Page 37 of Bleed

I shrug innocently.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, his gaze drifting around the room before landing on my sketchbook still lying open on the floor. The half-finished koi fish sprawls across the page, its scales dissolving into smoke and flowers as it twists upward.

He steps closer, gesturing to it. “You draw that?”

“Mhm,” I hum, starting in on the French fries. “Client requested the fish, but told me to take liberties with the rest of the design. It’s getting inked on his bicep next week.”

He whistles, glancing back at me. “Damn. You’re pretty good.”

I arch a brow. “Pretty good?”

He scoffs a laugh. “And modest, huh?”

I grin, popping a fry into my mouth. “Play your cards right, and maybe I’ll tattoo you someday, pretty boy.”

“Maybe I’ll let you,” he says, smirking. Then he gets all business-like again, resuming scrolling on his phone. “So, here’s the deal. You’ll be working in the lab on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Expect to start around eight p.m. and finish up around two a.m., or sometimes later, if Doc’s on a roll.”

I squint at him. “What exactly am I supposed to do in this lab?”

“Mostly data entry, some sample handling, labeling tubes, things like that. You’ll get the hang of it.”

I shove another fry into my mouth. “I’ll need to coordinate with my tattoo schedule. Thursdays are usually slammed at the shop.”

Albert shrugs. “Send me your schedule and I’ll pass it up the chain. Doc’s flexible, but he likes consistency. Gets cranky when there’s a last-minute change.”

“And here I thought cranky was his default setting,” I muse, licking salt from my lips. “Anything else I should know? Secret handshakes? Cult rituals?”

“Don’t go upstairs without an invite,” he warns, giving me a pointed look. “He’s particular about privacy.”

My eyes instantly dart toward the floating staircase. “Is that where the bodies are hidden?” I joke, though the warning only sharpens my curiosity.

“Something like that,” he replies with a chuckle, typing on his phone. “Anyway, if you’re gonna leave the apartment, you’ll need a security detail. I’m sending you the contact for the company we use. All you have to do is shoot them a text and someone will arrive to escort you wherever you wanna go.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” I snort, waving him off.

Albert looks up from his phone. “Don’t be stupid,” he deadpans. “Doc’s a public figure, this is standard protocol for his donors.”

The idea of having someone trail me around the city sounds annoying as fuck, but before I can argue it further, my phone buzzes beside my sketchbook.

My gaze pings over to it, then back to Albert. “How’d you even get my number, creep?”

“Please. As if I haven’t read your entire file.”

I narrow my eyes. “That feels like a violation.”

“Probably, but it’s part of my job description.” He slides his phone back into his pocket, then pulls out a small white pill bottle, tossing it in my direction.

My reflexes are slow thanks to the hangover, so my attempt at catching it is laughable. The bottle hits me square in the chest before falling into the fry bag on my lap.

“Doc said to give those to you,” he explains as I pluck it up, glancing down at the label.

BounceBack pills– the hangover cure that hit the market a few years ago. It’s sold over-the-counter, but I’ve never had the luxury of trying it due to the high price tag. Guess that’s no longer an issue since I’m now living with the scientist responsible for developing it.

“I’ve gotta run,” Albert mumbles. “But seriously, let me know your conflicts with the schedule and I’ll try to shuffle things around.”

I nod, taking another messy bite of my burger and giving him a mock-salute.

He tosses me a wave before heading back for the elevator. I watch the doors slide shut behind him, the apartment falling quiet once more.