Naked (11 page)

She opened the glass door that led to a set of stairs, taking her up to the second floor of the building to Inked. She didn’t hesitate when both feet hit the small foyer at the top of the stairs. She knew if she gave herself even a minute to think, she might change her mind.

A bell rang when she opened the door. Immediately, the smell of disinfectant blasted her in the face. The buzz of the tattoo gun was loud, even though the work was being done in the back behind a wall with a white swinging door.

The walls of the shop were black, but the room was surprisingly vibrant, in part because of the seating area, which housed red plastic chairs with metal legs, the green coffee table with several tattoo magazines fanned across the surface, and the multicolored frames that lined the walls with various tattoo samples.

Directly ahead of her was a glass counter displaying a variety of rings and studs, all colors and sizes for every body part imaginable. Ouch!

“Can I help you?” A fair-haired man greeted her with a smile. He wore a black T-shirt and green cargo pants. His light brown hair was gathered into a man bun. His hands were adorned with silver rings and two black leather cuffs wrapped around his wrists. Unsurprisingly, his body was covered with ink.

Damn. He was a ridiculously good-looking man.

She approached the counter, pulling at the scarf around her neck.

In a few minutes, you can take it off.

“I’m here to see Harper Jones.”

“Do you have an appointment?” He smiled so sweetly, an expression she hadn’t been expecting.

She shook her head. She needed to stop stereotyping. Noah had tattoos. Noah was sweet. So was Luke, once she’d gotten to know him a little better and he wasn’t so intimidating.

Luckily, her nonresponse wasn’t grounds for her being kicked out. He nodded several times in understanding, and said, “One minute.”

He loped to the white swinging door and stuck his head in the back. “Jones! Someone here to see you.” Now that he was out from behind the counter, she saw that he wore green Converse shoes and the hem of his cargos were folded up, revealing he wasn’t wearing any socks.

“If she’s busy, I can come back.” This was a mistake. “She’s probably busy.” She couldn’t disclose her darkest secrets to a stranger. A stranger who was friends with Noah. “Or call. I should have called first and—”

“Violet?” Harper’s voice interrupted her senseless babble. “What are you doing here?”

The question hit her hard. Maybe she’d read the signals wrong. Maybe Harper’s scrutiny the other night wasn’t a silent invitation.

The swinging door squeaked when Harper let it go behind her, approaching Violet from the other side of the counter.

“I’m sorry.” Violet was sweating. She was officially a nervous wreck. “I can come back if you’re—”

“Nonsense.” Harper walked closer and pulled her into a hug. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Immediately, Violet’s body eased and she relaxed into the gesture. Harper’s pink hair smelled like citrus. Today she wore a black corset-type top with thick black straps and a red skirt that hugged every perfect curve. The small diamond in her nose sparkled in the overhead lighting. Her hair was straight today with a casual flip out at the ends. Her lips were red to match her skirt, her eyes lined in heavy black liner. The vibrant pink of the lotus flower spread out over her shoulder was eye-catching. Green leaves and vines tied it all together, spanning over her collarbone, down her biceps, and over her shoulder.

“I wanted to…” How did she say exactly why she was here? “I was hoping you could…”

“You want some sexy photos to give to Noah, don’t you?” Harper rubbed her hands together in mischief. “I knew I had piqued your interest when I was harassing Charlotte.”

The man who greeted her snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

Harper glared at the man behind the counter. “Ari Abrams, this is Violet…” She left the introduction hanging, but then quickly recovered. “Just Violet.”

Ari nodded with a smile.

“Could we…” She needed to get out of the spotlight. And right now, this waiting area felt like the middle of a Broadway stage on opening night, and she’d forgotten her lines. “Do you have an office?”

“Of course. Where are my manners?”

Harper held out her arm and motioned for her to move ahead of her through the door. “Can I get you something to drink?” She detoured to a small room that looked like an office and reached into a mini fridge.

“No, thank you.”

Harper pulled out a can of cream soda. “If I don’t have at least two of these a day I get a little cranky. I drink so much I don’t think I need to dye my hair pink anymore.” She laughed at her own joke.

