the surface, but I can see that she knows what she’s doing and will have no problem tackling the worst.
Anyway, we can afford to make a mistake in hiring her. Business has been good. It’s worth taking a chance if it gives me some breathing space. I’m an optimist and a realist.
When I knock on the open door, she almost jumps out of my skin and I have to swallow the smile that threatens, aiming to keep professional.
“How did you get on?” I ask.
“I’ve made a tiny dent in the surface paperwork. I’ve made date-ordered piles for paperwork for each franchise. This pile is for bank statements, this one’s for credit card bills. This pile is all your expenses, and this one is everything HR-related.” She continues, pointing out all the categories, and then she shows me something that makes my jaw drop. “And these are the invoices I believe are overdue. You really need to pay them before the suppliers cut off your credit or start legal proceedings.”
As I flick through the five overdue invoices, my eyebrows rise. “I didn’t even know these were here.”
“I’m not surprised. Look, I know there’s a lot more to be done, but I hope you can see that I know what I’m doing. I can really help you.”
“Send me through your resume, and I’ll send you a contract tomorrow. What’s your notice period?”
“One week,” she says. A slight flash of color spreads across her cheeks. Is she excited about this new role? Can she really see herself working in a place like this? She doesn’t really fit in appearance-wise, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’ve always loved girls with milky white unmarked skin, and anyway, no one knows what’s under a person’s clothes. She could have tattoos all over her butt, and no one would be able to tell.
“One week it is. Can I ask you something else?” I say.
“Sure.” Rising from the chair, Kyla smooths her hands over her jeans, hoping to dislodge any visible dust.
“Will you come out for a drink with us now? I want the rest of the team to meet you.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” I glance at my watch, finding that it’s only 8.30 pm. It’s hardly the Cinderella pumpkin hour, but maybe Kyla isn’t a party girl.
“Err…okay. I guess.”
“They’re a good bunch,” I say, my lips quirking slightly at her obvious uncertainty. “I promise I’ll keep them under control.”
“You make them sound like a pack of rabid dogs,” she laughs nervously.