I won't ever end up with someone like my father.
At the thought of my father, memories of living in a caravan park with only tins of baked beans to feed our family replace my thoughts of Tanner.
"Oh, God, now I really need a drink," I mutter, and direct my attention back to the bartender, who is flirting with a few women at the other end of the bar. It's a busy night, but seriously, he needs to stop ogling chicks and do some damn work. "Hey, buddy!" I call out to him. His head twists to look at me and when I motion for him to come my way, he grins and nods while holding up a finger to indicate he'll be one moment.
Thank God.
While I give him his moment, I slide off my stool so I can put my shoe back on.
"Bloody hell, just go in." My feet are so damn sore and I mentally curse the fact I love heels so much, but I know this pain won't stop me wearing them again. Once I have it back on, I turn to see where the bartender is.
You've got to be kidding me.
He's still flirting with those women.
"Right, just because I'm not as sexy or as beautiful as those chicks doesn't mean you can't come and serve me," I grumble as I stalk towards that end of the bar, doing my best to ignore my sore feet.
When I reach my destination, I stare at the bartender, waiting for him to notice me, and when he does, I raise my brows. "Can I please get a drink?" My tone is clear—I'm pissed off—and he doesn't fail to notice it.
As he nods and begins moving in the direction of my stool, one of the women he's been flirting with turns and glares at me. "There's no need to be so rude to him. He was just doing his job and you should learn some patience."
Oh no she didn't.
I return her glare. "I have all the patience in the world, but let's be honest, he was done making your drinks a long time ago."
Venom flashes in her eyes. "He wasn't done with us, honey, but
let's be honest
, I doubt a woman like you would get that."
How dare she say that? Placing my hands on my hips, I ask, "What the hell does that mean?"
She moves off her stool to stand in front of me. She's a tiny woman and I have no doubt that even at my petite size, I could take her on. Not that I have ever fought anyone before, but she's inspired a rush of anger I'm not used to experiencing. "It means that you're standing there in your stuck-up, fancy clothes with make-up and hair that looks like you just stepped off a
Vogue
shoot, but I bet underneath all that glamour you're a frigid bitch who doesn't even know how to flirt."
My hand moves before my brain kicks into gear and I slap her. "Fuck you!" Before she can respond, I swivel in an effort to leave and come face-to-face with Anastasia.
"Holy hell, woman, I'm impressed," she says with a huge smile. "But we need to get you out of here now before a full-on bitch fight starts, because her friends do not look impressed and there are five of them to two of us. I mean, I could get my security guy to help, but it probably wouldn't look good."
Confusion clouds my mind. "Where did you come from?"
She laughs as she hooks her arm through mine and begins dragging me away. "I was on my way back from the awards and was thinking of having a drink when I saw you. Where's your bag?"
I direct her to where I was sitting and we grab my bag before leaving the bar. The woman I slapped tries to follow us but Anastasia's security guy keeps her away.
"Thank God for famous friends with security," I mumble on the way to the elevator. I'm still trying to process everything as well as not stumble while we're moving fast.
Just as we're entering the elevator, a deep voice I recognise calls out, "Ana, wait."
We both turn to find Tanner sauntering towards us, a grin on his face as his eyes meet mine. Damn, he got changed after I left them earlier, and the suit he's now wearing causes my tummy to flutter.
The man can wear a suit.
Stop it, stop looking. He's taken. And besides, you don't even like tattoos.
I could start to like tattoos.
"Cat got your tongue?" His voice carries through the air and snaps me back to attention.
I find him and Anastasia staring at me, like they're waiting for me to reply to something they said, but I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I missed whatever it was. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
His eyes twinkle. "Ana was just telling me how you told that bitch off in the bar. And I said I was impressed to see you still standing in those heels. You women are dedicated to your beauty. No way would I go to those extremes."
I rest my body against the back of the elevator, instantly relieved to have something to lean against. "You men have no idea of the lengths we go to, so don't even start on me about my shoes."
