The heavy bass rattles my bones. The incredible music does help to lift my spirits, but I find it increasingly hard to see the positives in my life while I’m hanging out with my friends these days. They’ve all got something exciting going on—incredible job prospects, marriage, exotic holidays on the horizon—and here I am, drowning in my one-person pity party. It’s been two months since Gran left me, and I’m still wondering what the hell I’m meant to be doing with my life.
“Oh my god, they are so fucking awesome,” Danni squeals in my ear as one song comes to an end. I didn’t really have her down as a rock fan, but she was almost as excited as James when he announced that this was what we were doing for his birthday this year. Although I do wonder if it’s the music or the frontman who’s really captured her attention. She’d never admit it, but she’s got a thing for bad boys.
I glance over at him with his arm wrapped around Shannon’s shoulders and a smile twitches my lips. They’re so cute. They’ve got the kind of relationship everyone craves. It seems so easy yet full of love and affection. Ripping my eyes from the couple, I focus back on the stage and try to block out that I’m about as far away from having that kind of connection with anyone as physically possible.
I sing along with the songs I’ve heard on the radio a million times and jump around with my friends, but I just can’t quite totally get on board with tonight. Maybe I just need more alcohol.
“Where to next?” Shannon asks once we’ve left the arena and the ringing in our ears has begun to fade.
“Your choice,” James says, looking down at her with utter devotion shining in his eyes. It wasn’t a great surprise when Shannon sent a photo of her giant engagement ring to our group chat a couple of months ago. We all knew it was coming—Danni especially, seeing as it turned out that she helped choose the ring.
Shannon directs us all to a cocktail bar a few streets over and I make quick work of manoeuvring my way through the crowd to get to the bar, my need for a drink beginning to get the better of me. The others disappear off somewhere in the hope of finding a table
“Can we have two jugs of…” I quickly glance at the menu. “Margaritas please.”
“Coming right up, sweetheart.” The barman winks at me before his eyes drop to my chest. Hooking up on a night out isn’t really my thing, but hell if it doesn’t make me feel a little better about myself. He’s cute too, and just the kind of guy who would give both my parents a heart attack if I were to bring him home. Both his forearms are covered in tattoos, he’s got gauges in both his ears, and a lip ring. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I imagine the looks on their faces.
My gran’s words suddenly hit me.
Just breathe.
My hand lifts and my fingers run over the healing skin just below my bra. My smile widens.
I watch the barman prepare our cocktails, my eyes focused on the ink on his arms. I’ve always been obsessed by art, any kind of art, and that most definitely includes on skin.
I’m lost in my own head, so when he places the jugs in front of me, I startle, feeling ridiculous.
“T-Thank you,” I mutter, but when I lift my eyes, I find him staring intently at me.
“You’re welcome. I’m Christian, by the way.”
“Oh, hi.” A sly smile creeps onto my lips. “I’m Biff.”
“Biff?” His brows draw together in a way I’m all too used to when I say my name.
“It’s short for Tabitha.”
“That’s pretty. So… uh… how do you feel about—”
“Christian, a little help?” one of the other barmen shouts, pulling Christian’s attention from me.
“Sorry, I’ll hopefully see you again later?”
I nod at him, not wanting to give him any false hope. Like I said, he’s cute, but after my last string of bad dates and even worse short-term boyfriends, I’m happy flying solo right now. I’ve got a top of the range vibrating friend in my bedside table; I don’t need a man.
Picking up the tray in front of me, I turn and go in search of my friends. It takes forever, but eventually I find them tucked around a tiny table in the back corner of the bar.
“What the hell took so long? We thought you’d pulled and abandoned us.”
“Yes and no,” I say, ensuring every head turns my way.
“Tell us more,” Danni, my best friend, demands.
“It was nothing. The barman was about to ask me out, but it got busy.”
“Why the hell did you come back? Get over there. We all know you could do with a little… loosening up,” James says with a wink.
“I’m good. He wasn’t my type.”
“Oh, of course. You only date posh boys.”
“That is not true.”
“Is it not?” Danni asks, chipping in once she’s filled all the glasses.
“No…” I think back over the previous few guys they met. “Wayne wasn’t posh,” I argue when I realise they’re kind of right.
“No, he was just a wanker.”
Blowing out a long breath, I try to come up with an argument, but quite honestly, it’s true. My shoulders slump as I realise that I’ve been subconsciously dating guys my parents would approve of. It’s like my need to follow their orders is so well ingrained by now that I don’t even realise I’m doing it. Shame that their ideas about my life, what I should do, and whom I should date don’t exactly line up with mine.
Glancing over my shoulder at the bar, I catch a glimpse of Christian’s head. Maybe I should take him up on his almost offer. What’s the worst that could happen?
Deciding some liquid courage is in order, I grab my margherita and swallow half down in one go.
I’m so fed up of attempting to live my parents’ idea of a perfect life. I promised Gran I’d do things my way. I need to start living up to my promise.
