Chapter Thirty-Seven

Still reeling from what happened, my eyes mindlessly stare beyond the glass wall that separates the coffee place from NexaCorp's hall. When I catch a glimpse of three familiar figures, my attention latches on them.

What happens next might be because of the adrenaline still pumping in my veins, or because I'm done being a pushover. I'm barely aware that I stand up from my chair, but before I know it, I'm out of the coffee shop. Even as I rush through the vast hallway, I'm not sure of what I'm about to do.

"Mr. Sinclair!" I call out once I'm only a few steps away. Ralf, our boss, and his boss all stop and turn around at once.

"Genevieve, you disappeared so abruptly earlier, and we—"

"I quit," I bluntly cut him off. All three men stare at me in shock for several seconds. "And because my contract doesn't require any sort of notice, my resignation starts right now."

"But we—You can't do that. We need you with the merger and the—"

"Yes, you do. You need me a lot more than you need him," I confirm, pointing at Ralf, "because we both know I work harder than him, and I'm better at this job than he'll ever be. Which is why I'm quitting. I refuse to work under an incompetent clown whose sole achievements in this company have been the ones he stole from me and my team."

"She's lying," Ralf interjects. "I never stole anything from her."

"Really? Do you want the list? It's as long as my arm, you pathetic buffoon."

"Miss Kensington, no need for hysterics," Sinclair begins.

"That's misogynistic, but you wouldn't realize that even if it slapped you in the face, would you? Let's just blame my erratic behavior on ‘that time of the month' or early menopause," I sarcastically offer. "But even with that, I mean every word. Good luck finding a replacement for me. It'll probably take three hires to manage all the work I've been handling since I started here. Then, maybe you'll realize how big of a mistake you made by disregarding me as a good candidate just because I dared have a life outside of my work."

"You're simply not good at balancing your work life and your private life," Ralf snickers.

"Oh, fuck off. You have a wife, a girlfriend, and a mistress. I'm not taking any sort of advice from you."

I could stay here and call them out on their bullshit all day, but another familiar face is making her way out of the building.

"Anyhow, I quit, and I mean it," I quickly tell them before turning to my boss's superior. "Good luck keeping this department afloat with Ralf in command and without me to make up for it."

Their answer doesn't matter, just like I don't care if they think I'm being a lunatic, so I leave them there. I'm done putting so much importance on other peoples' perception of me. Not when they don't matter, at least.

"Daisy!" I call my assistant as I hurriedly come down the flight of stairs in front of the building. She twists around, looking up from her phone.

"Yes, Miss Kensington?"

"Please, I can't believe I never asked this before, but call me Gen. It comes a little late though, because I just quit."

"Oh, no. Is it because you didn't get Mr. Sinclair's position?"

"That, and… I think I just hate this job. It's so greedy, and dull, and corporate. I can't do this for the rest of my life, or I'll turn into one of them, you know?"

She nods, obviously confused by my hectic behavior. "This is very short notice for you, I'm so sorry. I'm sure they'll find someone to replace me in no time. And if you want to reinvent your life too, I'll write you a stellar recommendation letter. Anything you want to thank you for all your hard work."

"That's very kind of you, Miss Ke—Gen."

"Great. I need to go see my boyfriend to tell him I've been an idiot and hope he takes me back. Would you put all my things in a box and have a carrier take it to my place?"

"Of course. Should I, uh, let everyone know you're quitting?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. Oh, and if you want the plant, you can have it. You've been the one watering it. Also, that paperweight you always loved? Yours."

"You don't have to," she politely protests.

"Have it, I don't mind."

Another thing pops into my mind, and I utter it, too hyped up to hold back. "Would you be interested in coming to work for me if I start my own firm?" I offer. Her eyebrows shoot up, her eyes going round. "As a paralegal, not an assistant," I add.

"Uh, yeah, I'd love that."

"Amazing. We'll keep in touch. And if you're okay with it, let's grab drinks one of these days to catch up."

"I would love that, yes."

Grateful for her, the only good thing during my years at NexaCorp, I give her a quick and tight hug. "Thank you again, Daisy. You made it all a little more bearable."

"I'm glad I could help, Gen. Now, go find that handsome man of yours and reinvent your life."

I laugh from the relief, the stress, and the hundred other things rushing through my head at the moment. It feels as though my life starts today, and I'm scared I won't have the one thing I genuinely want in it.

But I have to try, so I rush to the sidewalk and hail a cab. One stops soon after my first attempt, and I hurriedly open the door and lower inside.

"To Brooklyn," I demand before murmuring to myself, "To Ladder Guy."

The familiar front of The Parlourdoesn't feel as welcoming as it used to. Within these walls lies the answer I desperately seek and need.

Will Jake forgive me for being as blind and obtuse as I have been? I abandoned him in favor of my horrible mother two days ago, and he has every right to reject me for it. Even if every cell in me knew it was a mistake, my mind was too far gone to realize it.

