House of Payne: Steele (29 page)

As the ballooning anguish tried to pull her into a pool of never-ending hopelessness, those scars grounded her. They were proof that she had survived worse.

That meant she could survive Steele.

She’d told him that, and she believed it.

She could survive him.

Then he moved toward her, his eyes locked unwaveringly on her, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive the next five minutes.

“Okay, that wasn’t too awful.” Scout reappeared at the curtain gap, looked Olivier’s models over from head to toe, front to back, then had them back away from the curtain gap. “What you’ll need to do is wait for Dizzy Izz’s narration to come to an end, and watch for her models exiting off to the right…”

The all-important instructions faded as Essie watched Steele approach in much the same way a helpless swimmer watched the approach of a great white shark. Why now, was all she could think while the jagged pieces of her heart sank into her stomach. She didn’t want to see him—see his beloved but unloving face. Hear his beloved but unloving voice. Having him there now was akin to having her jaw wired shut at a feast. It was worse than looking but not being able touch, worse even than torture.

It was hell.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words squeaked out of her, and each one seemed to be wrapped in rusty barbed wire that tore chunks out of her throat. Uselessly she tried to massage her throat into working properly. “Luke Keyes replaced you. You’re supposed to be gone.”

“I was gone. Now I’m back.” A world of turbulence was in the eyes that remained locked on her like his life depended on it. “We need to talk.”

“I’m busy.” Thank God.

“I know. Tonight.”

“No.”

He stopped within a breath of her, and his hand lifted as if to cup her face. “Sweetness—”

“I said
no
.” She flinched away before he made contact. His hand froze between them, and the turbulence she’d noted blew up into an all-out tempest. She didn’t care. “You really shouldn’t be here, Steele.”

His hand fell to his side. Clenched into a fist. “You saying you don’t want me here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” So what if it killed her to say it?

His chest heaved with a closed-mouth deep breath. “Part of you does. I could tell when you first caught sight of me. Part of you was happy to see me.”

“But not all of me. All of me is miserable because of you, and I can’t deal with that right now. If there’s any mercy in you, you’ll go away and leave me alone.”

It was his turn to flinch—just the slightest twitch of his eyelids, but she caught it. “Give me a chance to make it up to you, Essie.”

If she didn’t hurt so much, she would have laughed. “Make it up to me? It tears me apart just to look at you. I’d rather not be with you at all, than be with you knowing you don’t care enough about me to protect me from the pain you’ve given me. I’m tough, but I’m not so tough that I can’t still be crushed by how carelessly you handled me.”

This time his whole face flinched. “I won’t—”

“Essie, you’re up.” Scout was by the center curtain, beckoning her forward. “I need your models front and center.”

“Right.” Refusing to look Steele’s way, Essie ducked back into the cubicle and looked to Twist and Angel with a falsely bright smile. “Showtime, kids.”

With her jaw locked tight to hold back a storm of anguish beating her to death inside, Essie didn’t acknowledge Steele’s presence nearby as she guided her brother and sister-in-law to the curtain. Scout looked up from her tablet, but instead of giving her models the careful once-over as she had all the others, her jaw dropped and she simply stared.

“What the hell?” Scout stared at what Angel wore for a long moment before shaking her head. “I don’t believe this.”

“What?” Twist scowled over at Scout while Essie’s blood ran cold. Was her design really that awful? Mortification sank its acid teeth into her, and she couldn’t help but glance at Steele, who’d stepped forward. A failure was bad enough, but not in front of the man who’d so completely rejected her.

God, please not in front of Steele…

“This can’t be,” Scout muttered, then unclipped a walkie-talkie from her belt. “Payne, we’ve got a problem. Essie’s design for a woman’s daily wear outfit and Dizzy Izz’s design are almost identical. We have two designers who’ve made the same thing.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

On one side of Payne’s office were all of Essie’s designs—designs she’d spent months on. Designs she’d given up her excellent job and peaceful life in Texas to create.