"What's with the shoes, guys?" Anastasia asks, clearly unaware of the fact her man saved me earlier today.
Tanner recounts the story while I replay in my mind what that chick said to me about being frigid.
I'm not frigid.
I know how to flirt.
Just because my ex is an asshole who cheated on me and I've stopped dating doesn't mean I'm frigid.
Anastasia interrupts my thoughts. "Just ignore my brother and the hell he gives you over your heels. I pretty much ignore him most of the time because he's always giving me hell about something—"
Huh?
Her brother?
Looking at them more closely, standing together, it's so obvious they are related. I'm not sure how I missed that.
I cut her off. "Wait! He's not your boyfriend? Oh, my gosh, I am
so
confused right now." My head spins. How did I get that so wrong?
Her eyes bulge and then she breaks out laughing. "Babe, I think you and I need to spend more time together. I never laugh as much as I do when I'm with you. What made you think he was my boyfriend?"
I shift my gaze from her to Tanner and find him watching me intently. It unnerves me and causes words to tumble out of my mouth in a haphazard fashion—something I never do. "I don't know. I think I just jumped to that conclusion, and the fact he was taking you to the awards…. it all made sense in my mind but now I feel so stupid for thinking it." My cheeks heat with the embarrassment. I try never to do this—make assumptions. It's one of my rules, but I've failed badly this time.
The elevator comes to a stop and as we exit, Tanner whistles low. "Even when you've had some drinks, you're still so serious."
His words annoy me. I've worked too hard in my life to get where I am today, and there's nothing wrong with being serious about life. "And even when I've had some drinks, you're still rude," I snap.
"I'm just saying it was an easy assumption to make, and there's no need to worry so much over it. I feel like your level of seriousness could be a health hazard to you," he replies, his tone easy and non-argumentative while I'm feeling anything but that.
Anastasia throws a warning look over her shoulder at him as she opens the door to her suite. "Tanner, don't get all preachy. We're not all as laid-back as you about things." She heads straight into the bedroom, leaving Tanner and me alone after declaring, "God, I need to get out of these heels and this dress, and get into something comfy."
"I feel like your level of laid-back could be a health hazard for
you
, Tanner," I shoot back, making a beeline for the couch as I enter her suite. I need to get off my feet.
Tanner surprises me when he takes a seat next to me on the couch. Throwing a smile my way, he encourages me to explain myself. "Tell me about that."
My forehead crinkles in a frown. "Tell you about
what
?"
He shifts so he's sitting side on with his elbow resting on the top of the couch while facing me. "Tell me why you believe being laid-back isn't good for my health. I'm interested to know because in my twenty-six years, I've never spent time stressing over shit and I feel like my life has turned out pretty good."
Sitting this close to him might be bad for
my
health. His scent is delicious, all man with a hint of soap, and his blue eyes sparkle with interest. The way he's looking at me makes me feel like I'm the only other person in the world—like he's got all the time in the world to listen to what I have to say.
My hand is in my lap and I rub my thumb and pointer finger together while I try to get my thoughts together. This is a nervous habit of mine that I've had since childhood and as much as I've tried to leave it behind, I can't. Some of the kids I went to school with used to pick on me for it, and I hate that it reminds me of those times.
Meeting his gaze, I say, "My father spent his whole life not worrying about anything. He didn't have a job half the time and had no plan for getting a job whenever he was unemployed. Hell, he had no plan for his future, and there were many nights where my family lived on rice, or worse, nothing. There were also many days where we had no electricity because he had no money to pay the bill. I refuse to go back to that kind of life."
He's quiet for a few moments while he thinks about what I've said. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. "Where's your father now?"
