CRAZY FOR YOU: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Material Girls Book 3) Read online

  Just thinking about it makes me laugh—which makes Cookie fly off the handle.

  “There’s nothing funny about this. The effects of your immaturity have a trickle-down effect. It gives the Commons family—and brand—a bad name. If you’re branded a thief, our patrons will think we’re thieves too. They’ll think we’re ripping them off.”

  “Your brain is so completely warped!”

  “My brain is warped. You’re too selfish to think about how your actions affect your own family, but my brain is the warped one out of the two of us?” Mama asks.

  My phone vibrates against my face alerting me that I have fifteen minutes until my appointment with Louis Vitale.

  “I gotta hop into a meeting, Cookie,” I say, mimicking the way my father ends conversations he wants to get out of quickly. “Huge business opportunity. Maybe even one you can brag to your friends about.” I chuckle, disconnecting the call and tossing my phone onto the passenger seat without waiting for a response. It probably seems harsh, but I don’t regret it, because that’s the relationship Cookie and I have.

  Neither of my parents will ever brag to their friends about me; not as long as I’m in the tattooing community. They can’t see the art past the medium. They seem to think tattoos are for the lower class—no matter how many multi-millionaires and celebrities have them. If I were a painter or sculptor getting paid thousands of dollars for something a client commissioned me to create, they’d have no problem with my life as an artist.

  That’s fine art—art they approve of. Hell, when I was a teenager, they wanted me to create clothing lines for Commons Department Stores because they knew I had talent. I tried it for a hot minute before I realized they didn’t want my concepts for a clothing line; they wanted me to use my design skills to bring their lame-ass ideas to life. If I’m going to choose any hill to die on, it’s that I only want my name associated with work I’m proud of—and that doesn’t include the latest trends for soccer moms.

  That would be the moment I sold out.

  I tried, and I failed. I failed myself and my parents.

  The way I see it is: they can’t say I wouldn’t work for them, and I can’t say my parents never offered me a position in the family business. Mama does say I didn’t try since I refused to do what she wanted me to do. She’s one of those people who will never be happy, so I accept it and try to brush her criticism aside.

  Harris and Cookie don’t understand that most of my clients pay $200-$300 per hour to have my artwork on their body. They lift their noses into the air because my canvas is a living, breathing thing. I’m an artist of all sorts of mediums, so I’m not slamming anyone. But nothing pisses me off more than when one form of art isn’t acknowledged, or deemed as worthy, as another form.

  Sometimes I like to compare it to hockey. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know shit about hockey, but I know it’s not easy to play any sport on a professional level, and those guys do it while balancing on blades and ice.

  Drawing and painting are not easy to do, but a tattoo artist does it on skin. Our canvases move, stretch, feel pain. It’s easy for people like my parents to look down on us because they think the community is made up of lower-class citizens, but a tattooist is an artist, plain and simple.

  It’s not worth explaining anymore. I know my family doesn’t approve. I know they look down on me. I know they think I’m wasting my talent.

  I stopped giving a fuck years ago.

  Pretty sure they’d be happy if I changed my name legally and never had the chance to drag our family into the news again.

  Hmmmm…that may be the next thing I do. She’ll either love it or be super pissed. I’m willing to take the chance.

  Before I get out of the car, I flip down the sun visor and check my makeup in the mirror. Smoky black eyes. Check. New red lip stain still in place. Check. Shimmering highlight drawing attention to my cheekbones. Hell yes.

  “Fuck girl! You look good,” I tell myself out loud as I slam the visor up.

  Grabbing my cell phone, I drop it in my bag before jumping out of the car. As I stride toward the entrance to the huge warehouse, my A-line, faux-leather, black, mini-skirt rides up my waist. My hand flies to the hem to keep in in place. Should’ve worn the hip-hugging one, but I love how this one looks hanging off my hips when I’m standing still. Hopefully, I won’t be walking too much once I get inside. If so, the lucky employees of Ambassador Ink will get a free show—a lacy, black thong and a rare view of the ink on my ass.