By the time I’m tipsy enough to walk back to the bar and chat up Christian, he’s nowhere to be seen. I’m kind of disappointed seeing as the others had convinced me to throw caution to the wind (something that I’m really bad at doing), but I think I’m mostly relieved to be able go home and lock myself inside my flat alone and not have to worry about anyone else.
With my arm linked through Danni’s, we make our way out to the street, ready to make our journeys home, and Shannon jumps into an idling Uber while Danni waits for another to go in the opposite direction.
“You sure you don’t want to be dropped off? I don’t mind.”
“No, I’m sure. I could do with the fresh air.” It’s not a lie—the alcohol from one too many cocktails is making my head a little fuzzy. I hate going to sleep with the room spinning. I’d much rather that feeling fade before lying down.
“Okay. Promise me you’ll text me when you’re home.”
“I promise.” I wrap my arms around my best friend and then wave her off in her own Uber.
Turning on my heels, I start the short walk home.
I’ve been a London girl all my life, and while some might be afraid to walk home after dark, I love it. I love seeing a different side to this city, the quiet side when most people are hiding in their flats, not flooding the streets on their daily commutes.
My mind is flicking back and forth between my promise to Gran and my missed opportunity tonight when a shop front that I walk past on almost a daily basis makes me stop.
It’s a tattoo studio I’ve been inside of once in my life. I never really pay it much attention, but the new sign in the window catches my eye and I stop to look.
Admin help wanted. Enquire within.
Something stirs in my belly, and it’s not just my need to do something to piss my parents off—although getting a job in a place like this is sure to do that. I’m pretty sure it’s excitement.
Tattoos fascinate me, or more so, the artists.
I’m surprised to see the open sign still illuminated, so before I can change my mind, I push the door open. A little bell rings above it, and after a few seconds of standing in reception alone, a head pops out from around the door.
“Evening. What can I do you for?” The guy’s smile is soft and kind despite his otherwise slightly harsh features and ink.
“Oh um…” I hesitate under his intense dark stare. I glance over my shoulder, the back of the piece of paper catching my eye and reminding me why I walked in here. “I just saw the job ad in the window. Is the position still open?”
His eyes drop from mine and take in what I’m wearing. Seeing as tonight’s outing involved a rock concert, I’m dressed much like him in all black and looking a little edgy with my skinny black jeans, ripped AC/DC t-shirt and heavy black makeup. I must admit it’s not a look I usually go for, but it was fitting for tonight.
He nods, apparently happy with what he sees.
“Experience?” he asks, making my stomach drop.
“Not really, but I’m studying for a Masters so I’m not an idiot. I know my way around a computer, Excel, and I’m super organised.”
“Right…” he trails off, like he’s thinking about the best way to get rid of me.
“I’m a really quick learner. I’m punctual, methodical and really easy to get along with.”
“It’s okay, you had me sold at organised. I’m Dawson, although everyone around here calls me D.”
“Nice to meet you.” I stick my hand out for him to shake, and an amused smile plays at his lips. Stretching out an inked arm, he takes my hand and gives it a very firm shake that my dad would be impressed by—if he could look past the tattoos, that is. “I’m Tabitha, but everyone calls me Biff.”
“Biff, I like it. When can you start?”
“Don’t you want to interview me?”
“You sound like you could be perfect. When can you start?”
“Err… tomorrow?” I ask, totally taken aback. He doesn’t know me from Adam.
“Yes!” He practically snaps my hand off. “Can you be here for two o’clock? I can show you around before clients start turning up. I’ll apologise now for dropping you in the deep end, we’ve not had anyone for a few weeks and things are starting to get a little crazy.”
“I can cope with crazy.”
“Good to know. This place can be nuts.” I smile at him, more grateful than he could know to have a distraction and a focus.
My Masters should be enough to keep my mind busy, but since Gran went, I can’t seem to lose myself in it like I could previously. Hopefully, sorting this place’s admin out might be exactly what I need.
“Two o’clock tomorrow then,” I say, turning to leave. “I’ll bring ID. Do you need a reference? I’ve done some voluntary work recently, I’m sure they’ll write something for me.”
“Just turn up on time and do your job and you’re golden.”
I walk out with more of a spring in my step than I have in a long time. I’m determined to find something that’s going to make me happy, not just my parents. I’ve lived in their shadow for long enough.
I look myself over before leaving my flat for my first shift at the tattoo studio. I’m dressed a little more like myself today in a pair of dark skinny jeans, a white blouse and a black blazer. It’s simple and smart. I’m not sure if there’s a dress code—D never specified what I should wear. With my hair straightened and hanging down my back and my makeup light, I feel like I can take on whatever crazy he throws at me.
