“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.”