Echoes of Scotland Street, Page 3

  Alan’s eyes softened with regret. “He’s in the cloakroom, Shannon.” He nodded in the direction behind me as the others shifted uneasily.

  Feeling my heart bang away in my chest, I turned on my low-booted heels and strode with more confidence than I was feeling down a narrow, dark walkway. I came to a stop in front of a black-painted door with the word CLOAKROOM in peeling white paint across it.

  I heard the gasps and grunts coming from inside and I knew what I was going to find, but I just had to see it for myself.

  With a shaking hand I turned the door handle and threw it open.

  In the small, dimly lit room that was no bigger than a large closet, I saw Nick with his jeans down around his ankles, thrusting into the blonde he had pinned against the wall.

  Nausea and pain like I’d never felt before welled up in me as they both jerked their heads around in surprise at the intrusion. Nick’s eyes widened when he saw me and suddenly the blonde was forgotten as he called out my name in horror and let her go. She stumbled to the floor when Nick bent down to pick up his jeans.

  I ran out of there, ignoring Alan and Nick shouting my name as they chased after me. I lost them in the crowds of the dirty bar and I hurried all the way to the bus stop. I didn’t go home. Instead I found myself knocking on my friend Caro’s house. She let me in and I sobbed all over her, apologizing for assuming she was naive, when in the end I was the only one who could be faulted for that . . .

  * * *

  Nick was an important lesson. Yet somehow it took another man cheating on me before I learned from it. Eventually I got wise to his type. However, I later got caught up in a different kind of bad boy: the kind who didn’t cheat but still found a way to wreck my life.

  But no more.

  I tore up the sketch of Nick into a hundred little pieces.

  Never again.

  CHAPTER 2

  I ’d found it hard to sleep the night before I started my new job, butterflies fluttering around like wild things in my belly as I worried about the next day. When I managed to drift to sleep, it was with the hope that my manager would be very much a younger version of Stu. I could deal with a Stu.

  So it was with more than the usual amount of first-day jitters that I stepped into INKarnate on Monday, which was probably why I almost tripped over my own feet at the sight before me.

  Simon was standing in front of the marble reception desk talking quietly to a very tall guy who had his back to me. I got a brief glimpse of strong, broad shoulders and long legs before he turned and my eyes collided with his bright green ones.

  Holy . . .

  My stomach plummeted.

  Dread filled me.

  Please, no, no, no. Be a customer. Please be a customer.

  Those eyes crinkled attractively at the corners as their gorgeous owner threw me a friendly, boyish smile that penetrated my anti-bad-boy force field. The eyes and smile would have brought me low on their own, but unfortunately those eyes and that smile were enhanced by sexy scruff on the stranger’s jaw, and the messy, unkempt strawberry blond hair that framed his attractive face. If that wasn’t enough to affect a woman, the tall, handsome stranger had a fit body. A very fit body by the look of things. His navy T-shirt did nothing to hide the perfect V of his torso or his lean, muscular arms. And those arms were covered in elaborate, hot tattoos.

  “Shannon,” Simon greeted me, yanking my gaze away from the stunning disaster in front of me. “This is Cole, our manager.”

  Was fate really this heartless?

  Cole grinned at me again, and familiarity punched me in the chest along with dismay as he took a few steps toward me and held out his hand. “Cole Walker. It’s nice to meet you, Shannon.”

  I reluctantly stepped forward and took his hand in mine.

  I instantly regretted it.

  His strong, slightly callused hand with the chunky silver ring on its middle finger felt really nice. It engulfed my small one and I felt surrounded by him.

  Dammit!

  I ripped my hand away, unable to meet my new manager’s gaze. My eyes dropped to the loosely laced black engineer boots his dark jeans were tucked into.

  “Shannon?” Cole said my name like a question and I had to unglue my eyes from his feet to meet his gaze. Up close the familiarity I’d felt moments ago only strengthened in feeling as he narrowed his eyes on me. He took in my hair for a few long seconds.

  Recognition slammed through me.

  No.

