They sound like the kind of parents I would have done anything to have. "What are they doing with their lives now?"
He is silent for a beat, his eyes boring into mine, before he says, "Nothing. They died in a car accident seven years ago. In fact, they were speeding because they were running late to some charity gala they deemed more important than staying home to celebrate my birthday with me."
My hand flies to my mouth. "Oh, my gosh, they died on your birthday?"
"Yes. All in the name of hitting a five-year goal." His voice is flat and all the sparkle has disappeared from his eyes. "I declared that day to never have a fucking five-year plan in my life, and while you think that means I have no plan at all, it's worked out extremely well for me."
"What do you do for work?" I'm intrigued by him now.
"I'm a tattoo artist. Well, I'm actually an artist who loves ink, and I've managed to build up a good reputation in the industry." I don't miss the way his eyes come to life again when he talks about his work.
Anastasia joins us again and adds to the conversation. "He's being modest, Juliette. My brother has clients all over the world and is in huge demand among celebrities. He gave up good money to escort me to the awards tonight because he was supposed to be in Vegas tattooing some singer."
I watch Tanner watching his sister. It's clear he adores her.
He shrugs. "It's only money, Ana. You mean more to me than cash."
"That's easy to say when you have money." The words slip out before I can censor them, but while I wish I had stopped them, they're true as far as I'm concerned. People can say money doesn't buy you happiness, but they should try being dirt poor and see how much happier they are with money.
Tanner slowly nods. "That is true. I guess I'm lucky not to have to think about that anymore."
I shake my head. "No, I don't believe in luck. You worked hard for what you have and that's why you don't have to think about it anymore."
"I did work hard, but at the same time, I didn't pursue a goal to get where I am today," he says, watching me closely again. I sense it's important to him to get his point across to me about not spending my time worrying over life plans. And while I understand what he's saying, I'm not sure I can ever be convinced not to be focused on plans.
"So what inspired you then? Because in my experience, something has to make you get off your arse and achieve stuff."
He keeps his gaze completely on me as he replies with a straight face. "Women."
"Women?"
He nods. "Yeah, a mate told me that if I became a tattoo artist, I would score women no worries, so I did what he said."
The room turns quiet for a few moments because I'm not sure what to say to that. After he shared the information about his parents and showed me some depth to his character, I thought he would have some kind of inspiration other than women pushing him. I'm a little disappointed with that answer.
And then his face spreads out into a huge grin. "I'm fucking with you, sweetheart. It was getting too serious here for a minute so I threw that in to see what you'd say. I've always been fascinated with tattoos, it had nothing to do with women."
Anastasia tsks from the couch opposite us while I'm secretly relieved. Tanner Brady has managed to do what no man has ever really managed—he's pissed me off and then made me forget I was annoyed at him all in one day. I don't want to admit it, but he fascinates me. It's a good thing I've sworn off men while I pursue my career because he's the kind of man who could easily sidetrack me, and being sidetracked is not in my ten-year plan.
Chapter Four
TANNER
"Just give me her number, Ana."
My sister shoots me a filthy look. "No. She's my stylist and I don't want to lose her."
It's been three days since the awards night and after spending hours that night talking to Juliette about life and family, and shit that most women don't make the effort to talk to me about, I need more time with her. I've tried to stay away—hell, the last few days have been almost painful in my attempts to forget her and move on to someone else—but she has somehow captured my complete attention and I'm done trying to ignore the pull.
"Why would you lose her?"
She stares at me from across the table. I've brought her to her favourite restaurant in Sydney for lunch in an effort to butter her up, but it doesn't appear to be working. Placing her fork down, she leans her elbows on the table, almost as if she's settling in to rattle off a list of reasons. "Let's play this out, shall we? I give you her number, you call her and then you take her out. Maybe you take her out a few times. You woo her and sleep with her, maybe even more than once, and then you move on to the next woman in your long line of women. Juliette is left with a broken heart—as are most of the women you date—and she decides she can't stand to be around me anymore in case she runs into you. Bam, I lose my stylist. So, no, I'm not giving you her number."
"Jesus, is that an Ana thing or do all women do that?"
"What? The thinking-things-through thing?"