Once Upon a Contract (Once Upon #2)

Chapter One

Daphne

H ave you ever had that one unattainable, insanely gorgeous dream guy that you knew, under no circumstances, would be yours in real life? Well, I do, and I'm supposed to tattoo him for Wren today.

"I don't think I can do this," I mutter to myself as I pace back and forth in my apartment above the tattoo shop.

When Wren asked Meadow, Lark, and me to fill in for her while she took care of some personal issues, there was no hesitation from any of us to say yes. Some of her clients chose to reschedule while others were fine with us filling in for her. It wasn't until last night, when I checked my appointments for today, that I saw the name that had my stomach flipping.

Ezra Winters.

I first met Ezra when I was a knobby-kneed nineteen-year-old girl who was taller than most at just an inch shy of six feet. I was rail thin and had little to no chest—not that I have much more now—but it was made apparently clear in the ridiculous, over-the-top outfits my mother always picked out for me. We always had fundraising events for my dad's political career to attend. According to her, when you have a body like mine, you should flaunt it, though that's the last thing I ever wanted to do.

My mother is a former Miss Pennsylvania and a runner-up for Miss America. To her, appearances are everything, especially when your husband is a state senator. To them, I'm a puppet to tote around and create the "perfect American family" image they love to show their loyal supporters. Unfortunately for my spotlight-loving parents, I loathe having any attention on me, which is especially hard for my mother to understand.

It was at a fundraiser for some huge business mogul, to save some obscure animal—don't get me wrong I love animals but there are people in our state who could use the funds— when Ezra found me. This particular ballroom had lavish, red velvet drapes hanging from the ceilings to the floors. I was trying to hide behind them when Ezra bumped into me.

I apologize profusely as a deep voice growls out a muttered curse. It isn't until I look up and see him shaking little drops of amber liquid off his hand that I realize I made him spill his drink. My face flushes bright red as I stammer another apology until that same hand tilts my chin up to meet his gaze.

First off, any time I need to look up to a man means that they are well over six feet. Secondly, I immediately notice he is absolutely stunning, in that devil-may-care kind of way. He has dark hair that is in the perfect messy wave, like a woman just got done running her fingers through it. His entire suit is black from head to toe, with a black chunky watch adorning his wrist. And his shoulders, dear God, make him look like a professional football player the way he fills his suit out. He is broad but trim at the waist, which leads to strong, muscular thighs that his tux hugs perfectly.

It takes me a minute to pull my eyes from his delicious body and stare into his emerald-green eyes. He has a smirk on his face, which makes me blush even more.

Blinking to clear my head, I realize this deliciously sexy man still has a gentle hold on my chin, which makes me gasp. I try to step out of his hold, but he won't let me. He brushes his finger against my jaw, which has my heart racing and heat pulling between my legs.

"Please quit apologizing. I'm the one who crashed into you in an attempt to get away from the vultures out there. Who is that you're hiding from?"

"Um … my mother."

"Hmm, and why would you be hiding from her?"

"Because I'm tired of being her and my father's little puppet to parade around. And I know she'll be pissed that I wore my glasses tonight. I just don't have the energy to deal with her. I figured I could hide out until dinner starts and then make my way to our table. There will be other people around, so there's no way she'll say anything that might cause a scene. I'll be safe from her claws for at least a minute…" I realize I'm rambling and have shared way too much information about my dysfunctional relationship with my parents.

"They're really that bad?" He scrutinizes me as if he's trying to figure out if I'm being honest or over-dramatic, like a lot of my peers are.

"Yes and no. My dad is indifferent, as long as I keep my nose down and grades up, but my mother is overbearing. Appearances talk in her circle. She'll be pissed I'm deviating from her carefully crafted fa?ade by wearing my glasses. I'm also hiding instead of mingling, so I'm sure that will be another strike against me."

"Who are they, if you don't mind me asking? I've been dragged to a few of these over the past couple of years, but I don't remember seeing you before."

"Um, I don't know if I should tell you who they are until I know who you are. I haven't been to a fundraiser in a minute, but this one happened to fall over winter break, so I'm home from school and, therefore, could not skip it."

"Ezra Winters." He thrusts his drink-free hand into the narrow space separating us, startling me with how close I am to him.

I blush as I take a step back, but Ezra steps right along with me, hand still held out. I hesitantly slide mine into his and am surprised by the calluses I feel on his palm. His hand engulfs mine as he shakes, the warmth spreading from his grip sending a shiver down my spine

He's smirking at me, and I realize he's waiting for me to tell him my name. I don't know if I should, but there's something about Ezra that lets me feel as if I can be my normal self. "I'm Daphne Barkley."

Ezra's brows pull in as his jaw ticks. "No need to say more," he grits out, making me wince.

Great, he's definitely heard of my parents. I mean, it's kind of hard not to when your dad is the state senator and we're at a fundraiser, but that was not the reaction I was looking for. I'm trying to figure out how to escape when I feel his fingers on my chin again, pulling my attention to him.

