“Enough mush. Come on inside.”
3
With great care, Gillian chose her clothes for the day. Miles was at school and she was heading over to Seattle to go to Brody Brown’s tattoo parlor.
She bound her hair at the nape of her neck after braiding and coiling it. Not too much makeup. Subtle colors. Messages were important and she didn’t want to give an impression that she was tatty or in need of money. Or looking for any interaction but the one she detailed. Men sometimes assumed things about a woman. Though it was really stupid and their own issue, Gillian had lived with enough judgment and assumption that she was a slapper looking for a few extra quid simply because of who she was related to; she didn’t care for it to happen ever again.
She hadn’t always had control over most things in her life growing up, but her outward appearance was something she could control. Yes, yes, she knew it was silly, but you did what you could to get through the day without maiming anyone.
Her accent had smoothed out over the years living in America. But the flavor of England was in her forever. To her bones. She’d never lose it entirely and she figured she may as well use it to her advantage. Most often she fell to the posh one, the one her piano teacher had used back when she and her mother and sister had lived in a council flat in Newham. The Queen’s English. It came in quite handy with teachers, policemen, authority figures. The other, the heavier cockney she was born with, well, that one only came out when she really got angry or frustrated, and her close friends and Miles knew to be careful when she started dropping consonants.
On the drive over, she went through her short, simple speech several times. It was best if she told Adrian face-to-face. It wasn’t something she wanted lawyers and third parties to handle. This was about a real person who deserved some respect.
So she ignored the nausea and nervousness and found the place easily enough using her borrowed GPS. Her hand froze, clutching her keys in her palm so hard her knuckles were white. She made herself relax, took in the surroundings. Mixed commercial neighborhood. A café next door, a hipster hardware store a few doors down. Brody Brown’s tattoo shop was called Written on the Body. Hm. Nice name. Not a cliché.
It took four tries to get out. She even restarted the car once. But in the end, she found herself walking through the front door and asking to see Brody Brown.
It wasn’t that she didn’t expect a very large, tattooed man—the place was positively full of them. But it was his eyes she hadn’t expected. Warm, friendly. His smile was genuine and open.
Gillian found herself responding, relaxing a little.
“I’m Brody. I hear you were looking for me?”
She held a hand out, which he shook. “My name is Gillian Forrester. I know this is most unusual, but I need to get in contact with your brother.”
The warmth shuttered. Not entirely, but he clearly put some distance between them.
“What’s this about? He has management if you want an interview or a personal appearance.”
Gillian shook her head. “No. No, it’s not like that. I have some information for him. I need to tell him in person. I’m not trying to be coy, though it might appear that way, I’m sure.” She put an envelope on the counter. “What I have to say, I need to say in person. My contact information is in there.”
Brody looked at the envelope and then at her, long and hard. She had nothing to hide, and damned if she’d do anything but look him right back. No one would ever make her feel guilty or ashamed when she was doing the right thing.
“I’m his brother; I can pass it along. You can tell me whatever it is.”
“I’m sure you’re a trustworthy person. It’s in the eyes, you know.” She brushed down the front of her sweater, brisk now that her message had been delivered. “But it’s not something he should hear from anyone but me.”
She stepped back. “You don’t know me from Adam. I’m sure you get people in here trying to get at your brother and I respect that you’re protecting him. All I can do is repeat that I need to speak with him about something very important and that my contact information is in that envelope.”
He took the envelope, sliding it into the cash register, under the cash drawer. “I can’t make any promises. Your best hope is to contact his management. It’s at his website.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Brody watched her go with long, precise, ground-eating strides. Which was all the more impressive given that she couldn’t have topped five foot one or two. Big brown eyes that, if he wasn’t mistaken, deftly sized him and the shop up enough that he’d lay odds she wasn’t an easy mark.
Not the usual sort of woman in the shop trying to find Adrian. He watched her turn the corner and went back to the register where the envelope was. He took it and headed back to his office to call his brother.
Adrian picked up on the first ring. “Yo.”
Brody snorted a laugh. It was such a common greeting from his brother that even Alexander had picked it up.
“I just had a visitor. A woman looking for you.”
“Novel.”
“Har har. No, this one was different than the usual breed of star-fucker who comes sniffing around for you. Graceful. The way she moved reminds me of Elise. Though she’s more . . . bold, maybe? Something. Anyway. She left an envelope here with her contact information.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. But she did say it was important.”
