So Steady: Silver Daughters Ink, Book Two (Silver Daughters Ink Book Two) Page 2

  “You don’t get it! They’re a part of me.”

  “Oh, I get it alright.” Aaron’s eyes were dark with fury. “Still got your tattoo, I see.”

  She clutched her left wrist. “So?”

  “So, you told me it was coming off. That you didn’t want to be a female with tattoos anymore.”

  The moment was deathly serious, but she couldn’t help it, she imagined Sam’s expression if she heard him talking about ‘females with tattoos.’ The smile that wouldn’t come in the mirror slid onto her face like an enemy submarine. She clapped her hand to her mouth, but Aaron had already seen it. A muscle twanged in his jaw. “Oh, it’s all a big joke, is it?”

  “No, I prom—”

  Aaron’s wine glass shattered on the floorboards. “Is this funny? Are you laughing now?”

  She gave a panicky, birdlike screech. “What are you doing?”

  “Making myself clear.” Aaron’s icy gaze drilled into hers. “Me, or them, Nicole. Choose right now.”

  Chapter 2

  “Mr Newcomb, this is Gia from the Collingwood Medical Centre calling to confirm your appointment on the thirteenth. Please ring us back as soon as you can. Bye!”

  Noah deleted the voicemail. It was too early to return the call right now. He’d have to take a walk on his lunch break. Normally, he’d call at nine, but he didn’t need anyone at Silver Daughters finding out about his vasectomy. He shoved his phone into his pocket and tugged out his cigarettes. He lit up, exhaling into the cool morning air. He liked Brunswick before sunrise, subdued and a little bleak. He liked smoking on the way to work, thinking about the day ahead. Though lately all he thought about was Nicole DaSilva. The black gloss of her hair, the way her brow furrowed as she read, how she coughed when he got in from smoking in the courtyard. Or she had, until Sam told her to shut the hell up.

  “It’s dangerous,” Nicole told her twin, loud enough for him to hear. “Secondhand smoke and even thirdhand smoke kills.”

  She said it so prissily, as though maybe none of them had caught the word on cigarettes being bad for you. It made him want to laugh. Actually, it made him want to smoke while Nicole sucked him off, one hand tight in her hair to keep her in place.

  And she’d love it. That’s exactly what she wants, for me to fuck her like an animal and give her permission to like it.

  Sometimes that pissed him off. He walked around daydreaming about Nicole DaSilva’s hair and eyes and laugh, and the only sign she thought of him was the odd glance that said she was curious about getting drilled by the big scary man.

  Sometimes that pissed him off. This morning it made his cock throb. He could just picture her bent over his tattooing chair, naked except for sky-high heels. Please, Noah, I’m so horny I can’t think anymore. Please fuck me like a dirty, dirty, girl, then send me back to my spreadsheets?

  Yeah, Nicole DaSilva was exactly the kind of woman who distracted herself from her body with work, until she could barely cross her legs under her desk. Got all cranky with her coworkers instead of giving herself what she needed. How many times had he wanted to go into her office on a Wednesday afternoon, spread her out on her desk and…

  Christ, it was too early to get all cranked up about fucking someone else’s fiancée. Noah pulled his brain back into neutral, trying to take in the sights and smells as he made his way to the studio. He was tired, but that was his fault. Kelly had texted him at ten and, wanting a distraction from endless thoughts of Nicole, he’d invited her over. When they were done, he’d walked her to the door and Paula had come into the hall in her Minnie Mouse pajamas, primed for trouble. “Ooh, new girlfriend?”

  “Get back to bed,” he’d told her, but Kelly had already flashed Paula a hopeful smile. “Not yet.”

  He’d almost groaned. He’d been screwing Sam’s tattoo model for a while, and he was sure there was nothing to it but sex, but he hadn’t actually asked, and now he’d have to end things.

  As he crossed at the lights outside Brunswick Bakehouse, he trialed methods of letting Kelly down easy. A call was probably over the top, but a text was pretty cold. Meeting up with her just to tell her he was into someone else seemed like a dick move. He lit another smoke and remembered something his old man used to say. “You want to get rid of a girl, just vanish, mate. Stop calling; stop going anywhere she might find you. That’s the way to do it.”