I swallow my emotions. Thinking about my father isn't something I like to do very often, and I've thought about him twice now today. "He lives in South Australia but I haven't seen him in a long time. My mother eventually left him when I was sixteen, and he moved from Dubbo to Adelaide. He didn't really keep in touch with us and as I got older, I realised I was happier without him in my life. And I don't care if that makes me sound like a heartless bitch—it's the truth."
He shakes his head. "It doesn't make you sound anything but honest. And human. Our lives can't all be wrapped up with neat little bows. Life is messy and imperfect, and we all have to choose how to get through it the best we can. There's no judgement from me, sweetheart."
I blink as my heart races in my chest. The way he gives me that acceptance is something I've never had in my life. The people in my town spent every day judging my family and even my so-called friends criticised me for my choice to cut my father from my life.
And the way he called me sweetheart.
My tummy flutters with desire.
"Thank you," I say, ignoring the way my voice cracks.
"I had the opposite childhood. My parents scheduled everything down to the last minute. They had five-, ten-, and twenty-year plans, and when goals weren't met they would go into crisis mode trying to figure out how to fix it."
They sound like the kind of parents I would have done anything to have. "What are they doing with their lives now?"
He is silent for a beat, his eyes boring into mine, before he says, "Nothing. They died in a car accident seven years ago. In fact, they were speeding because they were running late to some charity gala they deemed more important than staying home to celebrate my birthday with me."
My hand flies to my mouth. "Oh, my gosh, they died on your birthday?"
"Yes. All in the name of hitting a five-year goal." His voice is flat and all the sparkle has disappeared from his eyes. "I declared that day to never have a fucking five-year plan in my life, and while you think that means I have no plan at all, it's worked out extremely well for me."
"What do you do for work?" I'm intrigued by him now.
"I'm a tattoo artist. Well, I'm actually an artist who loves ink, and I've managed to build up a good reputation in the industry." I don't miss the way his eyes come to life again when he talks about his work.
Anastasia joins us again and adds to the conversation. "He's being modest, Juliette. My brother has clients all over the world and is in huge demand among celebrities. He gave up good money to escort me to the awards tonight because he was supposed to be in Vegas tattooing some singer."
I watch Tanner watching his sister. It's clear he adores her.
He shrugs. "It's only money, Ana. You mean more to me than cash."
"That's easy to say when you have money." The words slip out before I can censor them, but while I wish I had stopped them, they're true as far as I'm concerned. People can say money doesn't buy you happiness, but they should try being dirt poor and see how much happier they are with money.
Tanner slowly nods. "That is true. I guess I'm lucky not to have to think about that anymore."
I shake my head. "No, I don't believe in luck. You worked hard for what you have and that's why you don't have to think about it anymore."
"I
did
work hard, but at the same time, I didn't pursue a goal to get where I am today," he says, watching me closely again. I sense it's important to him to get his point across to me about not spending my time worrying over life plans. And while I understand what he's saying, I'm not sure I can ever be convinced not to be focused on plans.
"So what inspired you then? Because in my experience, something has to make you get off your arse and achieve stuff."
He keeps his gaze completely on me as he replies with a straight face. "Women."
"Women?"
He nods. "Yeah, a mate told me that if I became a tattoo artist, I would score women no worries, so I did what he said."
The room turns quiet for a few moments because I'm not sure what to say to that. After he shared the information about his parents and showed me some depth to his character, I thought he would have some kind of inspiration other than women pushing him. I'm a little disappointed with that answer.
And then his face spreads out into a huge grin. "I'm fucking with you, sweetheart. It was getting too serious here for a minute so I threw that in to see what you'd say. I've always been fascinated with tattoos, it had nothing to do with women."
Anastasia tsks from the couch opposite us while I'm secretly relieved. Tanner Brady has managed to do what no man has ever really managed—he's pissed me off and then made me forget I was annoyed at him all in one day. I don't want to admit it, but he fascinates me. It's a good thing I've sworn off men while I pursue my career because he's the kind of man who could easily sidetrack me, and being sidetracked is not in my ten-year plan.