Pretend You're Mine (Inked Hearts 3)

I nearly inhale the food. Then I get back to work. Schedules. Social media. I don’t have to do much—even Ryan posts his work on Instagram regularly.

They make my job too easy.

I miss feeling needed. I’m sure it helps business, having a warm smile and a little cleavage behind the counter, but I want to be more than a prop.

I want to do work that uses my brain.

I love design, but I’m not good enough to strike out on my own. Not yet.

Maybe I’ll get there one day.

Until I do, I’m staying here.

The money is good. The company is great. So what if the work itself is boring? There’s more to life than creative fulfillment.

Besides, working on designs for myself is fulfilling in its own way.

After I double check everything twice, I pull up my laptop and start my homework: a flyer for a fictional concert.

There’s a ton of information to convey on one sheet of paper: three headlining bands, a dozen others, two charities supporting the event.

There must be some way to streamline it.

I play around with mock-ups until Ryan walks his client to the counter.

A cute Hispanic guy. Dark eyes, tan skin, devilish smile. Total fling material. If I had any interest in a guy who isn’t Ryan.

I flirt anyway. Help Ryan earn a forty percent tip.

He nods goodbye to his customer then turns to me. “Really?”

“Really?” I point to the tip on the receipt.

“You’re stealing my credit.”

“Show off your boobs. Steal it back.”

His chuckle is soft. “Aren’t you cold in that?”

My high-waisted shorts, key-hole white crop top combination is perfect for the eighty-degree weather outside. But in here? “Thank you. I’d love it if you turned down the AC.”

He shakes his head. No way is that happening. “How’s the homework?”

“Good. Thanks.”

“Show me.”

I check that the Ryan Maddox tab is closed, pull up the best mock-up, turn the computer to him. “What do you think?”

His gaze fixes on the screen. His brow knits with concentration. His hand slides into the front pocket of his black skinny jeans. “Good. Clean.”

“But…”

“You’re good at this.”

My cheeks flush. “You don’t—”

“Yeah. I do.” His eyes fix on mine. “Good enough to charge.”