With a final spritz of perfume, I grab my bag from the unit in the hall and pull open my door. My home is a top floor flat in an old London warehouse. They were converted a few years ago by my father’s company, and I managed to get myself first dibs. They might drive me insane on the best of days, but at least I get this place rent-free. It almost makes up for their controlling and stuck-up ways… almost.
Ignoring the lift like I always do, I head for the stairs. My heels click against the polished concrete until I’m at the bottom and out to the busy city. I love London. I love that no matter what the time, there’s always something going on or someone who’s awake.
The spring afternoon is still a little fresh, making me regret not grabbing my coat, or even a scarf, before I left. I pull my blazer tighter around myself and make the short journey to the shop.
The door’s locked when I get there, and the bright neon sign that clearly showed it was open last night is currently saying closed.
Unsure of what to do, I lift my hand to knock. Only a second later, the shop front is illuminated, and the sound of movement inside filters down to me, but when the door opens it’s not the guy from last night.
“Oh… uh… hi. Is… uh… D here?”
The guy folds his arms over his chest and looks me up and down. He chuckles, although I’ve no idea what he finds so amusing.
“D,” he shouts over his shoulder, “there’s some posh bird here to see you.”
My teeth grind that he’s stereotyped me quite so quickly, but I refuse to allow him to see that his assumptions about me affect me in any way.
“Ah, good. I was worried you might change your mind.”
“Not at all,” I say, stepping past the judgemental arsehole and into the studio reception-cum-waiting room.
“That’s Spike. Feel free to ignore him. He’s not got laid in about a million years, it makes him a little cranky.” I fight to contain a laugh, especially when I turn toward Spike to find his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in frustration. All it does is confirm that D’s words are correct.
“Is that fucking necessary? Posh doesn’t need to know how inactive my cock is, especially not when she’s only just walked through the fucking door. Unless…” He stalks towards me and I automatically back up. I can’t deny that he’s a good looking guy, but there’s no way I’m going there.
“I don’t think so.”
“You sure? You look like you could do with a bit of rough.” He winks, and I want the ground to swallow me up.
“Down, Spike. This is Tabitha, or Biff. She’s our new admin, so I suggest you be nice to her if you want to stop organising your own appointments and shit. I don’t need a sexual harassment case on my hands before she’s even fucking started.”
I can’t help but laugh at the look on Spike’s face. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find some desperate old spinster soon.”
He looks me up and down again, something in his eyes changed. “Appearances aside, I think you’re going to get on well here.”
I smile at him. “Mine’s a coffee. Milk, no sugar. I’m already sweet enough.” His chin drops.
“I thought you were our new assistant. Why am I still making the coffee?”
“Know your place, Spike. Now do as the lady says. You know my order.”
“Yeah, it comes with a side of fuck off!” He flips D off before disappearing through a door that I can only assume goes to a kitchen.
“I probably should have warned you that you’ve agreed to work around a bunch of arseholes.”
“I know how to handle myself around horny men, don’t worry.”
After finishing my A levels, before I grew any kind of backbone where my parents were concerned, I agreed to work for my dad. I was his little office bitch and spent an horrendous year of my life being bossed around by men who thought that just because they had a cock hanging between their legs it made them better than me. I might have fucking hated that year, but it taught me a few things, not just about business but also how to deal with men who think they’re something fucking special just because they’re a tiny bit successful and make more money than me. I’ve no doubt that my time at Anderson Development Group gave me all the skills I’m going to need to handle these artists.
“So I see. So, this is your desk. When you’re on shift you’ll be the first person people see when they’re inside, so it’s important that you look good. But from what I’ve seen, I don’t think we’ll have an issue. I’ve sorted you out logins for the computer and the software we use. Most of it is pretty self-explanatory. I’m pretty IT illiterate and I’ve figured most of it out, put it that way.”
D’s showing me how they book clients in when someone else joins us. This time it’s someone I recognise from my previous visit, although it’s immediately obvious that he doesn’t remember me like I do him. But then I guess he was the one delivering the pain, not receiving it.
“Biff, this is Titch. Titch, this is Biff, our new admin. Be nice.”
“Nice? I’m always nice. Nice to meet you, Biff. You have any issues with this one, you come and see me. He might look tough, but I know all his secrets.” Titch winks, a smile curling at his lips that shows he’s a little more interested than he’s making out, and quickly disappears towards his room.
It’s not long until the first clients of the afternoon arrive, and I’m left alone to try to get to grips with everything.
Between clients, D pops his head out of his room to check I’m okay, and every hour I make a round of coffee for everyone. That sure seems to get me in their good books.
“I think I could get used to having you around,” Spike says when I deliver probably his fourth coffee of the day. “Only thing that would make it better is if it were whisky.”
“Not sure the person at the end of your needle would agree.” He chuckles and turns back to the design he was working on when I interrupted.
My first day flies by. D tells me to head home not long after nine o’clock. They’ve all got hours of tattooing to go yet, seeing as Saturday night is their busiest night of the week, but he insists I get a decent night’s sleep.