"I can see I've made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry. I don't personally know your parents other than interacting with them at events such as these, but I understand now why you'd want to hide out from your mother. These 'high-society women' are worse than any man I've met in my business dealings."

"It's okay. I'm used to it by now. Well, I was. I'm just a little out of practice since I've been away at school for the past year and a half. I hope we have someone at the table who will acknowledge my existence instead of talking around me as if I weren't there…" I bite my tongue.

Seriously, where is this oversharing coming from? I'm usually a wallflower, and I'm perfectly okay with that. I never let my words run off—about my parents or their friends. The repercussions aren't worth it. But Ezra Winters has some kind of spell on me, completely shattering years of hiding behind my carefully crafted walls.

I look back up at Ezra at the sound of him clearing his voice.

He's got a devilish smirk on his face.

"How about we make sure tonight isn't like any other fundraiser you've been dragged along to."

Before I can answer, his rough hand slides into mine as he tugs me out of our hiding place. I want to look around to see if anyone saw us, but I can't handle the rumor mill that surrounds these things. Instead, I take a step closer to Ezra who tucks me under his arm as he heads towards the bar.

To his credit, he only falters a little when he finds out I am only nineteen—eight years younger than him. He's a perfect gentleman and always steers the conversation back to me instead of the table talking around me. When he raises his arm to take a drink and dark ink peeks out from under his tux sleeve, my mother shoots daggers at him. Feeling the heat from her stare, he smirks back at my mother, then turns to wink at me. Ezra drapes his arm over the back of my chair, pushing her buttons even more.

Little did he know that would be the "straw that broke the camel's back", so to speak, where my mother was concerned. As soon as the event was over and we were piled into the limo, my mother laid into me about how inappropriate and what a deviant Ezra Winters is. From that night on, my mother didn't pressure me to go to a fundraiser if she knew he would be there.

I can't lie and say that I haven't sought out his emerald eyes at every dreaded event I've been dragged to since that first encounter. Unfortunately, I've only been lucky enough to run into him a few times since that fateful night. Two of the times, I didn't even have the nerve to go talk to him, intimidated by the model-like woman draped on his arm. I even went so far as to quickly head in the opposite direction when I saw him coming my way.

I know he's the CEO of his tech business, but after that first night, I haven't let myself look him up. But that doesn't mean I've stopped thinking about him. It's kind of hard not to when he is unknowingly the guy I compare men I have any interest in to. Unsurprisingly, they all fail in comparison to him. They lack the self-assured confidence Ezra has without being a cocky jerk at the same time. I have a type—tall, strong, sexy alphas with tattoos but down-to-earth—and yet they seem impossible to find.

For someone as shy and introverted as I am, having the cocky guy's attention is the last thing I need, and it usually pushes me away instead of pulling me in. It's probably why I'm still a virgin at twenty-six.

At least I have my book boyfriends. Reading romance books with alpha heroes gives me my Ezra fix and makes me feel less like I'm missing out on something I so desperately long for.

I haven't told Daphne or Wren about Ezra, or about the fact that I'm still a virgin. When sex comes up in conversation, which it does often with my best friends, I act as if I know what they are talking about, but it's only from what I've read in my books. It's why I blush so much when we get on the topic of sex. Not only am I inexperienced, but I'm embarrassed and hate lying to my best friends.

The alarm blares on my phone. It's been seven years since I met Ezra, but that night has lived rent-free in my brain ever since. He was my savior, swapping out his seat with someone at our table so that he was right beside me the entire night. I built him up in my head so much that I'm terrified to go to this appointment.

As I make my way out of my apartment and down to the shop, I wonder if Ezra will recognize me. I was so busy fretting over seeing him again that I didn't even pay attention to what I am wearing. I glance down at my high-waisted, wide-leg, paint-splattered pants and ribbed crop top. I shrug. At least I actually fill out the top now. I'm still tall and lean, but now I've got curves that I love. I don't flaunt them much, but I do love indulging in sexy lingerie. It makes me feel empowered and helps with my self-esteem, which always seems to be lacking. Today I'm rocking my favorite crimson set in hopes it will boost my confidence around Ezra.

It's later in the afternoon, so when I walk through the back door into the break room, the hum of tattoo machines and soft music seep into my body, instantly relaxing me. I take a moment to just let the sounds wash through me as I take a few deep, slow breaths. I never imagined this is what I would do with my art, but there's something magical about taking someone else's idea and bringing it to life on their skin, forever having an impact on them. My parents were mortified when I chose this career path, which is why I didn't tell them until I was done with school and already had my non-profit set up.

Even though I love tattooing, my first love is, and has always been, painting. I double-majored in fine arts and business in college—fine arts for myself and business to appease my pretentious parents, who were paying for my education. Even though I loathed my business classes, I have to admit that they have been extremely helpful with my non-profit.