  The industrial vibe carries into the interior, as black, white, and grey are the primary colors used throughout the reception area. The ceiling is with a maze of exposed pipes and concrete beams. When a matching black leather couch and loveseat set catches my eye, I swallow back annoyance.

  One of the main reasons meeting with Louis excited me was because his company was one of the first to offer vegan ink. Though other companies have started selling vegan inks as well, I really love the colors in the Ambassador line. They’re great to work with and, like many artists, I stick with what I love and get beautiful results with. I assumed being cruelty-free was a company-wide philosophy, but maybe not. It’s not a deal breaker, just a bit disheartening.

  The girl behind the desk gets up to greet me. “Good morning! You’re Em Vicious, right?”

  “Yeah.” I reach out and shake her hand. “Here to see Louis.”

  “Absolutely,” she smiles. “Come on back.”

  She leads me through a short hallway behind the reception area to a large conference room. Photos of gorgeous tattoos encased in gaudy, guilted gold frames line the dark gray walls. I recognize a few as some of Louis’s most famous work. As I pass I read the bold, Old English letters spelling out the name of the artist on a metal ribbon under the photo. The names are familiar—members of the Ambassador Ink Pro Team. The team consists of some of the most talented tattoo artists in the world who exclusively use Ambassador. Goosebumps break out across my arms at just being surrounded by all of this fantastic artwork.

  And it makes me like Louis Vitale even more. There are two types of people—the ones who make their business a shrine to themselves, and those who highlight their skill, but also promote other talent. Louis is known in the industry for his huge personality and wild stories—usually from tattooing and hanging out with legends of heavy metal. So it’s refreshing to see that he’s–somewhat—humble. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he chose to cover the walls with photos of his work and pictures with celebrities, but I totally appreciate that he didn’t.

  Then again, he could have had a designer decorate this place, so I’ll find out what he’s like when I finally meet him.

  “Please, take a seat.” The girl gestures to the large conference room table. “Can I get you something to drink? We’ve got coffee, water, soda—”

  “Coffee would be amazing,” I say as I shift the strap of my messenger bag over my head and set it down on the table. “Black, please.”

  “Absolutely,” she says again. “I’ll let Louis know you’re here and be right back with your coffee.”

  Once she leaves the room, I head straight for the walls again, absolutely mesmerized by the lines, shading, and blending in each piece. Though I’m happy with my work and how much I’ve progressed over the years, there’s always something to learn.

  I stop in front of a gorgeous black and grey portrait depicting Luke Skywalker and Yoda battling two shaded figures with lightsabers. My fingers slide across the glass, tracing the brilliant detail in Yoda’s features. It was done by a guy who works out of a shop just a couple hours away in Asheville, North Carolina. I’ve met him a few times, but never had the chance to pick his brain. Having the opportunity to hang out with him and watch him work for a bit would be amazing. There are so many people I want to observe, but so little time on my schedule.

  I’ve moved on to another photo; an intricate, Japanese-style dragon shaded with beautiful, bold colors. I don’t recognize the name of the artist, but I m
ake a mental note to look him up on Instagram later. I’m still staring at the scales when Louis enters the room.

  “EmVee!” His broad smile reveals the trademark gap between his two front teeth. For years, he sported a bushy, handlebar mustache, which concealed the space slightly. He’s recently embraced a neatly-trimmed goatee, which makes him look a lot younger. I think I read somewhere he’s in his forties.

  “Louis,” I say, taking a few steps to meet him near the door. When I offer him my hand, he grabs it and pulls me in for a hug. I can’t help the “Oof!” that escapes when I slam against his broad chest.

  “Glad you’re here. Did Amber offer you something to drink?”

  “Yeah, she’s bringing me an IV of the strong stuff.”

  “Just finished a bag myself.” He winks. “Please, sit.” He gestures to a chair before rounding the table and collapsing into the seat across from the one he offered me.