  As he strode past a pop-up sneaker store, he reflected his dad had invented ghosting years before it entered the cultural lexicon. If his old man wasn’t in Bali avoiding charges—and a massive cunt—he’d call to congratulate him. Although, Harold Newcomb hadn’t invented anything. The art of wandering off to let chicks do the dirty work of dumping themselves probably went back to caveman times. His old man had just perfected it. Off the top of his head, Noah could remember three times stacked blondes had showed up at his house looking for his dad.

  “I haven’t seen the prick,” his mum told them. “Who knew bikies were such arseholes, hey?”

  Ghosting was a weak move, he decided, ashing into a street bin. He’d call Kelly tonight and tell her they weren’t going anywhere. He’d leave out the obvious question—why the fuck did she want them to go anywhere? The sex was fine, but it wasn’t earth-shattering. But maybe he was putting his feelings onto her. Maybe she’d been fully present when they fucked, while his mind turned like a compass needle back to Nicole DaSilva.

  He’d never been so obsessed with someone and unfortunately for Nicole, that was her. Until his idiot brain finally absorbed the fact she was engaged to some dickhead from Adelaide, he had to roll with the punches. Nothing else to do. She wasn’t interested. If she had been, she wouldn’t have run when they kissed in the hallway at Sam’s party. Not that it’d been a real kiss. More of a drunk peck.

  Noah reached the scarlet façade of Silver Daughters, taking a second to admire the polished windows and the clean sidewalk. Nicole had done that herself, sweeping and polishing in her tight skirt and red-bottomed heels.

  “We want to be perceived as a professional high-quality business,” she said at their last breakfast meeting. “That impression starts at the door.”

  “Doesn’t it start when the client thinks about coming to see us?” Tabby asked. “Or does it start at the point of their conception? Come on, everyone; let’s debate the nature of existence!”

  Noah didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Sometimes that felt like a good thing. He shouldered his way inside the studio and found Gil leaning against the reception desk, a lilac Supreme cap low on his forehead. “Hey.”

  Gil looked up. “Morning, big guy. Warm out there?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Hope it doesn’t get too hot today, I’ve got a PT session after work. Tris, back and thighs.”

  “Mmm.” Noah had heard enough about Gil’s gains, meal prep, and lifting schedule to last a lifetime. His fortieth was coming up and becoming a walking copy of Men’s Heath was how he was choosing to deal with it. That and buying a shiny black Fat Boy like the one Arnie rode in Terminator 2.

  He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the stand. “You ride in today?”

  “Nah, it’s too hard to carry my gym shit.” Gil flashed him a grin. “Why, do you want a go? We can chuck on some training wheels, if you like.”

  Noah ignored him. As far as the staff at Silver Daughters knew, he couldn’t ride and that was just how he liked it. “Where are the girls? Aren’t we having a staff meeting?”

  “Yeah, not sure that’s happening.”

  “Why?”

  Gil pointed at the ceiling, where the DaSilva family apartment lay. Noah listened, hearing nothing but the birds and traffic outside. “What?”

  “I heard a load of crying and banging not too long ago. There must be drama happening.”

  Noah stared at Gil, trying to work out if he was being funny. The DaSilva sisters were all big personalities, but they’d never cancelled one of Nicole’s meetings, not even the week the place had almost been burned down. �
��You gone up there to check on them?”

  “Nah, that’s not my business. No meeting means no pancake carbs, and I don’t have to listen to Nicole talk about the bottom line or whatever the fuck so…” Gil tugged at the brim of his cap. “I’m gonna get a keto coffee. Wanna come?”

  Noah glanced back at the ceiling. He didn’t want to stick his oar in, but he owed it to Edgar to check the girls were okay. “I’m gonna see what’s happening. Lock up if you leave.”

  Gil gave him a mock salute. “Good luck. Don’t let ‘em talk to you about their feelings.”

  Pretty hypocritical for a guy who could wax poetic about whey protein for hours on end, but male tattoo artists tended to be showy, shit-talking assholes. At least they did in the commercial industry. The guys who’d taught him to ink were a whole other kettle of fish.