Squaring my shoulders and trying to find my lacking confidence, I head out towards the front of the shop. Lark is set up in Wren's station and nods to say hello while he's busy tattooing his client. Meadow also has a client, but it looks like they're taking a break at the moment, so I stop.

"Hi, Daph. How are you today? Did you get some painting in?" Meadow glances down at my paint-splattered pants. It's only when I follow her eyes that I notice I have some paint on my stomach.

"Hmm, I guess I missed a spot when I was cleaning up. Just working on something new. I'm good, though. It was nice to have a little time this morning. How about you ladies?"

"I'm getting a new tattoo, so I'm doing awesome." Meadow's client beams at her before going back to admiring the tattoo on her thigh.

"It looks great, Meadow. I have one of Wren's clients coming in today, so I'm going to go get my station ready."

"Oh, right. He's actually already here. I told him he could make himself comfortable in your room. He's, um, very tall and didn't look all that comfortable in our chairs out in the waiting room. We might want to see if we can get a few that are a little more practical. The ones Wren found are cool, but it wouldn't hurt to have some normal chairs too."

"You're probably right. We can bring it up later, though. I don't want to bother her with anything so trivial right now when she's already doing so much work…" I don't want to give out too much personal information about what Wren's going through. It's hard enough dealing with anxiety— I would know—but she doesn't need her business announced to the world.

"That's true." Meadow smiles sweetly, then turns back to her client. "Ready to get this finished up?"

I leave Meadow to her work as I slowly make my way to my station. The curtains are down between our work areas, so I haven't seen Ezra yet. When I make it into my area, seeing him again sucks the breath out of my lungs.

Ezra in a suit is sexy as hell, but Ezra dressed down is just as delicious. He's got dark, distressed jeans that hug his thick thighs and a black tee with the sleeves cut off, showing his gorgeous ink. There's hardly any untouched skin from what I can see, and now I'm dying to know what he's going to have me tattoo today. His dark hair is still in his signature style, with the sides shaved and the top wavy and mussed as if he's been running his hands through it. Instead of the five o'clock shadow I'm used to seeing on him at events, he's got a trim beard that fits his face perfectly and makes me wonder what it would feel like between my thighs.

Ezra's typing on his phone, so he hasn't noticed me gawking at him from the door. My anxiety starts to rise as I take him in. I have no idea how to act around him. Of course, he doesn't know he's set an impossibly high bar for any man who comes into my life, but being in his presence again is completely throwing me off-kilter.

Before I can figure out how to make myself known, Ezra finishes typing on his phone and looks up.

Our eyes lock as heat rushes through me. A blush spreads across my cheeks and down my chest as I fidget in the door, dying to break eye contact but not being able to. It's as if he's cast a spell on me and I'm unable to break it.

I have no idea how long we stare at each other as I try to decipher what's going on in his head. He's got a cool mask of indifference on, but his green eyes heat as he takes me in.

Standing from the chair he's waiting in, Ezra takes two steps towards me, invading my space as he gets closer than socially acceptable. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip when his finger caresses my cheek before pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I'm trying to pull myself together, but I can't believe Ezra is here in my space, touching me.

His hand slides towards my chin before he uses his thumb to pop my lip from my teeth.

I'm practically panting as heat pulses through me, and my lady bits throb. With his grip still on my chin, Ezra directs my eyes up to his. I'm met with a sexy-as-hell smirk.

"Wren said I could trust you to tattoo me, but damn, Daph. You're the last person I expected to see walk through that door." Ezra tugs me into his embrace, making me melt. He tucks me close to his body before he rests his chin on my head.

For a moment, I'm so stunned that I don't know what to do with my hands. I finally snap out of it and wrap my arms around him, gasping at the warmth and strength I feel in his back.

Ezra squeezes me one more time before slowly letting me go and stepping back. I almost whimper at the loss of his touch, but I find an ounce of self-control and keep it in.

"I was not thrilled when Wren said I could reschedule or have someone else tattoo me. She assured me I'd be in good hands, but being in your hands is like my wildest dreams. I feel like I've been looking for you forever, and this is the last place I ever thought I'd find you." He takes another step back before sitting down on my tattoo table. "You ready to get started?"

Ezra grabs his shirt collar behind his neck and slowly pulls it over his head. His muscles ripple as they flex to get his shirt off, revealing his six-pack abs and V-lines. A dark line of hair trails down to his jeans and I have to discreetly check if I'm drooling. Ezra tosses his shirt onto the chair in the corner before laying back and tucking his arms behind his head, making his arms bulge out.

Holy. Shit.

After obsessing over him for years, Ezra Winters is on my tattoo table with no shirt on, waiting for me to tattoo him. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this scenario playing out, but I know I'll never get another opportunity like this.

"Sure. Let's get started."