“You sure you don’t want to be dropped off? I don’t mind.”
“No, I’m sure. I could do with the fresh air.” It’s not a lie—the alcohol from one too many cocktails is making my head a little fuzzy. I hate going to sleep with the room spinning. I’d much rather that feeling fade before lying down.
“Okay. Promise me you’ll text me when you’re home.”
“I promise.” I wrap my arms around my best friend and then wave her off in her own Uber.
Turning on my heels, I start the short walk home.
I’ve been a London girl all my life, and while some might be afraid to walk home after dark, I love it. I love seeing a different side to this city, the quiet side when most people are hiding in their flats, not flooding the streets on their daily commutes.
My mind is flicking back and forth between my promise to Gran and my missed opportunity tonight when a shop front that I walk past on almost a daily basis makes me stop.
It’s a tattoo studio I’ve been inside of once in my life. I never really pay it much attention, but the new sign in the window catches my eye and I stop to look.
Admin help wanted. Enquire within.
Something stirs in my belly, and it’s not just my need to do something to piss my parents off—although getting a job in a place like this is sure to do that. I’m pretty sure it’s excitement.
Tattoos fascinate me, or more so, the artists.
I’m surprised to see the open sign still illuminated, so before I can change my mind, I push the door open. A little bell rings above it, and after a few seconds of standing in reception alone, a head pops out from around the door.
“Evening. What can I do you for?” The guy’s smile is soft and kind despite his otherwise slightly harsh features and ink.
“Oh um…” I hesitate under his intense dark stare. I glance over my shoulder, the back of the piece of paper catching my eye and reminding me why I walked in here. “I just saw the job ad in the window. Is the position still open?”
His eyes drop from mine and take in what I’m wearing. Seeing as tonight’s outing involved a rock concert, I’m dressed much like him in all black and looking a little edgy with my skinny black jeans, ripped AC/DC t-shirt and heavy black makeup. I must admit it’s not a look I usually go for, but it was fitting for tonight.
He nods, apparently happy with what he sees.
“Experience?” he asks, making my stomach drop.
“Not really, but I’m studying for a Masters so I’m not an idiot. I know my way around a computer, Excel, and I’m super organised.”
“Right…” he trails off, like he’s thinking about the best way to get rid of me.
“I’m a really quick learner. I’m punctual, methodical and really easy to get along with.”
“It’s okay, you had me sold at organised. I’m Dawson, although everyone around here calls me D.”
“Nice to meet you.” I stick my hand out for him to shake, and an amused smile plays at his lips. Stretching out an inked arm, he takes my hand and gives it a very firm shake that my dad would be impressed by—if he could look past the tattoos, that is. “I’m Tabitha, but everyone calls me Biff.”
“Biff, I like it. When can you start?”
“Don’t you want to interview me?”
“You sound like you could be perfect. When can you start?”
“Err… tomorrow?” I ask, totally taken aback. He doesn’t know me from Adam.
“Yes!” He practically snaps my hand off. “Can you be here for two o’clock? I can show you around before clients start turning up. I’ll apologise now for dropping you in the deep end, we’ve not had anyone for a few weeks and things are starting to get a little crazy.”
“I can cope with crazy.”
“Good to know. This place can be nuts.” I smile at him, more grateful than he could know to have a distraction and a focus.
My Masters should be enough to keep my mind busy, but since Gran went, I can’t seem to lose myself in it like I could previously. Hopefully, sorting this place’s admin out might be exactly what I need.
“Two o’clock tomorrow then,” I say, turning to leave. “I’ll bring ID. Do you need a reference? I’ve done some voluntary work recently, I’m sure they’ll write something for me.”
“Just turn up on time and do your job and you’re golden.”
I walk out with more of a spring in my step than I have in a long time. I’m determined to find something that’s going to make me happy, not just my parents. I’ve lived in their shadow for long enough.
I look myself over before leaving my flat for my first shift at the tattoo studio. I’m dressed a little more like myself today in a pair of dark skinny jeans, a white blouse and a black blazer. It’s simple and smart. I’m not sure if there’s a dress code—D never specified what I should wear. With my hair straightened and hanging down my back and my makeup light, I feel like I can take on whatever crazy he throws at me.
With a final spritz of perfume, I grab my bag from the unit in the hall and pull open my door. My home is a top floor flat in an old London warehouse. They were converted a few years ago by my father’s company, and I managed to get myself first dibs. They might drive me insane on the best of days, but at least I get this place rent-free. It almost makes up for their controlling and stuck-up ways… almost.
Ignoring the lift like I always do, I head for the stairs. My heels click against the polished concrete until I’m at the bottom and out to the busy city. I love London. I love that no matter what the time, there’s always something going on or someone who’s awake.
The spring afternoon is still a little fresh, making me regret not grabbing my coat, or even a scarf, before I left. I pull my blazer tighter around myself and make the short journey to the shop.
The door’s locked when I get there, and the bright neon sign that clearly showed it was open last night is currently saying closed.
Unsure of what to do, I lift my hand to knock. Only a second later, the shop front is illuminated, and the sound of movement inside filters down to me, but when the door opens it’s not the guy from last night.
“Oh… uh… hi. Is… uh… D here?”
The guy folds his arms over his chest and looks me up and down. He chuckles, although I’ve no idea what he finds so amusing.
“D,” he shouts over his shoulder, “there’s some posh bird here to see you.”
My teeth grind that he’s stereotyped me quite so quickly, but I refuse to allow him to see that his assumptions about me affect me in any way.
“Ah, good. I was worried you might change your mind.”
“Not at all,” I say, stepping past the judgemental arsehole and into the studio reception-cum-waiting room.
“That’s Spike. Feel free to ignore him. He’s not got laid in about a million years, it makes him a little cranky.” I fight to contain a laugh, especially when I turn toward Spike to find his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in frustration. All it does is confirm that D’s words are correct.
“Is that fucking necessary? Posh doesn’t need to know how inactive my cock is, especially not when she’s only just walked through the fucking door. Unless…” He stalks towards me and I automatically back up. I can’t deny that he’s a good looking guy, but there’s no way I’m going there.