“You should make a few online inquiries,” he says, sauntering back with the pot of coffee in one hand and a mug in the other. Pouring the coffee, he adds, “It can’t hurt to send your portfolio to a few agents. Besides, I checked out some of your sketch titles on the internet, and you already have a cult following that will count in your favor.”
I utter a nervous laugh. “Finding an agent won’t be easy.”
“You won’t know if you don’t try. Won’t you enjoy that more than drawing tattoo designs?”
“Sure, but—”
“Good.” He adds two spoons of sugar to the coffee. “You need your own working space with a proper drawing desk, a professional chair, and lots of natural light. We can convert the spare bedroom into an office, or if you prefer, we can extend the house to the back and close a portion of the patio.”
“Hold on. This is going way too fast. What if no one is interested in my sketches?”
He puts the coffee in front of me and leaves the pot on a cork plate. “Any agent who sees your work will want to grab you up before someone else does.”
He’s being too kind, breaking down my resistance one soft kiss and warm praise at a time. It’s confusing. I don’t get it. Up until the day before yesterday, he hated me. It’s also scary, because I can’t afford to let him get under my skin.
I observe him through my lashes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Sitting down opposite me, he crosses his arms on the table. “That’s a strange question coming from my wife.”
“You know what I mean.” Guilt heats my cheeks. “Aren’t I the enemy?”
His expression sobers. “I want this—us—to work. We’re in it for better or worse. No matter what you do, you’ll always be mine. What you need to understand is that I didn’t pay you to treat you like a sex worker who doesn’t matter to me. I paid you to remind myself of what’s at stake, but I’m tired of bashing heads. This was never my plan for us.”
His honesty takes me by surprise, but my skin is thick. I’m too hardened by years of mistrust and self-preservation to disregard every safety mechanism I’ve ever put into place.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
For a breathless moment, disappointment invades his eyes. It’s not the answer he was hoping for, but he quickly replaces his dejection with a smile. “Why don’t you eat up while I have a shower? I’ll be ready in ten to drive you to work.”
“I can drive.”
“I know.” He stands. “But I want to.”
“What about you? Aren’t you having breakfast?”
“I already ate,” he says with a wink so disarming, if it was directed at any other woman, she would’ve fallen at his feet. “And just so you know, you’re worth a hell of a lot more than three thousand rand. No price is high enough for you.” Leaning closer, he wraps my hair around his fist. “Whatever you thought you were doing in that bar, it won’t happen again. If you offer yourself to any man, for money or for free, he’s dead.” He lets my hair untangle from his fingers. “Is that clear?”
Swallowing, I nod.
“Good,” he says.
Closing in for the kill, he presses his lips on mine. The kiss isn’t kind or gentle. It’s a possessive kiss that seals a deal. When he pulls away, the promise I see in his eyes doesn’t leave me with any doubt about the seriousness of his threat.
He doesn’t spare me another glance as he leaves the kitchen. Staring after him with a pounding heart, I ponder his change in attitude, but I do finish the food he so thoughtfully prepared.
Forty minutes later, he drops me off at the tattoo parlor in Fourways and leaves me with a peck on the lips. The female customers lined up in the reception area drool after him as he tells me to be a good girl before handing me a lunchbox and walking through the door.
The tattoo parlor is busy, and the morning flies by. I enjoy meeting the clientele. For now, I sit in on Joseph’s first meetings, giving input or suggestions when the customers are stuck for ideas. The only rule is that we each finish what we start. If I make a preliminary concept drawing that a customer accepts, I get to complete it. Understandably, Joseph doesn’t like anyone meddling with his art.
Vero and the staff are kind and accommodating. I can’t complain about my working environment or conditions. If I’m not assisting in a meeting, I’m helping at the front desk. The woman with the pigtails is an energetic economics graduate called Annie. She explains that she ended up at Inked after fruitlessly looking for work in her field and enjoyed her job so much she decided to stay. After she’s showed me the ropes, I take calls and make appointments while she’s on her tea and lunch breaks.