  I hesitate for the same reason the furniture in the reception area made me pause, sleek, black leather covers every chair. I understand that in the grand scheme of the world, it’s not possible or probable to avoid animal products altogether. I’m just a little miffed because Ambassador Ink’s branding revolves around vegan ink and cruelty-free products. It would be disappointing if they were just jumping on a vegan trend to sell a product. I get it—money is money—but still.

  “What’s up?” Louis asks, leaning over and digging into the front pocket of worn blue jeans. He plucks out his phone and tosses it onto the table.

  “I’m vegan. It’s the reason I use your ink in the first place, man.”

  “What?” He throws his hands in the air. “I thought you used it because it’s the longest lasting pigment and has better vibrancy than anything else on the market.” The huge smile tells me he’s not really upset.

  “That helps, too.” I shrug.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know that everything in this office is cruelty-free. Our COO and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We were both born and raised vegan.”

  I glance at the chair, then back to Louis. “For real?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about something that’s obviously important to you. All this shit is faux leather. We like the look, not the source. Probably like your skirt.” He nods toward my…well, toward my crotch, because that’s the only thing the fabric covers. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, skeeved out at his comment, until I realize he meant my skirt is fake leather as well. He wasn’t making a gross comment about liking the look of it—or me.

  I smooth my hands over the material and drop into the chair, which is as comfy as it is animal-friendly. “It’s so refreshing to be on the same page.” Knowing the cruelty-free philosophy runs throughout the company puts my mind at ease. “So, what’s up?”

  He folds his hands and places them on the table. “Straight to business.”

  “Time is money, Louis. You know that. I’ve got a hundred-fifty-person wait list I could be working on.” I relax in the chair, seemingly calm as a cucumber, though I’m filled with anticipation to find out why an OG tattoo artist called me to his company’s headquarters for a meeting.

  “A hundred fifty?” Louis’ eyes widen.

  “For new clients.” I shrug. “Our office manager doesn’t even know what kind of time frame to give them when they inquire. A year? Two?”

  Louis starts to speak, but Amber raps on the door and slides in, halting with he was about to say. She places a steaming mug of liquid gold in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I say, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.

  I didn’t have time to run into the Usual Market for my morning coffee because I forgot to set my alarm last night. I wouldn’t have woken up in time for this meeting had my mother not called to bitch me out over the lobster incident. Hearing “Mama Tried” by Merle Haggard—the song I have set as her ring tone—woke me up and saved me from looking like an unprofessional jackass. I missed the original call, and when she called back while I was on my way to Ambassador, I didn’t tell her that her persistence was a blessing in an ornery disguise.

  “I want you on our Pro Team,” Louis says when Amber leaves.

  “Say what?” I lean forward. My throat goes dry, and suddenly I wish I’d asked for water too.

  “And I want to get you on tour as soon as possible; four cities in four weeks. Think you can reschedule some appointments and make it work?”

  “Are you fucking with me?” I ask, still trying to get over my surprise. Being invited to join the Pro Team hadn’t even crossed my mind. That’s not an honor I ever expected to receive—and certainly not this early in my career.

  “I don’t fuck around when it comes to who I want to be the newest face of Ambassador Ink.”

  “Holy shit!” I sit up straight, unable to contain my surprise. “You want me to tour too?”

  “Guest spots at shops up north to get people in bigger markets familiar with you and your work. We’ve already got the shops lined up. We’ll announce our partnership as soon as you say the word.”

  “How soon are we talking?” I ask, my mind reels thinking about the sheer volume of clients I’ll have to reschedule. It’s doable, especially if I work on my upcoming days off to finish up some pieces I’m in the middle of and squeeze in some of my regulars before I go.

  “We’re hoping next month, but I didn’t realize you had such an intense schedule and list. I understand if we need to push it back.”

  I’ll be tattooing twenty-four-seven until I leave, to be available for a full month. But the opportunity is worth the hustle. “I need to check with the shop, but if Stan is down with it, then you’ve got a deal.”

