I walked in to the corner of my room being completely converted into an art studio.
They’d set everything up — the brand-new desk, a dozen different-sized sketchbooks, pens and pencils and markers of all shapes and sizes and widths and colors and depths. The cherry on the cake was a brand-new tablet, one already set up with a drawing program.
I’d sobbed, clinging to my father and thanking him incessantly.
“It was your mom’s idea,” he’d whispered.
I was so shocked when I turned back to find my mother with tears in her eyes, and then I was clinging to her, crying a hundred thank yous into her shirt as she held me tight.
That memory curled around me like fog as I headed toward the shop, that same impatient, giddy feeling settling into my bones. Because just like then, I had a feeling I was walking into good news.
I had a feeling I was walking into a permanent job offer at the studio.
It was Monday, and the shop was closed, but Nero had asked me to come in for a couple hours. He’d assured me no toilets would be cleaned, and I’d laughed, all the while bouncing left to right just knowing there would be a job offer waiting for me.
Leo had thoroughly enjoyed watching me tear through dozens of outfits before landing on The One Where I Got Promoted. He was walking out the door to head back to campus for class after sneaking home with just enough time to make my toes curl before he had to go back. I couldn’t wait for the end of the night, where we’d both be home celebrating together.
As I drove, I imagined what I’d be walking into. I wondered if they’d already have my space set up and decorated, my name and photo on the wall. I wondered if the rest of the crew would be there, too, with signs and balloons and a cake. Welcome to the team! they’d all say.
I was truly floating by the time I parked, and I rode the cloud into the shop, hanging my coat and scarf along with my bag on the hooks by my temporary chair. It was quiet, but a smile still split my face.
“Hello?” I called.
“Back here!”
I followed the sound of Nero’s voice to the back office. His brows were furrowed as he worked on a design on his iPad, but he grinned ear to ear when I walked in, setting it aside. “Hey, Mary J.”
He was up out of the chair and halfway to me before I could tell him that I did not want that nickname. I’d heard it enough as a kid to have to ever hear it again as an adult. But his smile was so big when he wrapped me in a bear hug that I figured I could save that for another time.
Nero’s hands stayed on my arms as he pulled away, and he looked me up and down from head to toe. I’d landed on one of my favorite black blouses that was form-fitting but modest, along with dark skinny jeans, and black pointy-toed boots with a three-inch heel. It was simple, and yet the way each piece accented my curves and lines, it made me feel powerful.
“You look… stunning,” he said, still holding on.
“Thanks,” I replied, blushing a little. Not because of his eyes, but because I was having flashbacks to putting on this outfit and having Leo immediately strip me out of it and bend me over the desk in our room.
Our room.
I tried not to linger on that thought.
Clearing my throat, I stepped out of his grasp and pretended to tidy up some files on one of the desks. “So, what do you need help with?”
“I called you in to have a talk, actually,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”
I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face as I did.
This is it. I’m getting my own chair.
I sat down as calmly as I could, crossing my legs as Nero sat across from me. He rolled the chair until his knees almost touched mine, then leaned back and folded his hands together over his chest.
He really was a vision — all that dark hair on his head and face, the dark ink on every inch of his skin. It made me feel a bit stupid for how I overreacted with his comments a couple months before. He could have any girl he wanted, and he had bagged one of the hottest ones I’d ever laid eyes on. His wife was a smoke show.
He was just a flirty guy. And ever since that night at the bar with Leo, Nero had been nothing but professional, as if he realized that what he’d said could have been taken out of context, that he might have made me uncomfortable.
Now, I came into work and did my job and he left me to it.
I could get used to that — a flirty, good-looking boss who trusted me and left me alone.
“I’ve watched you really come into your own over the last month and a half,” he said, an easy smile on his face. “Whether it was a simple line of script on a forearm or a complicated custom piece on a back, you’ve treated every client the same — with respect. You’ve given them your full attention and made them feel important, which is the best thing you can do in this industry. You already have people wanting to come back — not to this shop, but to you.” He shook his head. “Most artists wait years for that kind of loyalty.”
I beamed under his praise, my skin so warm I pressed my palm to my cheek. “Thank you.”
“You can thank yourself. You’ve worked hard for this. You took every hour of your apprenticeship seriously, and you’ve really honed your skill, your style. I think you have a bright future ahead of you.” He paused. “I think you have a bright future here — if you want it.”
I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from squealing. “Really?”
He chuckled, standing. “Yes, really.” He walked over to the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing one to me. He cracked his open and tapped it to the edge of mine before I did the same. “Drink up, Mary. This is your official job offer to work at Moonstruck.”
An elated, singsong laugh burst out of me — which made Nero grin wider. He took a long pull of his beer, and once I was done freaking out, I sipped mine. I didn’t really like beer, but I wasn’t going to turn down a celebratory drink from my boss.
“Thank you,” I breathed. “I… I’m shocked.”
“You can set your own schedule with the clients you book online, but at least to start out, I want you here in the shop a dedicated three nights a week for walkins. You’ll pay me rent for your chair and anything you make over that is yours. Rent will cover our basic supplies, but if you decide you want a special gun or brand of ink, that’s on you.”
I was nodding along feverishly as he spoke, abandoning my beer to take notes in my phone. I didn’t care if I barely made enough to cover renting the chair — I was hired. I was officially a part of the shop. I would have my own chair, my own space, my own clients.
I could barely sit still.
Nero stood when he was done, opening his arms. “Welcome to the team.”
I leapt up, crashing into him and wrapping him in just as fierce of a hug as he gave me. He picked me up a little, spinning us while I chanted thank you thank you thank you over and over again.
Nero chuckled when he stopped spinning, and he slowly dropped me back to the ground. It felt a little uncomfortable how my breasts smushed up against his chest and every inch of him on the way down.
I laughed it off, though, and once I was standing again, I tried to pull out of his grasp.
But he held me tighter.
“Congratulations,” he said, looking down at me over the bridge of his nose. His breath smelled like he’d had maybe more than just that one beer. “I’m really happy you said yes.”