Page 6 of Bad Influence
“We need a receptionist,” Eve replies.
I sigh, taking the stairs to the exit. “I know.”
“Because if we had a receptionist, they could call you and tell you that your client is here,” Eve says.
“I know.”
“Because then I won’t have to leave my client waiting to entertain your client who wants to snoop around at your station.” She whispers the last part, probably so the client doesn’t hear it.
I push through the emergency exit door at the bottom of the stairs and pause. It’s a bright morning and I suddenly regret staying up until 2:00am last night trying to paint. Flowers bloom in the window baskets in the coffee shop next door to my building. I don’t have time to stop in for a coffee like I usually do.
“What the hell is she looking for at my station?” I ask.
Leave it to me to have the weird clients.
“She’ll probably steal your tattoo gun and sell it on the black market,” Eve whispers.
“You’ve been reading too many crime novels again,” I tell her. “Bianca is not going to steal my equipment.”
“You say that now, wait till you have to buy a new gun,” Eve warns.
I tell her I’m on the way and to keep Bianca occupied if she’s so worried about her stealing anything. I don’t think Bianca is the stealing type, though she does hyper fixate on a lot of things. She’s having issues with her sister if her endless conversation about her is anything to go by.
People think of their tattoo artist as a therapist, or maybe it’s just me. They tell me about their lives while I work on their tattoos because they mistake my silence for me being a good listener. The truth is, I don’t want to talk to them and I’d rather they not talk to me.
I opened Black Ember Ink five years ago and the first person I hired was Eve since we’d apprenticed with the same artist. She lived two floors below me with her wife and usually, we walked to work together, except on the days she had an early client.
It was easy to get clients because I’d built a name for myself in the art world and a surprising number of those clients wanted tattoos. The only rule I have is I never tattoo my own designs or art on anyone. I can trust a piece of stretched canvas. I can’t say the same about people. They can be cruel, twisted, a slave to their emotions and baser instincts. If that makes me pretentious, so be it.
Eve does all the designs, and we briefly had an artist working for us who was also our receptionist, until she told me she loved me, and I had Eve fire her. Things were starting to get uncomfortable, and she looked at me with hearts in her eyes every time I walked by.
The shop is only three blocks away, so it doesn’t take long for me to get there. I walk in, and Eve turns to me, raising a perfectly arched black eyebrow that has a silver barbell through it.
“I’m putting an ad out for a receptionist today,” she says, walking back to her station.
I shake my head, turning to Bianca. She’s dressed in all white, like always, but she’s left her blonde hair open.
“You’re early,” I say.
I lead her back to my station and start to set it up.
“I know! I didn’t go to yoga today since I found out through a mutual friend that my sister was going to be in class and since we’re still not speaking, I figured I’ll skip today.”
Reaching for a towel, I hand it to her and keep my back to her while she undresses. The tattoo is on her back and we’re just filling in the colors today.
I only turn when I see her leg in my peripheral vision, and I know she’s situated on my chair. She keeps the towel pressed between her chest and the back of the chair.
“I’m sorry if I talk too much,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “I’ve had a lot of coffee. Also, I don’t think Eve likes me. She was watching me the whole time I was waiting. Although, I shouldn’t have insisted on being back here without you because she didn’t seem to like that.”
“Clients aren’t allowed back here without one of us,” I remind her.
“No, I know. But I was getting antsy waiting for you,” she says with a soft giggle.
I pull on my gloves. The snap of the latex against my skin makes Bianca jump slightly.
“Ready?” I confirm.
“Yep.”