  Louis reaches across the table with one hand extended. “Welcome to the team, EmVee.” We shake firmly. “This is fucking awesome.” He sighs. “If we can we can confirm your scheduled before my trip to Moscow at the end of the month, it’ll be a huge weight off my shoulders.”

  “Are you going to the Moscow Tattoo Convention?” I ask, bringing the coffee cup to my lips.

  “Yeah. A few guys on the pro team will be there. And I take any chance I can get to talk up Ambassador products when I’m in Europe.”

  “That’s bucket list shit.”

  “I thought Rybakov would have gotten you over there this year.”

  I laugh. “Fat chance. He doesn’t even tell us when he goes back home. Someone in the shop will see him post his location on Instagram and joke, ‘Guess Stan’s not coming in today.’”

  My boss is one of the most private people I’ve ever met. Even after being in his shop for over eight years, I barely know anything about the guy.

  “Every time I’ve met him, he kept to himself. Perfectly cordial, but I could always tell he’d rather be alone or in the zone, ya know?”

  “Yup. But you should refrain from talking about the zone to him, though—or any other Russian artist.” I spin side to side in my chair, gazing at framed artwork on the wall again.

  “Why? They don’t get in the zone while they’re tattooing?”

  “No, they do, but they don’t use that term. ‘The zone’ is what Russians call prison.”

  “No shit?” Louis asks. “I didn’t know that. Fuck! Over the years, I know I’ve mentioned being in the zone to a few Russians. They probably thought I meant the slammer.” Louis chuckles.

  “Well, you wouldn’t have known. They probably would have dismissed it or chalked it up to a dumb American. Or maybe he called up a few comrades in the motherland. Your name is on a list somewhere in underground Moscow.” I take a sip of my coffee. When I look up, Louis is staring at me with wide eyes. He didn’t think I was serious, did he?

  “All jokes aside,” I say, setting my cup on the table and resting my head on the back of the chair. “I’d give my right tit to visit Russia and pick the brains of some of those guys.”

  “Not the left?” Louis asks.

  “Nah,” I look down fondly. “She’s my favorite.”

  He bursts out laughing. “
Let’s see how it goes on your U.S. run. Then we can talk about Moscow.”

  Over the last two years, I’ve heard my two older sisters wax poetic about the men who’ve made their dreams come true. I finally understand what it feels like. Not in the same way, of course. My sisters are in love with their dream guys, and I don’t think Louis’ wife would appreciate that.

  Within five minutes, Louis Vitale just made my professional dreams come true. I’ve been looking for opportunities to get more exposure. Being sponsored by Ambassador Ink and touring in big cities up north will give me that.

  We discuss the general of what the tour will look like for a few more minutes before Louis has to get to his next meeting.

  When he rises from his seat to escort me to the door, I throw my arms around him and say, “This is totally epic! Thank you so much!”

  “Whoa!” He chuckles and returns the hug. “Glad to have you on the Ambassador team, EmVee.”

  I slide out the conference room and press my back against the wall next to the door, trying to compose myself. The excitement is hard to contain.

  I’m on the Ambassador Ink Pro Team.

  I’m on the motherfucking Ambassador Ink Pro Team!

  My heart pounds as I dig in my bag to retrieve my phone. I have to tell Stan. He’ll be pumped for me. Well, as excited as my stoic, dry, Russian boss ever gets.

  After shooting a quick text to Stan, I send a message to Fozzie, Liz, and her boyfriend, Austin. Those are the people I can count on to be excited for me. As I text, I start walking down the hallway.

  I may have gotten five minutes of unwanted fame with Fozzie’s lobster stealing incident, but being on the Pro Team and going on tour is a real opportunity for exposure. Nothing will stop me from making the most of it.

  Chapter Two

  Zayne

  “Good Morning, Amber!” I greet our receptionist as I rush through the lobby of Ambassador Ink, the tattoo ink distribution company I own with my older brother. Not sure why I’m rushing, because, after almost ten years of working together, I should know by now that Louis has never been on time to a meeting. Still, I like to keep my record impeccable. If you’re early, you’re on time, and if you’re on time, you’re late.