Spotlight chapter: THE VOW
I don’t think I’ve ever done this. Posted a SPOTLIGHT CHAPTER before a book’s release. But there’s a first time for everything.
Contemporary Romance lovers, this one is for you. And, of course, there will be intrigue, suspense and humor all mixed in to give you a good time.
READ Chapter 2 from my upcoming best-friend’s-brother romance, THE VOW.
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The VOW
Natalie Wrye
Β© Copyright 2018
Subject to change
BRETT
I havenβt seen or heard the name Elsie Carpenter in seven goddamned years.
The second the text hits my cell, I know who it is. As if the warning message from my sister, Kayla, werenβt enoughβ¦ I happen to know Elsie Carpenter like the back of my hand. Or, at least, I once did.
One simple text from her is all it takes and suddenly Iβm shoved back into the past, my mind wandering in a million different directions instead of on the task in front of me. Or ratherβ¦ the woman in front of me. Who sits there. Half-naked. Her breasts bared for me to see in a tiny room with only us twoβ¦
Marilyn Daniels has skin that was made for tattoos, her body a perfect canvas.
The planes of her are smooth and even. Silky. Porcelain.
The teen soap opera actress with an affinity for ink and tangles with the paparazzi has been one of my most faithful clients over the past year. And, without a doubt, of the most beautiful.
I place the finishing touches on a heart tattoo beneath one of her highly-famed tits, and she looks down at me, pink nipples in hands, her voice a breathy whisper as she gazes in the mirror.
βI love it, Brett. Youβve outdone yourself.β
I slide back on my rolling stool, dropping the ink-tipped needle to the table, glaring at an hourβs work. I smile in the mirror. βItβs only a heart, Marilyn. Nothing to get excited about.β
βBut itβs not.β The sultry brunette shakes her head. βThe detail. The shading that you add to the shape. The dimension you give it.β She stands to her feet. βYou have a gift, Mr. Jackson. You really do. And I canβt wait to see the gift all over the small screen. Reed Hutton told me that he loves your work. He really does.β
I nod slowly. βYes. Because itβs important to get the approval of a man who produces TV trash like βHollywood Babymamas.ββ I snort, glancing at my client. βI certainly feel validated now.β
Marilyn shoots me a pointed look. βYou should. Reed Hutton has the ability to change lives.β She juts a finger in my direction. βHe will change your life. As soon as your show is up and running, the world will see you for the amazing artist that you are. You can open up the second shop. And I can stop braving the long trek here to Brooklyn just to see your ass.β
βI thought my βassβ was the reason you were coming here in the first place.β
She scoffs, lowering her shirt, after I place a white bandage over it. She winks down at me as my fingertips touch her skin. βYou wish, pretty boy. Iβll see you next month.β She grabs for her coat, sauntering to the closed curtain that separates us from other room. I yell back at her.
βAnd Iβll see you on Thursday night at 9pm. I never miss an episode of Beverly Hills Housewives.β
I hear her retreating footsteps. βYouβre a dick, Brett.β She shouts in a sing-songy voice, no doubt, over her shoulder.
βNever claimed to be anything else!β I shoot back. I close the curtain as the bell dings over the front door. I pick up my needles. With gloved hands, I wipe at the now-colorful tips cleaning each one.
A tattoo artist is only as good as his tools, and a βdick,β as Marilyn likes to call me, is only as good as the one in his pants. Which reminds meβ¦
I fully intend on using mine tonight.
A busy day in the shop ran me fucking ragged, and to top off an even more hectic day, Iβll soon have to take in my sisterβs longtime best friend. A Ms. Elsie Carpenter. The shy, curly-haired blonde from her youth. A smart girl with an even smarter mouth.
And the object of almost all of my teenage fantasies.
My needles arenβt the only βtoolsβ in the shop.
Because I crossed a boundary with Elsie Carpenterβonce. And Iβm not sure I ever doubled back.
The brace-faced teenybopper that wore Taylor Swift shirts grew into a womanβand fast. Within a wicked span of two years. At sixteen, she was a verifiable bombshell. And she hadnβt even known it. The shy, songbird blonde Iβd once known had developed a sexiness that was understatedβand powerful. Almond-shaped eyes. Sharp cheekbones. A dip in her tiny chin.