  No way.

  “So, are you a hero, Cole Walker?”

  “What is a hero, really?”

  Months, even years, after our meeting outside my gran’s house all those years ago, I’d often thought of the good-looking boy I’d connected with after only a few minutes of conversation.

  Cole Walker.

  Cole freaking Walker.

  All grown-up.

  And he was my new manager.

  I was so screwed. I’d be less screwed, though, if he didn’t remember me, which I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. A guy like him—he was bound to have flirty conversations with women every day. No way would he remember a random conversation with a short, pale redhead nine years ago.

  “I know you.” Cole stepped back, tilting his head as he scrutinized me with a small smile on his lips. He looked charmed by me, which immediately sent my force field back up at full power. “Shannon.” Unbelievably, recognition lit up his beautiful eyes. “We’ve met.” He grinned back at a smiling Simon before returning his attention to me. His eyes were filled with pleased surprise. “On Scotland Street. Years ago.”

  He waited for me to respond.

  I could tell him I remembered him, but surely that would only encourage the flirtiness I saw glittering in his gaze. I remembered he liked my hair and my eyes. Who was to say he didn’t still like my hair and my eyes, and moreover would like a chance to see said hair spilled across his pillow as he screwed me? A screwing that he would most likely promptly follow up with screwing me over.

  Keeping my face perfectly blank, I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t remember.”

  Disappointment caused his smile to wilt. “Really? We talked about bands and zombies and stuff. Your boyfriend picked you up. You’re from Glasgow.”

  Christ, did he have a photographic memory?

  I only just managed to stop myself from wrinkling my nose in annoyance. “I am from Glasgow,” I answered calmly, not unfriendly but not friendly either. “And my gran lived on Scotland Street, but I don’t remember you. Sorry.”

  Simon tried to muffle a snort of laughter behind Cole.

  Cole shot him a displeased look over his shoulder and Simon turned around with an innocent whistle and casually walked into the back.

  Sighing, my new manager turned to me with a frown puckering his brow. “You really don’t remember me?”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged apathetically, which only caused his frown to deepen.

  “Long time ago, I suppose.” He continued to stare at me in an assessing way and I began to squirm uncomfortably. The more he stared, the more I stared, and the more I stared, the more I noticed how deliciously lickable he was.

  The tattoos only made him more so.

  I blamed the artist in me for my weakness for a man with great tattoos. There was what looked like initials worked into a tribal design tattooed on the left side of his neck. On his left arm was a sleeve tattoo in black ink of a wolf standing on a rocky precipice. It sketched upward into his biceps, and the upper body of a woman in profile appeared to transform out of the top of the wolf’s head—her face was upturned; her hair billowed in the wind and disappeared under the fabric of his T-shirt. On his right arm in a reddish brown and black ink was a flying eagle, the tips of its wings disappearing under his T-shirt too. Dangling from the eagle’s talons was an old-fashioned pocket watch, but I couldn’t make out what time was set on it.

  “You like what you see?”

  I blinked at the innuendo in Cole’s voice, dragging my eyes from his tatt
oos to his face. He was wearing this sexy little smirk that would have worked like a charm on me a few months ago.

  But a lot had happened since then. I raised an eyebrow. “Do you flirt with all your new employees?” I said, unamused and pretending to be unimpressed.

  Cole’s smirk turned into a grin as his eyes roamed over my hair. “I’ve never had one like you before,” he murmured.

  “Efficient, smart, responsible, reliable?” I said through gritted teeth.

  Laughter danced in his eyes. “Well, I hope you’re all those things too.” Clearly pleased with himself, he chuckled and turned around to head toward the reception desk. “Good hair, by the way,” he shot over his shoulder.

  For the first time in years I cursed my bloody hair.

  “I’m thinking about dyeing it pink,” I lied as I followed him behind the desk.

  Clicking the mouse on the computer, Cole muttered, “And I’m really a tattooist by day and a time-traveling immortal highlander by night.”

