Read Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) for Free Online

picture of one of People ’s Sexiest Men Alive before someone catches me. In the bathroom, I hold up the page next to my face in the mirror.
    I can see it now. The tattoo says reckless.
    Of course. How very Gavin Slater.
    I imagine Gavin got this tattoo for himself, because the only person who can read it is the guy staring at him in his bathroom mirror each morning. I feel parts of me stir with this intimate discovery.
    Shit, who am I kidding? It’s all over the interwebs.
    I also see several photos of Gavin with various women, and I feel a surge of jealousy that shocks me. One woman appears most often, and she’s striking—violet eyes, jet-black hair and a heart-shaped face. In some pictures she has glorious curves; a pinup bombshell. In others, she’s a waif, her eyes even larger in her face and her cheekbones almost painfully pronounced.
    I inspect my skirt that’s creased from sitting, bulging over my tummy and riding up past my pasty, stubbly knees.
    Next to that siren, I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
    So now I know the guy is hot. I also know he’s a slob and a rock star. But most importantly, I know it’s going to take a lot of work to get his place fixed up, starting with the bags of random bills I have to make sense of.
    I find a letter opener and start ripping and filing, creating tidy folders for each utility, service, and charge. Most of it is unremarkable and I pay it out of the client account—past-due dry-cleaning bills, utilities, and periodicals.
    I spend most of the afternoon building files and navigating “press five to pay your bill”-type phone menus. It’s a real treat when a live person picks up, but inevitably I have to repeat a multi-digit number when the operator answers.
    I book the housekeeping service for tomorrow and suspend the newspapers and magazines Gavin Slater’s not home to read.
    Dan’s explained that the key to our service is going the extra mile, so I add him to a direct mail exclusion list to cut down on his junk mail. Later, I’ll go through his fridge and cupboards, toss expired food and go shopping to restock everything before he gets home.
    By the time I reach the bottom of the bill pile and rip open the last envelope, I’m feeling pretty good. Even if my life is in chaos, I’ve got this guy sorted out. Not that he’ll appreciate it.
    The bill I open astounds me: more than $3,500 for dog boarding. There was no dog at the apartment, but now that I think about it, I saw a stainless steel food dish near the kitchen. It just didn’t process at the time.
    Did this guy just leave his dog the way he left his apartment?
    I’m furious. I actually want to kill sexy-hot Gavin Slater with my bare hands. Twice.
    Asshole , I mutter as I listen to a ring tone.
    “Barks in the Park,” a chipper voice answers with a chorus of “woofs” and “arfs” in the background. “Can you hold?”
    “Yes,” I grumble. I know I should just pay this bill and move on, but I’m secretly plotting my revenge against Gavin. Nair in his shampoo bottle? Itching powder on his sheets? On behalf of a poor little—or big—dog, I want revenge.
    “Sorry about that. We’re always slammed at rush hour. What can I do for you?”
    “I’m calling to pay a bill for Gavin Slater,” I start. “I realize it’s past due, but he—”
    “Thank God you called,” the woman interrupts. “We’ve left messages for weeks! You’ve got to come get Jasper.”
    “Jasper?”
    “Your dog ,” she snaps. “We were about to turn him over to animal services as abandoned. You can’t just leave a dog here forever! Our maximum boarding period is three weeks.”
    Her voice sounds strangled and angry. “You didn’t even leave a number where we could reach you. What if Jasper had a medical problem? We wouldn’t have been able to authorize treatment. And leaving him here is interfering with other reservations. You are totally irresponsible.”
    I snort, both indignant that she’s accusing me of