My sister’s best friend was a siren in schoolgirlβs clothes. And the one thing I wasnβt allowed to have.
And she was going to be my houseguest. Unless Kayla said otherwise.
I had no other details to go on right now. Not when Elsie was coming. Or when she was leaving. Truth be toldβ¦ it didnβt matter. The second I got the message, I knew I would do whatever Elsie Carpenter needed.
But tonight, what I needed⦠was to get her out of my head.
I start to clear up shop, my thoughts drifting to a night with Sophie when the bell above the front door of the shop dings, the sound reaching my ears at the back of the shop.
βWeβre closed,β I call out. But the footsteps donβt stop. I reach for a set of brass knuckles near my tabletop when the shuffle of shoe soles just keeps coming. I stand to my feet, wrapping the metal rings around my fingers. I open the closed curtain to my room, stepping into the small hallway, my fist raised and ready to swing at whateverβs coming my way.
Until I hear her voice.
She peers up at me, her brown eyes doe-like and wide. And just as remembered. Only these slightly older eyes are more hostile. More hardened. More cold.
She looks at me, at the brass knuckles in my handβstaring. She glances back up at my face.
βIs that how you welcome customers?β
I exhale, lowering my closed fist. βWhen weβre closed, it is.β I point towards the bell above the entrance door. βI tried to warn you that we werenβt open.β
Elsie nods. βA locked door door wouldβve said that better.β She looks around briefly, her eyes bouncing around my store. Her wary gaze stops on the walls, her glare combing the sketches posted there. My sketches. Absentminded, her hand reaches out to touch one but before her fingers make contact, she withdraws them as if her hand were on fire, her hand flinching before dropping to her side.
βYour shop is amazing,β she utters softly. βKayla said it would be.β
I gaze at her face. βYou look so grown-up.β
Elsie blinks. βYou donβt.β
I snort, my eyes shifting to the floor then back up. βShit. Sorry.β I place my brass knuckles in my jeans pocket. βI didnβt meant that the way it sounds. I just mean you look different than the last time I saw youβ¦β I gesture in her direction. βLike an adult.β
βAnd whatβs that look like?β
βBored and utterly fucking unhappy.β
βOkay.β Elsie grabs a rolling suitcase I hadnβt noticed until now. βSorry for wasting your time.β Elsie turns and walks towards the door, heading fast. I follow in step behind her. I reach out and grab her wrist but she snatches it back.
In a silver slinky tank top and cut-off denim shorts, her hair wild and curly, she looks angry, semi-crazed. And completely irresistible. In that second, I forget all about Sophie. I shove my hands into my jeans to keep from touching her further. My fingers tingle.
βElsie, stop. Donβt take off. Iβm being a dick,β I exhale. βItβs what Iβm known for.β
βSo I remember.β
βLook, I might be an asshole, but Iβm not a cruel one. You caught me off-guard. Kayla didnβt tell me you were coming tonight. I would have prepared.β I run a hand through my hair, calming the frayed strands. βListen, you canβ¦β I hesitate over the words. βCome home with me tonight. Crash in my other bedroom. Might not be the ideal company youβre looking for, but itβs something. Somethingβs better than nothing.β
Elsie rolls her chocolate-colored eyes. βIβd rather stay in the local bar.β
βIβve got better liquor.β
βCanβt assume your apartment will look much different than a pub.β
βI learned to clean.β I cross my arms. βOr rather how to pay someone else to do it for you. Is that what Kayla told you about my place? That itβs as shitty as a local bar?β
βShe didnβt have to,β she counters. βIβve been in your bedroom before. Remember?β
I smile. βOnly too fondlyβ¦β My grin grows wicked. βBut that was seven years ago. Things have changed since then. Iβve changed since then. Thereβs only one way youβre going to find out. And that way just so happens to involve you not sleeping on a pissy bar stool.β
She scoffs. βYouβre so eloquent with words.β
βNot as good as you, Ms. Carpenter. But Iβve got an extra bed and piss-free cushions. And if you think you can stomach my dickheadedness for one more second, I might even throw some hot food into the offer and one free βSlap the shit out of Brettβ card. Hopefully, you wonβt have to use that tonight.β I grab for her luggage, swinging it over my shoulder. βBut I canβt make any promises.β
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