Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,3
bags down to the car that Christian had gifted me at graduation. Maybe I could accept that I did need to get out and experience more of life, that I wasn’t ready for something so serious. But if Reagan thought I was going to forget about him, he was a gorgeous idiot. I was going to go to school, experience life, and when I returned, I was going to leave my childish ways behind.
I was going to return a man and make damned sure Reagan knew it.
Reagan
Three years later
“Clearly, the show is still doing great.” Our producer, Ed, sat back in the chair I’d offered him in my office.
He was all smug smiles and producer confidence, and honestly, he wasn’t wrong. Get Ink’d had been popular. Was still popular. We were in our fifth season and about to stop filming for the summer, and our contract had been renewed for another season with no signs of slowing down. It felt good to have all of our hard work and talent appreciated.
“You guys have a shop that makes people want to watch, and the crew’s collaborative nature is very rewarding.” He said this to me as if I’d personally cultivated the group of artists in the studio for the sole purpose of casting a hit TV show.
The truth was, I’d lucked into each and every one of them. Get Ink’d was popular because of the good-looking, hard-working, exceptionally talented artists in the shop. What I sometimes felt they missed in editing down the videos was the fact that my shop offered second chances to those who needed it—that every single person who worked here had taken that second chance by the horns and owned it.
Everyone deserved a family and a place they could call home. It was my mission to provide that space for my crew.
“Thanks,” I said. My mind was already drifting to the back piece I’d be finishing for the season. It was a work of art—and yeah, I knew that wasn’t humble, but it was a fucking good piece. The chat about the show felt inconsequential in the face of my anticipation of finishing a piece of art. “It’s definitely been a ride.”
“We do have one request,” Ed said, “for the next season.”
My eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
“Trinity’s been doing less art and staying more at the reception area.”
“She’s pregnant and found it uncomfortable to tattoo for hours,” I said, trying to keep my voice from growing sharp. Trinity was a phenomenal artist and one of the first artists I’d brought on board. I’d brawl anyone, anytime to protect her.
Ed held his hand up, giving me pause. “Hey, hey. I know. And viewers will love her pregnancy arc.”
Arc. As if she’d decided to have a baby to make viewers happy. I bit my tongue and nodded. “But?”
“But we’d like to reach a larger demographic, and that means having women in the shop. Another artist, preferably. Show that you’re well-rounded and offer some eye candy.”
I held up one finger. “First, let me say I have no problem hiring another woman to work here.” I held up a second finger. “We’ve got a huge client waitlist, and it is probably past time to bring on a new artist or two anyway. But I want to be clear—contract or no, I don’t hire anyone because of their good looks, or their gender, or any other box to be checked. I hire for talent and personality. Just so we’re clear.”
Ed chuckled. “Sure, sure. Well, I’ll get out of your hair for a while. Enjoy the break, Reagan, and I’ll see you soon.”
He finally left, and I sagged in my chair. Jesus, being on television was exhausting. But it was rewarding, too, and that’s why we kept doing it. The business was booming, we were able to do a lot of fundraising and bring awareness to parts of our community that were often overlooked. I’d been able to make larger personal donations to the local juvenile detention center, too, helping to grow their library and increase resources to help the young men there.
But fucking hell, I was beat. Not only did I appear in the show itself, I also was the contact point for all the contracts and decisions—on top of actually running a business. Which meant long days, boring-ass phone calls, and dealing with pandering execs and producers who often thought they knew my business better than I did.
I’d always wanted to create art, and having a place where I could do it and