Illogical. Cream soda wasn’t actually pink.

Shut it, Violet. You got her point.

Harper led her to the back of the tattoo shop where there were four rooms. Three of them were occupied by artists. The buzzing was louder back here. It vibrated through her body, but in a good way. An exciting way.

She tiptoed, not wanting to draw attention to herself in case Luke was here. But any intention of being quiet was squelched when Harper yelled, “Luke! I have a client. Keep out.”

A curt “okay” sounded just before she shut them into the fourth room.

This room was just like Harper. The walls were painted a bright yellow—all sunshine and happy days.

A lighted mirror table sat in the corner with a small bench seat, two tackle boxes of makeup on top. A small table was in the middle of the room with two chairs and to the left was a black backdrop and a red chaise lounge. Photography equipment was strewn everywhere.

“So how can I help you?” Harper watched from the makeup table, arms folded across her chest, a casual smile on her face. But there was nothing casual about this.

She’d never shown anyone her scars before. Not even Roxy. Not even her parents had seen what she looked like now that she was no longer wrapped up in bandages. The only people who had seen them were the doctors and nurses.

“Violet?” Harper stared at her with a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to tell me why you’re here.” She placed her fists on her hips. “I’m pretty awesome, but mind reading isn’t one of my skills.”

“Sorry.” Violet used to be that confident. So comfortable with her appearance that she felt like she could do anything. “I…should just show you.”

Was it hot in here? It was definitely hot. The closed door had stopped the air circulation. Panic rose up her throat. She wasn’t claustrophobic but today, in here, she might be.

Harper was now giving her a curious look.

Great way to scare the stranger, Violet. As if people didn’t already think you’ve gone off the deep end.

She wanted to get better. Wanted to believe that she was more than boobs and a pretty face, but who was she if not Ward Walker’s beautiful daughter? “Intelligent daughter with a master’s degree in business administration” wasn’t the descriptor that was ever used. And if she had any hope of moving things to the next level with Noah, she needed to do something about this self-loathing.

Here goes nothing.

She reached up, unraveling the scarf from around her neck. Immediately Harper’s eyes focused on the V-neck collar and the single scar that poked up from the fabric.

Another deep, shaky breath, and with sweaty palms, Violet gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled it off.

She shut her eyes tight. She couldn’t bear to look.

This was it, the very first time she’d shown her body to someone who wasn’t in the medical community. She couldn’t handle it if she looked at Harper and saw pity.

“You have a beautiful body.”

“Huh.” She unglued one eye and peeked at Harper. “Beautiful?” She looked down, this time opening both eyes. “Beautiful?” Disbelief laced every syllable. “Do you
not
see the scars?” She pointed to her chest. She didn’t even have to look in the mirror anymore to know what they looked like. The biggest scar, the one that bisected her chest and shot through her collarbone was thick and lumpy in a few spots, and smaller scars slashed her stomach.

“I see the scars. But your body is beautiful.”

Was this chick for real? “I think this was a mistake.” She’d expected a reality check, not to be lied to. She bent to pick up her shirt but stopped at the sound of Harper’s voice.

“Did you come here for pity?” When she didn’t answer, Harper pressed. “Did you come here so that I could wallow in self-pity with you?”

Violet shook her head, trying her best to pretend that she was all right. “Who said anything about self-pity?”

Was she that obvious? Was her pain even more visible than the scars on her body?

“If you expected me to feel sorry for you or tell you that you’re now hideous because of those scars, you probably should leave. But if you came here to see if I could help you, to have an open mind and try to help yourself, then I suggest you have a seat and tell me all about it.”

She’d come here for help. To talk it out. So she could have sex with her neighbor.

And to feel good about herself again. You know, priorities, and all.

Harper walked over to the small table and sat in the chair. “Tell me what happened.” She gestured for Violet to sit, but she couldn’t.

“I was in a car accident.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. Spoke above the blood rushing through her ears. “I used to be engaged.” Guilt seized her chest; that overwhelming feeling of blame returned. “He died. I lived.” It was funny how so few words could sum up the utter devastation of her entire life.

