Drake called. “Okay.” I took a last sip of tea, then swiped cherry balm over my lips. “Just coming.” I had a full day of inking. Clients booked in back-to-back. Which was tiring but good. It meant the time would fly plus it secured my place at Dragon’s Ink all the more. Something I had to think about in a male dominated workplace. I was good, damn good, but it didn’t hurt to be in demand and for my boss, Drake, to know it. I wandered into the tattoo parlor. The ceiling lights were bright and the walls covered in pictures of our best body art. Several workstations were lined up with large leather chairs and sterile tables that held needles, guns and ink. Beyond the two large windows Londoners rushed by, intent on their business, and the sun streamed in. “Hi,” I said, holding out my hand to a big guy with super-short hair who stood by the reception desk. He had a silvery scar down his left cheek. “Are you Ed Mooreland?” “Yep, that’s me.” He took my hand and gave me a quick glance over.