  Before I could respond, he threw me a wry smile and gestured to the computer with a nod of his head. “Desktop.” The mouse moved over the screen as he showed me the digital appointment book, the spreadsheet on which they kept their supplies updated, a list of their suppliers’ contact details, and a folder with information on regular clients.

  “Now.” He sighed and threw me an apologetic look. “We have an issue with filing.” He turned around, his arm brushing mine as he did so, and unfortunately I couldn’t stop my body from reacting to the touch. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and the blood heated in my cheeks. Cole didn’t seem to notice as he waved an arm at the huge closet in front of us—the one with the masses of paper files. “Our last assistant was completely inept—”

  “And a fucking homophobe,” Simon’s voice snarled in my ear, and I jumped in fright to discover he was standing at my shoulder.

  “Which was why our last assistant was canned,” Cole informed me. When I looked back at him he was studying me warily. “You’re not a homophobe, are you, Shannon?”

  I barely registered the question. He had a lovely accent—it was refined and lilting and it did gorgeous things to the sound of my name.

  Realizing they were both now tensely waiting on an answer, I hurried to assure Simon, “Definitely not. Love’s just love, right?”

  Simon relaxed and smiled at me. “Love’s just love, sweetheart,” he agreed.

  I smiled back at him, but when my gaze returned to Cole, my smile wilted. He had been staring at me with this disarming look in his eyes, a soft look that made me feel things I had no right feeling. At the sudden change in my demeanor, Cole frowned, clearly confused by my reaction to him.

  “So, the files . . . ?” I urged.

  Cole blinked. “Files? Oh, right, files.” He cleared his throat and gestured back to the closet. “These are Stu’s files before he went digital. We don’t need them—they date back to when the studio first opened—but Stu wants to keep them. Our boss can be a bit stubborn sometimes.” He said it with such affection I knew Stu’s stubbornness didn’t bother Cole in the least. “The files were moved when a pipe burst in Stu’s office, but the assistant who moved them turned them into a disorganized mess. Accounting files have been mixed up with art files and they’re all out of chronological order. I’d like you to reorganize it whenever you’re not needed on reception.”

  I took a step toward the mess. “Why don’t I digitize them instead? It’ll free up the space in here. The mess doesn’t exactly give the greatest impression to your customers.”

  Cole seemed to consider it. “It’ll take you longer . . .”

  I shrugged. “I like to keep busy.”

  His eyes moved over the top of my head to Simon. “Can it be? We finally hired a receptionist who knows what she’s doing and actually wants to work?”

  “Bigger miracles have occurred,” Simon said, a smile in his voice.

  Feeling immediately flustered, I pretended otherwise by turning to the reception desk. “Where’s the printer?”

  “It’s in Stu’s office. I’ll get it and bring it here for you.” Cole strode toward the back rooms and disappeared down the corridor. My eyes followed him against my will.

  “Don’t worry,” Simon said.

  “Worry about what?”

  He gave a huff of laughter. “About getting your knickers in a twist over Cole. He has a tendency to have that affect on people. Believe me, I’ve never wished harder for someone to miraculously wake up gay one morning.”

  Despite being annoyed that Simon had somehow guessed my immediate attraction to our boss, I couldn’t help giggling. “What about Tony?”

  Simon waved my question off. “We both have fantasy lists of people we’re allowed to fuck if they ever turned gay. Channing Tatum is on his. Cole’s on mine.”

  “Does Cole know you fancy him?”

  “He’s seen my whole list. Tony printed them for evidence of our pact in case fantasy ever becomes reality.”

  I was still stuck on the fact that Cole knew Simon fancied him and yet seemed perfectly at ease with him. “Doesn’t it bother Cole that you fancy him?”

  Simon grunted. “Why would it?”

  “Some men, particularly men like Cole, are weird about that stuff. The idiots think it threatens their manhood.”

  “Speaking from experience, are you?”

