Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,81
is what you’ve been doing all of this time?”
My eyes narrowed. In the wake of all the anger, cold focus was seeping in. Who the fuck was Ian to waltz into my space, my business and start pulling the puppet strings? Flashbacks of how he’d managed to sequester me away from good friends or activities unless they were his suggestions came back to me. Much of how he’d managed to manipulate me was making me feel as if my own choices were less than. With tones like the one he was using now.
“Do you mean running a wildly successful business with good, dependable, and talented staff for almost twenty years?” I replied testily.
He waved my comment off. “Of course it’s successful. There will always be misfits and thugs and whatnots that think they understand art. It’s easy to build a business on the backs of people who have nothing better to offer. You ran away because what we were doing was as difficult as it was important, and the pressure was too much. I understand that now.”
Holy shit. Was this the kind of shit he’d been spewing to Channing? Because now Ian was attacking my family. And Dane’s anger—Channing’s words—was seeming more and more justified.
“Ian, I started this to better my life. It wasn’t running away from the pressure of art. It was running away from the pressure you put on me. Nothing I did was ever completely of my own merit. You were always on the side taking credit, even as you pushed me harder, and to places I was uncomfortable going. This,” I said, making a sweeping motion to the shop, “is all me.”
Instead of acknowledging that I’d managed to build something successful without him, Ian rolled his eyes. “I’d hope this isn’t the whole of you. To use a cliché term, you’re the diamond in the rough, Reagan.” He looked pointedly at Bryan, Mateo, Javi, and Bryce. “The very rough, to be honest. You deserve better than this. You’re better than a trashy reality show and a tattoo shop. You could be in museums, Reagan, your art commanding prices that would stop you in your tracks. You could be famous.”
My hands curled into fists. Fame had never been something I’d sought. Not even when Ian had been the guiding (forceful) hand in my life. Sure, recognition had felt good, but not nearly as good as the act of creation itself. Clearly, that had never been something Ian cared about.
“You don’t understand,” I said finally, realizing I’d never be able to explain it to Ian.
He snorted. “I understand perfectly. You think I don’t see Channing for what he is? God, you know how to pick them. Just like I did. He’s young and beautiful and impressionable. I’m sure you get exactly what you want from him, just like I did with you.”
His words were spiders skittering under my skin. “I’m not grooming him like you did, you son of a bitch. And he’s stronger than I ever was when I was with you.”
The sinking realization of just how quickly Ian had managed to manipulate me again after all of this time gave me vertigo. I swayed on my feet, fighting the urge to vomit. I thought I’d grown and I’d changed and all it had taken was one dinner and show to schmooze me right back under his thumb, forsaking everything I cared about. And the people I cared about.
“Letting you back into my life was a mistake, Ian.” I sighed and my shoulders sagged with the weight of how badly I’d fucked up. “You’re very good at making people believe you’re more important and necessary than you are. And I don’t need you.”
Ian’s cheeks trembled with his anger, the skin showing its age in the ripples and quivers. “I make and break artists, Reagan. I can make you into something incredible or I can break apart any dreams you have of success.”
I shook my head. “You’re still talking about what you think I should want. But I’ve already told you: I am successful. And happy. I’m going to keep painting, and if I’m able to find galleries and shows, great. If not, I’m still successful—because I love to paint, and that’s what it’s about for me. What it always should have been about. So you can shove your ‘make or break’ right up your old ass.”
He sucked his cheeks in before huffing angrily. “You’ll regret this, Reagan. A piece of young ass isn’t worth the mistake you’ve