Rowdy (Marked Men #5)(17)

The lights changed, and as we headed off in opposite directions I wondered about the polished young woman who seemed to have a lot of secrets. I silently hoped whatever had brought her to Denver worked itself out as well. Secrets or not, she seemed really nice.

I pushed open the doors of the shop and had to wind my way through the people cluttering up the waiting area to get behind the desk. Cora was talking to two girls that were showing her pictures and the buzz of tattoo machines was steady in the background. Nash caught my eye and inclined his head at me. I stashed my purse after rescuing the brownie so I had it on hand for later and asked him what was up.

He rubbed his hands over his shaved head and I wondered how often Saint did the same thing to him. Those flames he had tattooed along each side of his scalp were bright and fun. If he was my guy I would have my hands all over them every chance I got. His purplish eyes flashed at me with a mixture of good-natured humor and aggravation.

“What do you need me to do in order for you to get that store upstairs up and running? I thought I had an idea, but every time I think I’m moving forward something happens and I get pulled in the opposite direction.”

“I need you guys to give me some images, some kind of logo, so I can contact a screen printer and get the designs put on T-shirts and other apparel.” It had to be cute stuff and trendy stuff that fit with the vibe the guys had going on. “I think you should all base your design ideas off of tattoos each of you already has. The fangirls would go bonkers for it. You have that dragon, Rule has that snake on his arm.” I nodded when his eyes got squinty in thought. “Cora has all those flowers, and Rowdy has that anchor on his neck that is impossible to miss. All different, all distinct, and I think it would make a statement. That way we aren’t just branding the tattoo shops—we’re branding the people behind them.” I reached out and squeezed his impressive bicep. “I also think you should do a special limited-edition design for Phil. Something old-school, something badass that pays tribute to him and his hand in leaving this behind for you guys.”

I saw his Adam’s apple slide up and down and his eyes blinked fast for a second until he cleared his throat and dipped his head down in a nod.

“You are exactly the person we needed to make this happen. My dad really did know his shit.”

I grinned. “He was a very smart and tricky man.”

“He wanted you here for more than the shop, didn’t he?”

I lifted a bare shoulder and let it fall. “Sometimes it takes someone from the outside to notice what is missing. Phil was really good at that.”

Nash grunted his agreement and lifted a hand to wave his client over as he entered the shop.

“He was.” He took a step around me and then paused and looked down at me. “The store was all Rowdy’s idea. The concept, the idea to branch out, was all him. I think I’ll give him a call and tell him he can be your point person on getting up and going. Rule and I have too much other stuff to deal with right now.”

It was there in those fabulous eyes, the same kind of compassion and need for the people around him to be happy that glowed out of his father’s eyes. He was Phil’s son—no doubt about it. I laughed and turned back to the desk so I could help Cora manage the still-growing crowd of potential clients.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

IT WASN’T UNTIL HOURS and hours later that I finally got to my brownie. It had been a packed day for appointments, and there were two late walk-ins that a couple of the new artists agreed to stick around and do, so it was almost nine at night by the time I got around to doing the cash-out for the day and locking everything up. Even on a busy day here it didn’t come close to the chaos I was used to at the shop in the casino. That place had almost fifteen artists on staff and was open until two in the morning. The shops in Denver were successful and busy but they felt way less like a spectacle than my previous job had. I was surprised how much I liked the closer-knit, more mellow feel of my new gig and I appreciated that they were really cranking out amazing works of art versus cookie-cutter, flash tattoos that tourists picked off a wall.

I was the type of person that got bored and hated routine. I think that was one of the reasons I was always on the move so much. I never wanted to be predictable. I never wanted to know what was in store for me from one day to the next. I’m sure it had to do with growing up in a house where routine was everything, where not one second passed that wasn’t accounted for and planned down to the minute detail. My dad lived and died by rules and regulations, so it made sense that as soon as I was able I decided to never have a plan. I was always content to just land wherever the wind took me—only now that had changed. I felt grounded here. Felt like I could wake up to the mountains, fresh air, and crazy weather for an endless number of days and never get tired of it.

I also knew without question that I could stare into Rowdy St. James’s cerulean eyes for an eternity and never see anything prettier—even when he was looking at me like I was something toxic and dangerous.

I was munching on the brownie and called Poppy again, this time leaving a message where I chewed her out and threatened to get on the next plane out of Denver if she didn’t call me back tomorrow. I was putting the cash from the day’s deposit in the safe that was in Cora’s office and making sure all the doors were locked upstairs when I caught sight of myself in one of the crazy fun-house mirrors the contractor had put up here to tie the boardwalk theme of the shop together.