There was someone else in the shop with them? Jeez, she really was out of it. For the past hour she’d been in the back pouring over stacks and stacks of flash—premade custom designs—and she hadn’t even heard the front bell go off.
“Wait—what am I interviewing him for?” she exclaimed as her father made for the door.
“You’ll figure it out.”
The cryptic response only freaked her out more. So far, her father had sat in on every interview she’d conducted, and now he wanted her to do a solo one?
You’ll be fine.
She clung to the reassuring voice in her head. She was worrying for no reason. Artist or piercer—those were the only two positions Conlon Ink had to offer, and she was perfectly capable of judging a candidate for either one. Except…she’d thought they’d already hired all the staff. Her father hadn’t said a word about needing more help.
As footsteps sounded from the hall, Brett quickly straightened up the mountain of papers on her desk. God, she was so not prepared for this. Her office was a mess. Her tank top was inappropriately skimpy. This applicant was definitely not going to take her seriously.
“Come in,” she called when a knock rapped on the door.
A second later, Brett stood up to greet her candidate—and gasped.
“Evenin’, angel,” AJ drawled. “You ready to do this thing?”
It took a second to unhinge her jaw from the floor. Then another one to properly steel herself against the incredible picture he made. Black pants, black T-shirt, black boots—the dangerously sexy attire told her he must have come from the club.
Dragging a hand through his short blond hair, AJ sat in the visitor’s chair and looked around. “Nice office. Are you going to be spending most of your time in here, or at your tattoo station?”
Brett gaped at him. Had he seriously just waltzed into her office after four days of radio silence and started making small talk?
“What are you doing here?” she stammered.
“Interviewing for a position.” An impish smile lifted his lips. “The position of Brett Conlon’s boyfriend.”
Her jaw fell open again and her knees got so embarrassingly shaky that she sank into her chair with an ungraceful thud.
“This is insane,” she muttered, her brain still trying to process not only AJ’s unexpected presence, but his even more unexpected announcement.
“More like unprofessional,” he chided. “Do you tell all your potential employees that they’re insane? That’s not what you should be leading with in an interview, angel.”
She just stared at him. His cheerful demeanor was starting to annoy her.
“Ask me why I want the job,” AJ prodded.
Brett mumbled a curse under her breath, then decided to humor him. He’d come all the way here for this craziness. Might as well let it play out.
“Fine. Why do you want this job?”
He leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him as if he had all the time in the world. “Well, first off, I think I’d make an excellent boyfriend. I’ll open doors for you and buy you flowers on your birthday.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Very unoriginal. I can get that from anyone.”
“I’ll watch any teen vampire show you become obsessed with.”
“Better, but not by much.”
“Okay, how’s this? I’ll have sex with you whenever you want, however you want it.”
A laugh struggled to break free. “Sounds intriguing. But still not a good enough reason for me to hire you. I have very high standards, Mr. Walsh.”
“Trust me, I know.” He looked like he was fighting a laugh too. “Ms. Conlon.”
“Then what else have you got?” she challenged.
Without breaking eye contact, he gripped the hem of his shirt and began dragging the cotton up his chest.
Brett’s mouth went dry when his tight six-pack was revealed. “Don’t you dare distract me with your bare chest,” she ordered.
“Can’t help it. I’ve got something to show you.” He drew the fabric higher and exposed his pecs.
Brett gasped in shock. “Oh my God. What did you do?”
Heart pounding, she draped half her body across the desk to examine the small line of black text tattooed above his left pec.
It was a date.
Fucking hell—the idiot had gotten the day they’d met tattooed on his chest.
“Oh God, I really hope that’s not permanent.” But she knew it was. She could see it in the swollen redness of his skin, which told her the ink was only a few hours old. And she’d recognize that distinct style anywhere—this was Rob’s handiwork, no doubt about it.