After flipping my safety glasses off, I dropped the angle grinder into the claw-foot bathtub I was working on. “I like one song. Fuck off.”
“Bullshit. You love that crap. You’re such a bitch.” He walked toward me, dragging his hand over the smoothed edges of the porcelain.
“Says the man wearing a pastel-pink tie.”
He groaned. “Jen bought it for me. It’s hideous, but the first rule in attempting to sleep with your administrative assistant is: If she bought it, wear it.”
Lighting a cigarette, I asked, “What’s the second rule?”
He blew out a loud, frustrated breath. “I have no fucking clue. Covering my body in fucking tattoos and shoving a needle through the head of my cock? You prick.”
“Hey! She doesn’t know about that.”
“She better not!” Smoothing a hand over his short, brown hair, he mumbled in defeat, “I have no idea what to do with that woman. Any thoughts?”
“See, I thought the first rule of sleeping with your assistant is: Don’t. So I’m probably pretty worthless on the second.”
“Come on. It’s Jen.”
“Oh, I get it.” I tossed him a wink that he returned with an all-too-familiar glare.
Ryan had been obsessing over Jennifer Jensen since she’d walked into his office holding her résumé six months earlier. He was right—it was Jen, and she was fucking gorgeous. And, for that reason alone, I hadn’t immediately turned her down when she’d all but sexually assaulted me in the kitchen at Ryan’s office Christmas party. Ryan had been pissed when I’d told him later that night that she and I had shared a kiss (and a few gropes I’d purposely omitted from my confession). He’d blamed it on the tattoos and banned me from all future social gatherings.
Within twenty-four hours, he’d gotten over it and was back on the chase after Jen.
He turned his attention back to the tub. “What’s this going to be?”
“A loveseat,” I answered on a puff of smoke.
“No shit?” he breathed, notably impressed.
“Well, once I manage to get the front off. After that, I have to smooth everything out, resurface the outside, then upholster it. I got this incredible chocolate leather. Cost me a fucking mint, but it’s unbelievable.”
“How much?” he asked, squatting down in front of it and running his hand over the guidelines I had etched into the side.
“More than you can afford.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Try me.”
Ryan Meeks had the money. I knew that much.
I’d known Ryan since we were scrawny kids playing basketball in middle school. We were two unathletic losers who merged a friendship during one season riding the pine. We remained tight through high school and eventually shared a dorm at college. For as many years as we had been best friends, we couldn’t have been more different. I considered myself the beauty in our duo, but there was no doubting that he was the brain. While I spent my days covered in dust with at least one power tool in my hand, Ryan was a criminal defense attorney at one of the biggest law firms in San Francisco. He was still making a name for himself, but his six figures were nothing to sneeze at.
However, neither were my prices.
When I had gone off to college, I’d originally planned to major in architecture, but Christ, that shit was boring. I quickly switched to graphic design and fell in love. I dabbled in the corporate advertising world for a year or two after graduation, but ultimately, I hated that life. One random Wednesday afternoon, as I stood staring at my office door, overwhelming dread filled my gut and bile rose in my throat. It spoke wonders to me that I’d become physically ill at just the idea of doing my job. I couldn’t imagine how that shit would affect me mentally over the course of the years. So, without another thought, I marched to my boss’s office and quit.