I'll never do something that stupid ever again. Vivienne and Gerard Kensington are out of my life. I won't let them ruin my future like they did my past.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, I stare at The Gallery's window, trying to muster the courage to enter. The taxi dropped me off a few minutes ago, and I've been right here ever since. "Come on, Gen," I mumble to myself. "If you can't fight for us, then you don't deserve him."

I can still picture the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal on his face… I messed up, and I'm so scared it's irreparable.

Someone enters The Gallery, and as they hold the door open for me, I'm compelled to step inside. While the person remains on the ground floor, I slowly make my way up to The Parlour's waiting room. There's someone I don't know behind the counter, and when I pass the detector that makes a bell chime, the woman turns to me and offers a smile. She looks very welcoming, with her pink hair, light brown skin, and round cheeks.

"Welcome to The Parlour," she says when I reach the high desk. "Are you here for information, or do you have a booking with us?"

"I'm, uh, is Jake here?"

"Yes, I think he's in his office."

"I need to talk to him."

"Are you a friend? Who should I announce?"

"I'm his girlfriend." God, I hope I still am.

"You're Gen? It's so nice to meet you! We've heard so much about you."

"Oh, thanks. I haven't been around here much, so I didn't get to meet all of you guys."

"I'm Cass, Cassidy. I was one of Jake's first hires. He came to get me all the way in Atlanta when he opened this place."

"That's amazing! The few people I talked to last time told me how great of a workplace this is."

"Your boyfriend is one hell of a man."

"He really is, yes."

The small talk helps soothe my nerves a little, but the reminder of Jake's incredible personality only makes me feel stupider.

"Gen?" a friendly voice calls out. I turn and find Eli coming out of the hallway that leads to the offices. "Hi! What are you doing here?" he asks.

"She's here to see Jake," Cassidy explains in my stead.

"Oh, you're in luck. He hasn't left for his lunch yet. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

I shake my head.

He takes my arm and leads me toward the hallway. "Did something happen? He's been all moody since that dinner you had the other day. But he won't tell us what it is."

"I messed up, but I'm here to fix it. Can you go get him, please? But don't tell him it's me."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think I can handle it if he refuses to see me," I confess, swallowing back tears.

Eli's usually merry eyes turn sad. "I'm sure he wouldn't, Gen. Before I go, do you need a hug? You look like you're about to break."

"It can't hurt," I say with a small shrug.

His kind smile warms me up. He doesn't hesitate to enfold me in his arms and give me a supportive hug. Please, God, let Jake take me back.

As if I've conjured him with my thoughts, his voice echoes next to us. "Anyone care to explain what's going on?"

We rip away from one another as if we were doing something wrong. Jake looks so good in his dark green shirt with a tartan pattern that my chest hurts at the thought that I might have lost him. The sleeves are rolled up his muscular forearms, and a few buttons are undone at his chest, which allows me a glimpse at the inked drawings I now know by heart.

"I-I came here to see you," I explain, swallowing the knot in my throat.

"I'll leave you two alone," Eli offers before heading off to his office.

With him gone, it's just Jake, me, and the awkward tension. I'm not sure how to start this because my earlier rush of adrenaline and courage wore off during the ride. It would be so much easier if I had the same bravado as when I quit my job.

But this needs to be handled with a clear head and not high on some empowering spell.

"I read somewhere," I carefully start, "that some people use tattoos as a form of therapy. Is it true?"

"It is. For some people, marking their skin helps with trauma, as it can give meaning or closure. And while we're not licensed professionals, a lot feel the need to talk while it happens. Also, the pain can be grounding, in a way."

"Then would you tattoo me, Jake?"

His eyebrows twitch with surprise and confusion. "You want a tattoo?"

"Only if you do it. And I know you're a very famous artist with a busy schedule, but it won't take long, I promise."

He swallows back a smile as if I just said something utterly ridiculous, and I can't help but see it as a good sign. "No way I'd let anyone else tattoo you anyway. Come, my station is in room three."

Jake guides me toward the room with a "3" painted on it, and after a quick knock to make sure no one's in there, he opens the door and invites me in. The space is clean, with an exposed brick wall and a wide window. On each side of it, there's a cushioned chair that looks like it can be adjusted in every possible way, as well as a movable cart and a rolling stool.

Jake takes my bag and hangs it on a hook by the door before he adjusts the volume of the music. Then he returns to me, locks the door, and goes to sit on the stool before rolling closer.

"What do you want, and where?" he asks.

"Since it's my first time, maybe somewhere discreet?"

"The most discreet spots for women are around the bra area or the hips and lower back. That can be hidden even under a swimsuit."

"Hmm… I think I would like somewhere on my ribs," I explain, showing him a spot on the left side.

"It's a painful area."

"I can bear it."

"We might have numbing cream somewhere if you—"

"No, that's okay," I decide, removing my jacket.

"And do you know what you want?"

"I want a small ladder."

"That corporate ladder you're so eager to climb?"

I shake my head with a wince. "No, I want it to have six steps and be yours. It's Jake's ladder."

