Hate You: Chapter 2

With both uni and my new job, the next week is over before I’ve realised it’s even begun. I’m only doing my Masters part time, so I don’t need to go into uni all that often. I spend most of my time working at home. My new hours at the studio are exactly what I was missing. It gets me out and I get to meet new people. It might not be my forever job, but it’s perfect for right now.

It’s almost four o’clock the following Friday when I walk into the studio reception with a takeout tray of coffee in my hand for everyone. The guys are all in their rooms setting up for a busy night of inking and piercing Londoners. Music pumps through the speakers that fill the studio, and I wiggle my hips in time as I make my coffee deliveries.

“How did we survive without you?” D asks when I pass his black coffee over.

“Just doing my bit to keep you going all night.”

“We appreciate it. Have you had a chance to look at tonight’s bookings? Are we full?”

“Pretty much straight through to two AM. Only a few drop-in slots open.”

He blows out a breath. “You’d better send a few more of these down my way then.”

“Didn’t sleep well?” I ask, now noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“Something like that,” he mutters.

“Well, if you need anything, just shout.” Turning on my heels, I leave him to set up.

About thirty minutes before we turn the closed sign to open, all three of the guys appear. After checking out their bookings for the night, they fall down onto the black leather sofas that fill the waiting room.

I’m busy inputting clients’ information so I don’t pay much attention to what they’re talking about, but when the bell rings above the door, my eyes automatically lift from my screen. I don’t see who’s entered because D stands, blocking my view.

“I’m sorry, we’re not open until—” My warning is cut off when D opens his arms to the visitor.

“You’re back!” he exclaims, pulling the guy into a one-armed hug. “Didn’t think you were planning on turning up until next week.”

“I wasn’t, but they’re set up and don’t need me getting under their feet.” His deep, rumbling voice does something to me. Goosebumps break out across my skin and I lean over in my seat in the hope of seeing the face that voice belongs to. Unfortunately, I lean just that little bit too far and the chair moves in the opposite direction, leaving me in a heap on the floor.

“What was that?” the deep voice asks.

“That? That was our new admin. You’re going to love her, she’s exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d hired?”

“Because your parting words to me were, and I quote, ‘just get it fucking sorted’. So I did just that. You’re gonna love her.”

Smoothing my hair down, I find my feet, ready to get up and meet the mystery man with the deep voice. I stand, wiping any dust off my arse from the concrete floor, and look up into a pair of blue eyes that I’ve not seen in years.

My chin drops as I take him in.

Zach Abbot.

The school’s bad boy, sex god, the guy everyone wanted to be friends with or have on their arm. He’s arrogant, obnoxious, and from what I remember downright rude. And right now, he’s staring at me like I’m less than a piece of shit on his shoe. Nothing new there. My heart pounds in my chest. What the hell is he doing here, and why was D talking to him like he owned the fucking place?

“Her? You hired her as our admin? You can’t be serious.”

My eyes open so wide I’m afraid they might just pop out.

“She’s awesome, Zach. Just give her a chance.”

“You’re fucking serious. Have you looked at her? She looks like she should be working a shift at a golf club not a fucking tat studio.” His eyes drop down my body, taking in my simple, black V-neck jumper and tan skinny jeans. My skin prickles with his attention and red hot anger blooms in my belly. And now I remember why I hated him so much at school. Not only is he all those things I previously mentioned, but he’s a massive fucking dickhead.

I step out from around my desk and stand before him. A few things have changed since I was at school and totally intimidated by the likes of Zach Abbot and his crew of self-righteous arseholes. I’ve learnt who I am. I’ve discovered that I’m not some weak girl who needs to cower away from bullies. I’m Tabitha fucking Anderson, and I’m not afraid to stand up for what’s right. Maybe my dad did teach me something with his controlling ways all these years.

“Problem?” I ask, standing almost toe-to-toe with him. I try to ignore my thundering heart and the fact that my hands are trembling. His unique manly, woodsy scent hits my nose and makes my mouth water.

Damn him for being so fucking tempting.

There was a time when we were at school when I’d have given my right arm to be this close to him, every girl would have. But I sat and watched. Being practically invisible back then seriously helped with that little endeavour, and I discovered that he wasn’t worthy of standing close to, let alone wanting anything else to do with him.

“Yeah. You don’t fit in in my studio.” He dismisses me with a nod of his chin.

“Your studio?” My eyes narrow in confusion. That can’t be right.

He tilts his head to the side as if he’s talking to an idiot. It does nothing but fire me up. “Yeah. My studio.”

My brow creases. There’s something else I should probably mention about Zach Abbot. His little sister is now my best friend. I had no idea when I first met Danni at uni. I assumed the surname was a coincidence—after all, there must be hundreds of Abbots out there. She’s a couple of years younger and I didn’t remember her from school; equally she didn’t know me, but that wasn’t a shock to me as I lived my life in the shadows. Danni and her family seem to think Zach, the middle child, spends his days living the high life off of his trust fund. Yet, he’s standing before me right now claiming to own a successful chain of tattoo studios. I had no idea when I first started, but this isn’t the only Rebel Ink in the world. There are four others in England and no less than three in America. And apparently, they all belong to him.

I stare at him, holding his captivating blue eyes hostage, struggling to believe that this man before me is the same one the Abbot family spends its time moaning about and making excuses for.

“What’s her name?” he asks over his shoulder.

“I’m standing right here.” If it were possible, steam would be bellowing from my ears right this second.

“So you are.”

“I’m Biff. I’m the one who’s been sorting out your shocking filing system, inputting your clients’ details that have been floating around on scraps of paper—have you even heard of GDPR?— and actually responding to some emails.”

“She also makes great coffee,” Spike adds.

His eyes hold mine, the blue getting colder by the second. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his gaze drops. My skin prickles as he runs it over my breasts, down my waist and all the way to my boots. My nipples pebble and my blood turns to lava with his undivided attention on me. It only makes me angrier. Nothing this guy does should affect me. Okay, so he’s hot. Even more so than I remember from school. He’s filled out, his shoulders are wider, his arms more muscular, and the way his t-shirt hugs his body leads me to believe there’s something delicious hiding underneath. Shame about the personality.

“You don’t fit in here. A posh girl sitting behind that desk does not give off the right first impressions. Sort yourself out, or kindly fuck off.”

A gasp sounds out behind me.

“What the fuck, man?”

D comes to stand next to me and I’m grateful for his support, but as I look over the four of them dressed head-to-toe in black, tattoos covering their skin and gauges in their ears, and lip and brow piercings catching the spotlights above, I realise that what Zach’s saying is right. I don’t fit in here. My Ralph Lauren jumper, my Versace jeans and my Louboutin boots most definitely don’t belong in a dark tattoo studio.

Sucking in a deep breath, I reach behind the desk and pull my pink Kate Spade bag from the bottom drawer. Looking at its soft pastel colour is more proof that, although said extremely poorly, Zach is correct.

“You’re right.”

“Biff, no.” D pleads. “Ignore this dickhead. You’re exactly what we need here. What you look like shouldn’t affect that.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for fighting for me.” I touch his forearm lightly as I pass.

They might think I’m about to walk out for good, but I will not cower to the likes of Zach Abbot, even if he is right. He’s just set out a challenge, and I never back down.

D, Spike and Titch’s voices ring out behind me as I allow the door to shut. It’s obvious none of them are happy about their boss’ opinion, but I already know they’re not going to change his mind.

Pulling my phone from my bag, I find my best friend’s phone number and hit call.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good. Do you have plans tonight?”

“I don’t, actually. What are you thinking?”

“I’ve got a challenge for you. Be at mine in an hour.”