“Violet…” Sympathy stared back at her in the form of gray eyes. She hated that most of all. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she spat. “I’m a horrible person.” Her breath whooshed out. That was the first time she’d said it out loud.

Harper clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “It’s not uncommon for survivors to feel guilt over being spared when others aren’t so lucky.”

“It’s more than that.” Violet let her face fall into her hands as she slumped into the seat across from Harper. “I feel guilty because I didn’t love him.” Tears pooled in her eyes. She couldn’t hold them at bay any longer. “I tried. Maybe I did at one point in the beginning, but near the end…” The overwhelming need to flee washed over her just as it had every time she was with Steven. “He just stood for everything I didn’t want. What I
think
I don’t want.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want.”

Harper reached out, resting her hand on her elbow.

“I love my job, though.” Violet’s head shot up. “I’m good at my job. My father taught me well, but after the accident I realized that’s all I was. Just my job. And it stung to know that no matter how smart or good at it I was, I was always addressed as the daughter, the
beautiful
daughter.”

“Self-doubt is our worst enemy.” Fitting public service announcement. She wondered how many other catchphrases Harper had up her sleeve. Maybe this woman, for all her confidence, was just a sham. What could she possibly know about feeling bad about yourself?

“Why am I telling you all of this?” This was so out of character, talking to a stranger about her problems. Usually Roxy was her sounding board. “You’re not a therapist.”

“You’re right. I can’t help you with the guilt or whatever emotional scars you’re dealing with. And given the circumstances of your accident and the loss of your fiancé I can’t imagine what must be going on in your head. But I can tell you what I’ve learned, and most important, that you cannot let those scars define you.”

Those last few words were hard to swallow.

“But they do define me. I’ve always struggled with men not taking me seriously. It didn’t matter if I was good at my job, because I was beautiful. I might have second-guessed my success in business, but I was always confident in that beauty. So how am I supposed to move forward in business if the one thing I could count on to make people notice me is gone?”

“Those are two separate things, Violet. You need to be confident in
you
. And you are more than just what you look like on the outside.”

“But that’s who I am. All my life everyone always told me I’m beautiful.”

“You still are.”

Violet snorted.

“I think it’s homework time.” Harper smiled wide, her eyes lighting up. “Has anyone seen your scars?”

She shook her head. “Aside from doctors and nurses, just you. Not even my best friend or my parents.”

Her face grew stern. “You know, keeping the scars hidden will only make your anxiety about them worse.”

“So what…” Violet scoffed. “You think I should show them off?”

“I’m not saying stand in the middle of the street, but you need to own those scars.” Harper tapped her chin. “What about Noah?”

Violet snorted. “Um…no. He hasn’t seen them.”

Harper’s finger moved from her chin to tapping on the table. “So then you haven’t banged.” She winked.

“We’ve only…” Her face flushed when she let the sentence linger, thinking of the night in the foyer. She hoped that Harper picked up on the intention. “It didn’t require the loss of my shirt or scarf.”

Speaking of…she wasn’t wearing either right now and she was surprisingly comfortable.

“Very sly of you.” Harper winked but grew serious. “He doesn’t know any of this?”

“Are you kidding? What sane man would want to screw someone with these scars, not to mention someone who’s a complete emotional wreck?” There was no way she was disclosing the truth to a stranger. “Needless to say, your discretion is appreciated.”

“But you
want
to have sex with him?”

Violet’s jaw dropped. “Have you seen Noah?”

Harper laughed. “Yes, I have.” She settled back against the chair and reached for her cream soda on the mirrored table.

Terror and insecurity tightened her stomach. What if—

“No, I haven’t slept with him.” The answer was so quick, she couldn’t be lying.

Violet let out a hard breath when she’d realized she’d been holding it.

Harper squeezed both her hands. “I’ve spent a long time learning to look past the surface. Everyone has something to offer this world. Everyone is beautiful. But if
you
don’t feel it, no one else will either.”