  I made a face at the thought of my ex. “I once knew a guy who beat the shit out of a bloke who came on to him in a bar. It was one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.” Blinking away the memories, I discovered Simon staring at me with an arrested look on his face. It was as though he sensed it wasn’t the only ugly thing I’d ever seen, and wanted to know why. The thought of anyone in my new life knowing what I’d been through caused a wall to shoot up inside me; its impenetrableness must have been reflected in my suddenly blank expression.

  Sensing the change, Simon stepped back. “Cole isn’t like that. He’s not like that at all.”

  It didn’t matter what kind of man Cole Walker was. I had no intention of ever finding out.

  * * *

  I heard Cole’s rumbling tones nearing the door to the main reception room as he led his client out. Instantly I tensed over the printer he’d set up on the reception desk. For the last few hours I’d immersed myself in creating chronological digital folders to organize all the scanned material. The files contained receipts and client information, and many of them had photographs of the tattoo work. I was with Cole—the stuff dated back years, and with the exception of the accounting, most of it really didn’t need to be kept. Stu, it appeared, was a bit of a hoarder. However, as I’d told Cole, I was happy to digitize it all if it meant keeping me busy and out of my new manager’s way.

  He’d had a guy called Ross Mead in all morning. They were doing work on a massive tattoo that would eventually cover Ross’s back. I knew Cole had three more appointments this afternoon and I had to wonder if his hand ever cramped up. In fact, after receiving a couple of calls this morning from people looking to book tattoo appointments, I discovered the studio was fully booked at weekends for the next six weeks. Appointments were available during the week, which was a more difficult time for people with nine-to-five jobs, but it was clear some of them were willing to take time off work rather than wait to get in Cole Walker’s chair.

  “Same care as before,” I heard Cole say as he and Ross stepped out into the room. “And I’ll see you back here in three weeks.”

  Although I wanted to go on pretending I wasn’t aware of Cole, my job involved taking payment from the customer, so I had to look up as they approached. Ross looked a little peaked as Cole led him to me.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  Ross threw me a shaky, dry smile. “Want the tattoo, don’t particularly like the way I feel during and afterwards.”

  “I’ve got something”—I bent down to rummage around in my handbag—“that might help. Aha!” I curled my hand triumphantly around the bar of chocolat
e and tugged it out. “Here.” I broke off a few squares and handed them to him. “Sugar.”

  He grinned gratefully. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?” He chewed on a piece of chocolate as my eyes flicked over the price list on the desk.

  I could have asked Cole, but again that meant looking at him. “Four hours . . . that’s two hundred and forty pounds.”

  As I took Ross’s credit card and popped it into the card reader, I expected Cole to vamoose back into his workroom, but he stayed there, chatting to Ross about the Lowlight gig they’d both been to a few months ago in Glasgow. Usually I would have jumped right into the conversation, but, again, I was avoiding interaction with my boss. Moreover, I was supposed to have been at that gig. I didn’t want to think about the reason why I hadn’t gone.

  Once Ross had paid he gestured with his last piece of chocolate in thanks to me and departed the studio. Leaving me alone with Cole.

  I could feel his stare burning into me.

  After a while it became impossible to withstand the intensity. I looked at him in question without saying anything.

  Unfortunately he was bestowing upon me that boyish grin that led to dirty thoughts. “Can I have a piece?”

  Outraged, I sucked in a breath. “Excuse me?”

  His lips twitched with amusement. “Of chocolate,” he clarified. “A piece of chocolate.”

  Embarrassed that I’d misunderstood, I thrust the bar of chocolate at him, ignoring his chuckle as he took it. To avoid him I stuffed the last square in my mouth and turned back to scanning the files.

  “When’s my next client in?”

  “In an hour and a half,” I said without looking up or at the appointment book. I’d already memorized Cole’s schedule for the day.

  A twenty-pound note slid toward me on the desk. “Can you go out and grab something for our lunch? Better get Rae something too. She’ll be in soon and she’s usually starving. If we feed her right away, it mellows her a little. But only a little.”

  Glancing up as I took the money, I found him smiling at me. “What would you like?”

  Cole’s grin turned positively wolfish. “If I answered that honestly you’d likely find me very unprofessional.”