The Broken Puppet (The Elite King's Club 2)

“This isn’t the part where you kill me, is it?” I chuckle, shoving my hands into my jean pockets.

He laughs, throwing his head back. “This is New Zealand, babe. You’re safe.” From what I’ve seen so far, it is safe here.

We walk down the sidewalk until we come to a shop that has black paint licked over the front with red stripes going diagonally down the brick structure. Jesse pulls out his keys, unlocks the door, and then ushers me inside.

Flicking the lights on, he gestures out in front of himself.

“It’s clean!” is the first thing that comes into my brain, and me being me, of course I say it out loud.

Jesse laughs, closing the door behind himself to shut out the line of boy racers that are flooring it down the main street. “Yeah, I guess it sort of has to be.” He tilts his head and then walks forward to the dark concrete counter. It’s all rustic with a dose of modern. The floors are glass mirror tiles, and the seats are black leather with intricate designs carved into the armrests. All the booths are wide open but have the option to pull a curtain across for privacy. There’s also a private booth at the back.

“Piercings and such,” Jesse mutters, handing me a beer when he sees me looking at the booth.

“Thanks.” I take it. “So what exactly do you want from me?”

He takes a swig and then looks at me. “When clients come in, you can sit in during their consultation, get a vision of what they want, and draw it for them. Just roughly sketch it.”

“Okay, and when you don’t have clients?” I ask, watching him carefully. He has a couple of beauty marks on his face that instantly draw my attention, so I look away quickly, not wanting to get caught ogling. He’s a little more than hot. He has a rough sexiness about him. I wonder how old he is.

“You can stay at the front desk? I can pay you hourly plus give you a percentage out of the drawings you do—all cash in hand.”

I think over his question and then look toward some of the artwork that’s hanging on the walls. “I guess I’m in.”

He steps forward, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and tilts his head. “What’s your story?”

Casually sucking in a breath, I bring the bottle to my mouth and swallow. “I don’t really have one.”

“Okay, and how long are you in NZ for?”

“Only for a couple of months. If that. So please don’t think this is a permanent thing for me. I’d hate to give you the wrong impression.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up slightly. “I’m not really into permanent.”

I run my eyes up and down his body, once again failing to hide my attraction to him, but anytime I think, Okay, I can do this. I can find a man just to have something casual with, Bishop possesses my body and my thoughts. It’s not entirely fair, considering he has probably moved on already, but it’s just not in me to do it yet. It’s too soon.

I halt him with my hand, sensing he was going to go into the dating territory. “Please don’t. Not yet.”

He grins. “I can do not yet.”

Handing him my barely touched beer, I smile at him. “I better go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yup, 9:00 a.m.,” he agrees.

I nod, turn on my heel, and walk out the door. Figuring I’ll walk the rest of the way back to our apartment instead of calling a taxi, I eventually make my way to the main beach. Stepping down the sandy steps, I inhale the thick, salty ocean air and close my eyes, shutting out any noise but the crashing of waves and the crickets chirping within the trees. New Zealand is beautiful; there’s no doubt about that. But I miss being home in the US. I don’t know what’s happening back home. No one has found me, or no one has looked—not sure which of the two is correct.

“You okay?” Tatum comes down the steps and walks to where I’m standing. I take a seat on the sand and draw my knees up, my hair falling over my shoulders.

“Not really.”

Tate plops down beside me, her long coat wrapped tightly around her body.

“Are you wearing clothes under that?”

“What?” She bats her eyelashes innocently. “Of course I am! And also….” She pulls out a bottle of whiskey and what I’m pretty sure is a joint. “Tada!”

I shake my head and laugh. “You’re a hot mess, you know that?”

“I know,” she sighs, resting her head on my shoulder. “Be a hot mess with me?”

I swallow, looking out to the dark ocean, wondering what lies are on the other side of what seems to be an endless bank of water. “Yeah, I think I’m ready to be just that.”