3
With great care, Gillian chose her clothes for the day. Miles was at school and she was heading over to Seattle to go to Brody Brown’s tattoo parlor.
She bound her hair at the nape of her neck after braiding and coiling it. Not too much makeup. Subtle colors. Messages were important and she didn’t want to give an impression that she was tatty or in need of money. Or looking for any interaction but the one she detailed. Men sometimes assumed things about a woman. Though it was really stupid and their own issue, Gillian had lived with enough judgment and assumption that she was a slapper looking for a few extra quid simply because of who she was related to; she didn’t care for it to happen ever again.
She hadn’t always had control over most things in her life growing up, but her outward appearance was something she could control. Yes, yes, she knew it was silly, but you did what you could to get through the day without maiming anyone.
Her accent had smoothed out over the years living in America. But the flavor of England was in her forever. To her bones. She’d never lose it entirely and she figured she may as well use it to her advantage. Most often she fell to the posh one, the one her piano teacher had used back when she and her mother and sister had lived in a council flat in Newham. The Queen’s English. It came in quite handy with teachers, policemen, authority figures. The other, the heavier cockney she was born with, well, that one only came out when she really got angry or frustrated, and her close friends and Miles knew to be careful when she started dropping consonants.
On the drive over, she went through her short, simple speech several times. It was best if she told Adrian face-to-face. It wasn’t something she wanted lawyers and third parties to handle. This was about a real person who deserved some respect.
So she ignored the nausea and nervousness and found the place easily enough using her borrowed GPS. Her hand froze, clutching her keys in her palm so hard her knuckles were white. She made herself relax, took in the surroundings. Mixed commercial neighborhood. A café next door, a hipster hardware store a few doors down. Brody Brown’s tattoo shop was called Written on the Body. Hm. Nice name. Not a cliché.
It took four tries to get out. She even restarted the car once. But in the end, she found herself walking through the front door and asking to see Brody Brown.
It wasn’t that she didn’t expect a very large, tattooed man—the place was positively full of them. But it was his eyes she hadn’t expected. Warm, friendly. His smile was genuine and open.
Gillian found herself responding, relaxing a little.
“I’m Brody. I hear you were looking for me?”
She held a hand out, which he shook. “My name is Gillian Forrester. I know this is most unusual, but I need to get in contact with your brother.”
The warmth shuttered. Not entirely, but he clearly put some distance between them.
“What’s this about? He has management if you want an interview or a personal appearance.”
Gillian shook her head. “No. No, it’s not like that. I have some information for him. I need to tell him in person. I’m not trying to be coy, though it might appear that way, I’m sure.” She put an envelope on the counter. “What I have to say, I need to say in person. My contact information is in there.”
Brody looked at the envelope and then at her, long and hard. She had nothing to hide, and damned if she’d do anything but look him right back. No one would ever make her feel guilty or ashamed when she was doing the right thing.
“I’m his brother; I can pass it along. You can tell me whatever it is.”
“I’m sure you’re a trustworthy person. It’s in the eyes, you know.” She brushed down the front of her sweater, brisk now that her message had been delivered. “But it’s not something he should hear from anyone but me.”
She stepped back. “You don’t know me from Adam. I’m sure you get people in here trying to get at your brother and I respect that you’re protecting him. All I can do is repeat that I need to speak with him about something very important and that my contact information is in that envelope.”
He took the envelope, sliding it into the cash register, under the cash drawer. “I can’t make any promises. Your best hope is to contact his management. It’s at his website.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Brody watched her go with long, precise, ground-eating strides. Which was all the more impressive given that she couldn’t have topped five foot one or two. Big brown eyes that, if he wasn’t mistaken, deftly sized him and the shop up enough that he’d lay odds she wasn’t an easy mark.
Not the usual sort of woman in the shop trying to find Adrian. He watched her turn the corner and went back to the register where the envelope was. He took it and headed back to his office to call his brother.
Adrian picked up on the first ring. “Yo.”
Brody snorted a laugh. It was such a common greeting from his brother that even Alexander had picked it up.
“I just had a visitor. A woman looking for you.”
“Novel.”
“Har har. No, this one was different than the usual breed of star-fucker who comes sniffing around for you. Graceful. The way she moved reminds me of Elise. Though she’s more . . . bold, maybe? Something. Anyway. She left an envelope here with her contact information.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. But she did say it was important.”
