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
© Copyright 2018
Subject to change
BRETT
I haven’t 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, weren’t enough… 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 I’m shoved back into the past, my mind wandering in a million different directions instead of on the task in front of me. Or rather… 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 two…
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.
“I love it, Brett. You’ve outdone yourself.”
I slide back on my rolling stool, dropping the ink-tipped needle to the table, glaring at an hour’s work. I smile in the mirror. “It’s only a heart, Marilyn. Nothing to get excited about.”
“But it’s not.” The sultry brunette shakes her head. “The detail. The shading that you add to the shape. The dimension you give it.” She stands to her feet. “You have a gift, Mr. Jackson. You really do. And I can’t wait to see the gift all over the small screen. Reed Hutton told me that he loves your work. He really does.”
I nod slowly. “Yes. Because it’s important to get the approval of a man who produces TV trash like ‘Hollywood Babymamas.’” I snort, glancing at my client. “I certainly feel validated now.”
Marilyn shoots me a pointed look. “You should. Reed Hutton has the ability to change lives.” She juts a finger in my direction. “He 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.”
“I thought my ‘ass’ was the reason you were coming here in the first place.”
She scoffs, lowering her shirt, after I place a white bandage over it. She winks down at me as my fingertips touch her skin. “You wish, pretty boy. I’ll see you next month.” She grabs for her coat, sauntering to the closed curtain that separates us from other room. I yell back at her.
“And I’ll see you on Thursday night at 9pm. I never miss an episode of Beverly Hills Housewives.”
I hear her retreating footsteps. “You’re a dick, Brett.” She shouts in a sing-songy voice, no doubt, over her shoulder.
“Never claimed to be anything else!” 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 “dick,” as Marilyn likes to call me, is only as good as the one in his pants. Which reminds me…
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, I’ll soon have to take in my sister’s 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 aren’t the only ‘tools’ in the shop.
Because I crossed a boundary with Elsie Carpenter—once. And I’m not sure I ever doubled back.
The brace-faced teenybopper that wore Taylor Swift shirts grew into a woman—and fast. Within a wicked span of two years. At sixteen, she was a verifiable bombshell. And she hadn’t even known it. The shy, songbird blonde I’d once known had developed a sexiness that was understated—and powerful. Almond-shaped eyes. Sharp cheekbones. A dip in her tiny chin.
My sister’s best friend was a siren in schoolgirl’s clothes. And the one thing I wasn’t 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 told… it didn’t 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.
“We’re closed,” I call out. But the footsteps don’t 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 whatever’s 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 hand—staring. She glances back up at my face.
“Is that how you welcome customers?”
I exhale, lowering my closed fist. “When we’re closed, it is.” I point towards the bell above the entrance door. “I tried to warn you that we weren’t open.”
Elsie nods. “A locked door door would’ve said that better.” 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.
“Your shop is amazing,” she utters softly. “Kayla said it would be.”
I gaze at her face. “You look so grown-up.”
Elsie blinks. “You don’t.”
I snort, my eyes shifting to the floor then back up. “Shit. Sorry.” I place my brass knuckles in my jeans pocket. “I didn’t meant that the way it sounds. I just mean you look different than the last time I saw you…” I gesture in her direction. “Like an adult.”
“And what’s that look like?”
“Bored and utterly fucking unhappy.”
“Okay.” Elsie grabs a rolling suitcase I hadn’t noticed until now. “Sorry for wasting your time.” 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.
“Elsie, stop. Don’t take off. I’m being a dick,” I exhale. “It’s what I’m known for.”
“So I remember.”
“Look, I might be an asshole, but I’m not a cruel one. You caught me off-guard. Kayla didn’t tell me you were coming tonight. I would have prepared.” I run a hand through my hair, calming the frayed strands. “Listen, you can…” I hesitate over the words. “Come home with me tonight. Crash in my other bedroom. Might not be the ideal company you’re looking for, but it’s something. Something’s better than nothing.”
Elsie rolls her chocolate-colored eyes. “I’d rather stay in the local bar.”
“I’ve got better liquor.”
“Can’t assume your apartment will look much different than a pub.”
“I learned to clean.” I cross my arms. “Or rather how to pay someone else to do it for you. Is that what Kayla told you about my place? That it’s as shitty as a local bar?”
“She didn’t have to,” she counters. “I’ve been in your bedroom before. Remember?”
I smile. “Only too fondly…” My grin grows wicked. “But that was seven years ago. Things have changed since then. I’ve changed since then. There’s only one way you’re going to find out. And that way just so happens to involve you not sleeping on a pissy bar stool.”
She scoffs. “You’re so eloquent with words.”
“Not as good as you, Ms. Carpenter. But I’ve 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 ’Slap the shit out of Brett’ card. Hopefully, you won’t have to use that tonight.” I grab for her luggage, swinging it over my shoulder. “But I can’t make any promises.”
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