Beneath This Ink Page 22


I navigated the crowd to reach the elevator and took it up to the seventh floor. I exited into a lobby, and I could feel the music thumping from the club through the frosted glass doors to my right. My phone buzzed again.

C: Take the door to the roof.

Say what now?

I looked up and glanced around. Sure enough, there was a door marked ‘Roof Access—No Admittance’ in the left hand corner of the lobby.

I stood, unmoving for a moment, weighing my options. I jumped when my phone vibrated in my hand.

C: Trust me.

And I did.

I sucked in a deep breath as I pushed open the door of no return and saw a flight of stairs ahead of me. I climbed them and pushed through the next door with the same ‘No Admittance’ sign as the one below. I stepped out onto the roof and could see the lights of the city twinkling in every direction as I turned, surveying the view. The music from the club below pulsed all around me, as though someone had left the windows open.

“You came.”

I spun, spying Con sitting on a ledge that surrounded the rooftop.

“I said I would.”

“Thought you’d changed your mind when I told you to come up to the roof.”

“I considered it.”

“But you decided to go ahead and break the rules anyway?”

“Something like that.”

Con pushed off the ledge and came toward me. The music from the club shifted into a slower, lazier beat, and I wondered what Con’s plan was for tonight.

“So now that I’m here?” I twisted and looked out at the view. “What next?”

When I turned back toward Con, he was standing less than a foot away from me.

“What do you want next?”

That’s a loaded question. My good manners dictated that I tackle the elephant in the room—or on the roof—first.

“I apologize for yesterday. I shouldn’t have—”

Con held up a hand. “Don’t. I deserved it.”

“But—”

“It’s water under the bridge.”

I dropped my eyes to the tarred surface beneath my feet. “I can’t believe I did that. I’ve never…” I let my words trail off because I wasn’t sure what exactly I’d planned to say.

“Forget about it.”

I looked up at Con, and the easy sincerity in his expression was diametrically opposed to the anger and frustration that I’d seen there yesterday. I couldn’t help but tease him a little.

“I hope I didn’t do any permanent damage. When I… ummm… crushed them.”

His even, white teeth flashed with his smile. “You can say ‘balls,’ Van. It’s not going to kill you.”

I straightened. “Fine, how are your balls, Con?”

His grin widened. “How about you check for yourself?”

The laugh that escaped from my throat seemed to surprise us both. “I walked right into that one.”

“Sure did, sweetheart.” He shifted and thankfully dropped the subject. “Want a drink?”

“Wouldn’t be unwelcome.”

The giant neon sign perched on the edge of the roof glowed just brightly enough to illuminate the rooftop. “Beer okay? Or you need some Dom?”

I frowned. Every time, it was like one step forward, two steps back. “Are you ever going to lose that chip you’re carrying around? It must be getting heavy after all of these years.”

Con’s grin faded, and I mentally kicked myself for being the cause.

Instead of getting pissed, he just asked me, “You ever not going to be a rich girl, Vanessa?”

It was an odd question. “I suppose it’s possible that I could lose everything. But the likelihood of that is probably not very high.”

“And am I ever going to be anyone but the foster kid Joy and Andre Leahy adopted?”

“I don’t follow.”

“We can’t change who we’ve been and how it impacted who we became. So the short answer: that chip on my shoulder is probably there to stay, princess.”

“So you’re saying because I grew up rich and you didn’t, at least initially, you’re always going to resent that part of my life and the person I became because of it?”

He shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”

“It’d be kind of disappointing if you did.”

“That’s life.”

“On that note, I think I’ll take that drink now.”

Con laughed, and we both relaxed again. He crossed back to where he’d been sitting when I’d first come up and produced two bottles of Abita from a bucket of ice. He popped off the tops and offered me one.

I grabbed it and lifted it in his direction. “Cheers.”

“Likewise.”

I took a sip and absorbed the cool, malty flavor before breaking the silence that had settled.

“I know we said we were moving on, but I’m still shocked you wanted to see me again after yesterday,” I said.

“Not as surprised as I was when you texted me.”

I covered my face with my hand, peeking out between my spread fingers. “I’m clearly insane.”

“Insane enough to agree to a favor?”

Dropping my hand, I raised an eyebrow. This should be good.

“I need you to go shopping with me.”

I almost choked on my beer. “Shopping? With you?”

My belly flipped at his crooked grin. “Trust me, it’s not something I want to do alone. I have four boys competing in a big boxing tournament in a couple weeks, and in order to make them feel professional, and to take this all more seriously, I want them dressed up on the way to the tourney. Like the pro athletes do. Wearing a suit on game day. You know what I mean?”

I pictured the boy from the dinner and the others I’d seen training in the gym. These kids were important to him. Now it was my heart that fluttered. He might have more baggage than a cargo hold, and that chip on his shoulder might never go away, but Con Leahy was a good man, with a good heart. “I think it’s a great idea.” I stared up at him. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Cool. I’ll let you know when and where,” he said, taking a swig from his beer.

“Is that all? Because this seems pretty elaborate just to ask me a favor.”

Con laughed and scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. “Figured it was a place you’d probably never been before.”

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