Page 60 of Wicked Design
“I won’t.” He fingered his shirt.
Clover noticed he didn’t button it.
He spoke to Trinity. “However, if I’m ambidextrous, which I am, the tats come out exactly the same on both arms and did.”
A brunette sporting Cleopatra bangs stared, awe glittering in her eyes. “You’re too cool.”
Trinity tapped her foot. “I want you doing my boyfriend’s chest and arms. No bullet holes there, though. Something else. I’ll let you know what when I decide.”
Van Gogh shook his head. “I don’t ink anyone unless the person agrees. It’s their body and their right.”
“Is that so?” She looked down her nose at him. “Let me put it this way, price is no object.”
“I’m sure it’s not, but I ink who I want when I want. No exceptions.” He pinned her with his gaze. “No arguments.”
Clover gaped. Talk about macho man.
Trinity caved faster than a plain Jane would to 007. All soft and feminine now, she gave Van Gogh a gentle smile. “Sure. What’s your number?”
“Wait.” Clover held out her hand. She was the agent here and called the shots.
Van Gogh glanced at her. “Thanks, but I have it.” He rattled off Wicked Brand’s number. “Ask for Jasmina. She’ll take care of you.”
Trinity stored the information in her smartphone. “Better take my number in case I get a busy signal. I don’t like to wait.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I guessed that.”
Clover stepped between them before too much information passed, he loosened up more than he already had, and they started flirting. She’d wanted him to have a good time, but hadn’t expected this adoration.
The same as she’d always offered him, though not because he was outside her regular group and she found him intriguing. To her, no one matched his talent, intelligence, or personality. For that worship, she’d hoped she was special to him in ways no other woman could match and had to believe she was. He was a good guy.
Trinity rounded her and told him the number.
Van Gogh stored it in his smartphone. “Got it.”
Peaches waved her hand. “Take mine, too.” She provided three with different area codes. “The first is my cell. The second is my housekeeper’s number, just in case you can’t reach me directly. The third is my assistant’s number. If I’m busy, she’ll take a message. Call anytime. Twenty-four/seven if you have to. I pay her to be awake.”
Unfazed, he saved the info then glanced up. “Anyone else?”
Several other women shouted, “Me!”
A curvy blonde spoke louder than the rest. “Hi, I’m Shell. Do you tattoo women?”
He grinned. “All the time, Shell. Whatever you want, I can ink it. Show me a design you like, it’s yours. Can’t make up your mind? Not a prob. I’ll come up with something special just for you.”
Clover couldn’t believe he’d just offered that. He still hadn’t come up with her one-of-a-kind design yet. Hadn’t even mentioned it for days.
He didn’t notice her disappointment.
“How about this?” Shell plucked her floral-print sheath, the watercolor images hazy, as if Monet or Renoir had painted them.
Van Gogh rocked on his heels. “No biggie. The tat will look exactly the same.”
“Can you put it on my calf or ankle? Nothing too big.”
“Of course not. No way would I mess up such pretty skin.”
She giggled.