  He headed around back to the residential entrance. He’d walked the cracked concrete path a million times when Edgar still lived here. They’d had dinner a few nights a week, before Nicole or Tabby were around and Sam was single and always off with her latest fling. He and Ed would sit in the backyard drinking beers and talking about art and music. He was the only man he’d ever been able to relax around. Now he was gone, his daughters filled his absence.

  Sam became his boss; Tabby took the spare artist slot and Nicole flew in from Adelaide to fix the finances and fuck his head into a new dimension. He hoped he wasn’t going to run into her upstairs, lately she’d been leaving the room as soon as he walked into it. Smart chicks not wanting a bar of him was nothing new, but Nicole was under his skin so deep, it stung.

  The minute he saw her he’d known he was fucked, not because she was taken or miles out of his league, but because she was rose gold. Whenever he looked at her, he saw the peach blush of sunset. You couldn’t replicate that colour with ink or paint or even tech. There was too much light in it. It glowed.

  There was too much light in Nicole DaSilva, too. Too much goodness trying to get out. She hovered around Silver Daughters, polishing over problems. Her sisters called her a control freak, but he didn’t buy that. He had a feeling making other people happy was the only thing that gave her peace. And Sam and Tabby never gave her any credit—not only was Silver Daughters doing ten times better thanks to Nicole, they were doing ten times better. Two months ago, both sisters looked like underfed vampires. Now they jogged and ate kale salmon salad and the shadows under their eyes were gone. They went on about how much energy they had, but never thanked their sister for cooking their meals and dragging their asses to the park to walk. And unlike a control freak, Nicole didn’t want any credit. She seemed happy being rose gold, transmuting everything into a prettier version of itself.

  Noah knocked on the DaSilva’s front door. He could hear stomping and shouting but couldn’t make out what was going on. He hammered the door. “Hello? Sam?”

  There was no response, but his phone vibrated. Bemused, he pulled it out and saw the DaSilva landline number. He swiped to answer. “Hello.”

  “Morning, assclown.”

  It was Tabby, irreverent and peppy as ever. He frowned. “How’d you get my number?”

  “Secret government database. Why are you standing outside the door?”

  “Can you let me in?”

  “I asked my thing first.”

  Noah waited, but Tabby just hummed the Star Wars theme. He resisted a few seconds then couldn’t hack it anymore. “I want to know why the meeting isn’t on. What’s happening?”

  “Oh, the usual stuff. Rich get richer. Poor get poorer. Climate change. The ever-repeating cycle of birth and rebirth—”

  “I meant ‘what’s happening inside your house?’”

  She sighed. “It’s a long and complicated story, but essentially, we will not be having a meeting. In fact, I’m pretty sure Sam and Nicole won’t be coming downstairs today.”

  “What’s happened? Is Scott’s old man back?”

  A month ago, the DaSilvas’ old neighbour had tried to burn their house down in revenge for not selling the place to him. Greg Sanderson was supposed to be in a mental health facility in Queensland, but if he’d snuck out or something…

  “Nah, it’s not Scott’s crackpot dad, it’s about…well I shouldn’t say…”

  Noah gripped his phone. “Talk.”

  “I don’t know, it’s a pretty big deal…”

  “How big?”

  “Absolutely amazing. Basically breathtaking. Completely confounding. Deeply dramatic—”

  “Tabby, I swear to god.”

  “—Epically enormous. Frankly formidable. Guaranteed game-changer. Hectically huge…”

  “Tabby!” Sam shouted. “The fuck are you going on about?”

  “Nothing!” Tabby yelled. “Just focus on keeping her away from the cleaning products. I’m scared she’s going to do my room.”

  Noah frowned. Keeping her away? That sounded like… “Is Nicole all right?”

  “Nah, but hang on. I’m moving to a more covert location.” There was some shifting around, then Tabby cleared her throat. “Nix got dumped.”

  The sentence took a moment to seep into Noah’s brain. “Nicole?”

  “Got dumped, yeah. Well, not dumped. Aaron, the big dickcheese, shoved some cunt ultimatum about going back to Adelaide in her face then fucked off, even though she paid for the Airbnb they were staying in…”

  Noah stopped listening. A thousand victory flags were unfolding in his mind, waving scarlet, sap yellow and kingfisher blue. Nicole DaSilva, single. Ringless. Free to…what exactly? Where was he going with this bullshit?