His eyes darken with possessiveness, and again, I feel like everything isn't lost yet. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Gen."

"Why?"

"It's one of our rules, remember? No tattoos about someone you've known for less than a year."

"Oh, right. Sometimes, I forget we met so little ago. Then I suppose I could get…"

I think about it, but nothing comes to mind. I really want him to do this because it would be a grand gesture and give us some time to talk.

"Do you trust me?" he asks out of the blue. I don't even hesitate before I nod. "Then let me decide for you."

Anything. I'll give him anything he wants. "I trust you, Jake."

"You can remove your blouse and get comfortable while I prepare everything," he offers.

I nod and start with the tiny buttons holding my shirt closed. By the time I'm done with them, he has assembled a few things on a steel tray and is adjusting a lamp. Once the blouse is hanging next to my bag, I unclasp my bra as well and leave it with them.

My chest is bare when he looks at me again, and his eyes zero on my breasts with hunger.

"Cheap shot, red," he mumbles.

"You said bra area, so I thought it would be in the way. And it's not like you never saw them before."

"It never gets old. Come, take a seat."

I diligently follow his instructions and take my place in the weird chair before him. His eyes are locked on my nipples, and I bite back my amusement. Men are such simple creatures. He's done slipping on a pair of black latex gloves when I lean back into the seat.

"First things first," he professionally says before ripping a lengthy piece of paper towel. I'm intrigued at first, but when he lays it on my chest, I giggle. "There, now I'll be able to focus."

"You're so suggestible."

"You have amazing tits, is all. Now, lean over to your right a little. I'll need access to this bit right here," he explains, gently grazing the area he means—on the side of my ribcage, right next to my heart, like I showed him. I ignore the small shivers his touch ignites and comply.

He looks very focused and professional, and I love seeing this side of him. First, he uses a disposable razor to remove the invisible hairs that must be there, and then he wipes the skin with a piece of gauze doused in rubbing alcohol to disinfect it. His expression turns even more serious when he picks up a marker from his tray. At the first touch, I jolt away with a giggle.

"Sorry, sorry," I say, fighting against my smile.

I'm prepared for the second time, so I contain the tiny electric jolts he triggers.

"You were right," I decide to say to distract myself.

"About what?"

"The way my parents treat me. It took you one evening with my mother to understand something I couldn't see for a decade."

"Sometimes, it's hard to see clearly when you're too close to the situation," he justifies with a shrug.

"But I should have seen it. The day my sister died, I died along with her, in their eyes. They stopped treating me like a daughter—I became a nuisance, a disgrace. No matter what I do, it'll never be enough to overcome that."

It seems he's done with his sketch on my skin because he puts the cap back on and tosses the marker on the tray. When I try to lift my head and look at what he did, he stops me. "I thought you trusted me?"

"I do. I'm just curious."

"You'll see it in an hour, an hour and a half. Depends on how often this slips," he says with a nod at the paper towel hiding my breasts.

I'm tempted to take it away to tease him, but I resist the urge.

Without a word, he picks up a tattoo gun from his tray and proceeds to set a sterile needle on it.

"When did you do your first tattoo?"

"In juvie. With a needle someone stole from the infirmary and ink from a pen. Then, I worked at a parlor for a bit when I came out. And after my brief stay in prison, I moved to Japan, where I learned with a true master of the craft."

"The one who tattooed the geisha on you?"

He nods. "I stayed ten months with him then came to the US. I found a few parlors to work with and saved up as much as I could to start my own thing. When Kill came up with the idea to buy back The Devil's Court, Eli and I quickly followed him into it. From then on, money came faster, and I was able to invest in this building."

"A true rise to success."

"I'm doing what I can with what I have. Alright, red. I'm going to make the first line. I'll go slow, but try to stay perfectly still, okay?"

I nod and stare at the ceiling, praying the pain isn't as bad as my expectations. His tattoo gun is a lot smaller than I thought and battery-powered, so it might be a good sign.

The noise of it turning on startles me, but I don't move. And because he warns me just before he sets the needle on my skin, I'm not surprised by the contact. The sensation isn't too uncomfortable and more like heat than actual pain. My skin warms up around the area he's poking, but the breaching itself doesn't hurt for long.

"Was that okay?" he asks, lifting up the tattoo gun and turning it off.

"Yeah, it really doesn't hurt that much."

"It can get overwhelming after a while, so let me know if you feel sick or need a break, alright?"

"I will."

"Perfect. Let's get on with it, red. You have a therapy session pending."

Something tells me that I could stay silent the whole time, and we'd still be good. His attitude toward me, despite how terribly I handled the situation with Vivienne, is proof of it. Jake doesn't resent me, even though he has every right to.

But I need to apologize and empty my heart to him because he deserves it. I need him to understand and believe that I'll never treat him like that ever again. I'm growing out of my insecurities and problematic patterns. From this day forward, I will always put him first.

He's my wombat, and I will never take him for granted ever again.