Chapter 19
BRETT
Monday night
I’m a prisoner of a f*****g show.
My dignity is dead, sacrificed at the altar of fame. And as I spend the second day with my tattoo shop doors shut, I sit in silence, spinning slowly on a raggedy red stool as I sketch into a new notepad the only thing I can think of.
Elsie’s face is all over my mind… and my pages.
My pencil won’t stop scribbling the curve of her brown eyes, the shape of her cupid-bow puckered lips. The tip of my charcoal stick twists around each blonde curl of her hair, and as it starts to take the shape of her curvaceous body, Heath bursts through the back door, a suit and tie sitting on his stick-rod straight shoulders. Some old blue blood habits die hard.
I hardly look at him as he stops close, hovering over me, his breath emitting i