  “…then Nix came home all puffy and told me and Sam to hide her phone and credit cards. That was ten hours ago. We’ve hit peak chaos now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nix is freaking out,” Tabby said cheerfully. "If she gets access to money or a phone, she’ll call Aaron and ask for her ring back. So, she’s under house arrest and we must stay here and make sure she doesn’t make the worst decision in the world just because she’s already hired wedding caterers.”

  Noah stared at the DaSilvas’ front door. He could hear more shouting now, was it Nicole calling out in grief, or Sam trying to contain her? Was she okay? Was anyone comforting her?

  “Noah, mate, you there?”

  He swallowed. “I thought the girl kept the ring?”

  “Usually, but Aaron’s such a tightarse pie-fucker he asked for it back. Hey, are you free next Saturday?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m planning a party. Well, more of a big drunken soirée. It’s to help Nix get over her failed engagement.”

  That sounded like a fucking terrible idea, but what did he know? His longest relationship had lasted six months. “Sure. Well, I’m gonna go open the studio.”

  “No, wait!” He heard several loud footsteps and then the front door flew open to reveal the youngest DaSilva in a red silk dress and yellow gumboots, her blue hair tied into a knot. “Let’s get a coffee!” Tabby said.

  “Uh…”

  She tutted. “Come on, man, I need to get out of the house.”

  “What about Nicole?”

  “She’s fine! Sam’s just put her in the bath with a glass of straight gin!”

  Noah tried not to think about Nicole in the bath, drunk and needing consolation. He tried not to think about anything at all. His head felt like it had just been stuffed with fifty hard drives’ worth of information. He needed time to sort this all out. “I should go back to the studio.”

  “Later.” Tabby grabbed his arm and steered him toward the sidewalk. Noah decided to let her, it was easier that way. They walked toward Sydney Road.

  “So,” Tabby said. “What’s new, Nobo? You still slamming Kelly?”

  Noah liked Tabby, but sometimes he wished she’d never showed up to help Sam with the studio. She didn’t give him sleepless nights like Nicole, but she also didn’t bring the slightest bit of structure, levelheadedness or homemade cookies to Silver Daughters. Instead, she
brought a thirst for drama, shitty nicknames and unhelpful observations.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” Tabby said. “I saw the two of you leave together at Scott’s housewarming. Sam knows, although she’s all ‘respect his privacy, blah, blah, blah.’ Nice work, man, Kelly’s helly-hot. I would say ‘hella,’ but it rhymes better this way.”

  Noah didn’t say anything and they walked to Hammers in silence. When they arrived, Tabby strode up to the counter. “Latte for the big guy, almond milk frappe for me, please.”

  The barista grinned, clearly under the impression they were a couple. Fat fucking chance. Tabby was attractive but with her blue hair and colourful tatts, she reminded him of a Pokémon. She was the furthest thing from his type. He fucked women who had piercings and liked it rough in bed and told stories about this ex-boyfriend selling gear for the Banditos or that cousin doing time for armed robbery. The kind of women who looked at him and saw something familiar.

  Although, Nicole wasn’t like that and it didn’t seem to matter. He wanted her like she was the last woman on earth and now she was single. He nudged Tabby out of the way and paid for their coffee. Would he get a chance to make good on all those heated little looks Nicole shot him? Should he order her a latte, take it back and—

  What? Ask if she wanted a rebound fuck? On the wake of her engagement collapsing? Christ, if she didn’t skin him, Sammy would.

  Get real, he told himself, as he and Tabby moved aside to wait for their order. He and Nicole had chemistry, but she was rigid in a way her sisters weren’t. Conservative. He bet she’d never had sex outside a relationship and even if she did, it wouldn’t be with him. Probably consider it a reduction on her overall marriage value. He liked fantasy novels, but he wasn’t dumb enough to confuse them with the real world, or the shitty past he’d climbed out of.

  His pocket buzzed but he ignored his phone. He had a feeling it’d be Imogen, or Jessica. He’d been fucking around lately, wanting a distraction that never fucking came.