All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(23)
Author: M. Leighton

When I stop in my tracks, they both turn their head toward me. Hemi looks irritated. The woman looks…hungry.

“Pardon me, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say to the woman. I glance at Hemi. “Paul said I could come over. But if you’d rather I wait out in the lobby….”

“No, you’re fine, sweetie,” the woman says. Up close, I can see that her eyes are a cool gray and her face is a study in perfection. “I was just leaving.” She turns a stunning smile on Hemi. “Thanks again, babe. I’ll repay you. I promise.” The woman brushes her lips over Hemi’s before she leans away from him. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

She slides past me in a swirl of expensive perfume. I can only imagine what kind of swagger a woman like that has. I refuse to look, but, then again, I don’t really need to. The way Hemi is watching her go tells me all I need to know.

No wonder he has no interest in me. Not really. In a thousand years and with a team of plastic surgeons, there’s no way I could compete with a woman who looks like that. No. Frickin’. Way.

I feel a lump lodge in my throat. I shouldn’t let this upset me. I mean, I was looking at Hemi as just a means to do some living, to rid myself of my virginity. That’s all, right?

Right?

“I can come back later if you’re busy,” I tell him, proud that there is no quaver in my voice.

“No, that’s not necessary. We were…we were done.” Hemi looks down at the folder I’ve got a death grip on. “Are those the papers for me to fill out?”

“Yes, I guess you can sign them all since you’re the manager.” He doesn’t flinch when I say this. He must not care whether I know or not.

Hemi takes the forms out of the folder and puts them on the small counter off to one side of his cubby. As he reads over them, the silence—and the curiosity—is too much to bear.

“So, she’s…attractive.”

“I guess,” comes his absent reply.

He makes no move to explain further. I should let it go. But I can’t. I just can’t.

“Is she, like, an ex-employee or something?”

“No.”

“Is she your sister?”

“No.”

“A cousin? A loan shark? A nun?” I’m crossing my fingers he says yes to the last one.

He doesn’t give me a grin or even look my way over the nun part. “No, she’s an old friend.”

“Oh,” I say, not relieved at all to hear this. “I thought maybe you had some family in town or something.”

“No, no family in town.” He seems distracted. And not entirely happy at the moment. I can’t help but think it has something to do with his “old friend” popping in. I’m immediately resentful. When Hemi finishes filling out the paperwork, he hands me the forms and throws his pen back on the table. “So, there are a couple of people waiting. Let’s go see what they’re interested in. Maybe we can get you in at least a couple of sketches and a stencil tonight.”

And so goes his detached, clinical attitude for the rest of the night.

Much to my dismay.

It makes me wonder about the wisdom of trapping Hemi in this “professional” arrangement. I thought it meant more time together, but I’m beginning to think that might not be such a good thing.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – Hemi

The arrival of Sasha back into my life does nothing to improve my mood. I’m already feeling like a dirt bag. Having her around here will only remind me of it on a more frequent basis. Of course, that will probably work out better for Sloane. She—and her damnable virtue—are much safer with me this way. And my ultimate plan is safer this way, too.

Still, I don’t have to like it.

The only other good thing about this is that Sasha is the kind of woman I’m used to. History or not, she knows the score. Maybe I can pound out my frustrations on her very willing body.

If I can just get a sweeter one out of my mind long enough to do it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – Sloane

Somehow, I had managed to convince myself that things would be better tonight, that Hemi’s…pique over his “old friend” would dissipate and that we could resume our dance. My hopes are not only officially dashed as soon as I walk through the door, but they are choked, sliced, stabbed, and burned, too.

The first thing I see is the gorgeous blonde straddling a stool in front of one of the tattoo chairs, inking a design on some guy’s thigh.

My heart sinks.

And keeps sinking.

She looks up, embarrassingly enough, to find me standing in the doorway staring at her.

“You must be Sloane. Come on in and pull up a chair. Hemi will be back in a few.”

She’s friendly and likeable, which, of course, makes me hate her that much more. Still, I do the only thing I can and I grab a stool and wheel it over to the other side of her client.

“You learning how to do this?” the guys asks me.

“Trying to,” I say lightly.

“She’s gonna have one of the best teachers. I oughtta know. I taught him everything I know,” she says, winking at the guy.

Oh shit! This is the woman who took Hemi under her wing?

At first, I feel worse, but then, as I think about their connection, I actually start to buck up a little. This hard core glamour doll wasn’t a love interest. Hemi was her protégé. That lends a whole new feeling to their relationship, one that doesn’t intimidate the frick out of me.

I find I can actually smile at this woman now, and it’s almost genuine. “So you taught him how to do this, huh?”

“Yep. Not that it was too hard. Hemi’s a natural. We used to sketch on napkins every morning at breakfast. I knew he had skills before he even picked up a gun.”

The small, fledgling hope that had poked its head out of the cave of my despair is effectively obliterated by her comment.

Every morning over breakfast.

Only Hemi doesn’t do breakfast. Anymore. He said he hadn’t in a long time. Now I’m getting a feel for just how long.

“So,” I begin, clearing my throat, “how long does it take to get all this down? I mean, how long did it take you to teach Hemi?”

I hope I’m being subtle. Please God, let me be subtle.

“A couple of years. But I don’t think it really took that long. I think we just drew it out, if you know what I mean.”

She laughs, a husky, suggestive sound that makes me want to die.

“Ohhh,” I say. If she’s gonna drop the act, there’s no reason for me to pu**yfoot around either. “So mixing business with pleasure, about two years, but straight up business, a lot less. Is that about it?” I add a smile, so that I don’t seem envious. Or vicious. Both of which I feel.