The second, Mr. Experienced from Miami, seemed to have as many issues with working for a woman as I did hiring a man.

“I thought your name was Mel,” he grumbled, reaching up to grab a cigarette he had stashed behind one ear.

“It is.” I didn’t bother explaining I was named for one of the original Amazons, Melanippe, a direct descendent of Ares and Otrera. Somehow I didn’t think he would be all that impressed.

“It all women here?” He leaned to the side to see around my office door out into the shop.

I folded my arms over my breasts and smiled. Tattooing is a sacred business for Amazons-one exclusively performed by women, for obvious reasons. Men just don’t have the same spiritual depth. I found it endlessly funny that in the modern world men had come to dominate the art. Of course, it also explained why most tattoos today no longer possessed the power they should.

“You have a problem with that?” I shifted my snake bracelet a little higher on my wrist, making sure the ruby eyes were pointed directly at my applicant, then smiled. I wasn’t putting the mojo on him or anything, but I was thinking about it-hard.

He shivered. “No, I guess not-just weird, s’all.”

“Yes, weird.”

I was suddenly bored and antsy to get things moving. I still had one more fake interview to complete before the woman/real applicant arrived.

“Well, it’s been nice. We’ll call you.” Or not. I ushered him out of my office.

A wave of surprise washed over his face, but he left. I followed him to the front, just to make sure. When he trudged down the steps to the front door, I wiped my hands together. Two down, one to go. Gotta love efficiency.

A man in his midthirties stepped inside as the second candidate left. He had dark hair and brows that drew attention to chocolatey eyes. He also had some impressive art on one arm, a quarter sleeve of mountains and stars. However, it was the portfolio tucked under said arm that led me to the ingenious assumption that he was applicant number three.