On the other side of the office were Dizzy Izz’s.

She shook her head, dismayed. It was like looking at a Bizarro World version of her own stuff.

Her collection had far more items in it, and as far as she could tell, Dizzy hadn’t done an activewear line showcasing Max’s artwork—or an activewear line at all. But the daily wear, the children’s line and a few pieces from her outerwear line—such as the cobra hoodies—were almost identical.

“What are the odds,” Payne said softly, looking from one side of the room to the other, “of this being a coincidence?”

That was what Essie wanted to know. Out of the thousands of tattoo designs exclusive to House Of Payne, what were the odds that she and Dizzy Izz would choose the same ones, and then weave them into their own creations in almost the exact same way? She’d worked her fingers to the bone to incorporate the House Of Payne logo into everything she’d made, something Dizzy Izz hadn’t done, and her designs were more sophisticated, in her opinion. But there was no denying they were basically the same.

Just looking at it made her sick.

“Seriously, I want to know.” Payne’s voice rose until it was like the crack of a whip, ringing around the room. The fury in it made her heart skip a beat. “What are the mother
fucking
odds that two designers—who’ve been ordered not to have
any
contact with each other—would come up with the same ideas? Not just once. Not just twice.
Eight
fucking times. This couldn’t be any more magically improbable if it had happened at fucking Hogwarts. Maybe I should call Professor Dumbledore to see if he can figure this shit out.”

“What matters at this point is how we’re going to pull this show off without looking like a bunch of morons.” Scout scowled at Essie and Dizzy Izz, who stood by their respective clothing collections, and a wave of dismay and irrational shame inundated Essie. Before that moment, she’d been so proud of what she had managed to create. But now that she saw so much of her own collection echoed—and damn it, echoed in an inferior way with more jagged and cartoony lines—she couldn’t stand the sight of it.

Nor could she stand this humiliating scene of being yelled at and looked at as though she had committed a crime was being witnessed by Luke and Steele. She didn’t give a damn about Luke, but Steele…

This was a nightmare.

Her eyes burned with the horrified upset she stubbornly refused to give in to. Just when she thought her pride couldn’t get any more obliterated, fate took that as a challenge to show her just how wrong she was. She didn’t want Steele to witness this. Hadn’t she already been destroyed enough?

“No. No. I don’t give two fucks about that stupid-ass show right now, Scout. The only thing I give a fuck about is who has the goddamn balls to think they can fuck with me. Is it you?” Without warning Payne wheeled toward Essie and roared in her face, his expression so wrathful she stepped back. “Are you the one who thinks she can fuck with me? Huh?”

Dear God. “
No
.”

Steele was suddenly there, his body a wall between them. “You’re going to keep it calm, and you’re going to do that right now.”

“Calm? You want fucking
calm
? So if it’s not her, then it must be
you
.” Just as fast as he’d turned on Essie, Payne whipped his head around to Dizzy Izz, whose eyes widened dramatically. “You did this, am I right? You fucking stole these designs, didn’t you?”

“Dizzy Izz will sue over such a charge, so don’t even think of going there.”

Standing by the office’s closed double doors, Luke made a little “hmph” noise that had Payne glancing his way, but Dizzy Izz wasn’t done.

“Since you obviously don’t come from the world of fashion, you don’t know that it’s very much like the entertainment world—the show must go on, no matter what. Let the show go on. Let the people decide whose designs are best.”

“What?” Aghast, Essie stared at her. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Having the same designs from two different collections…for God’s sake, I’d rather withdraw my collection than see them mocked in front of the whole world.”

“It’s not a matter of whether or not you voluntarily get to withdraw from this contest,” Scout put in, her voice as hard as granite. “If we eliminated everything that’s been duplicated, neither one of you has a complete collection, as per the terms of your contract. You both are headed for disqualification if we can’t figure this out.”

“Then let her withdraw her collection.” Dizzy Izz didn’t bat an eye as she threw Essie under the bus. “You shouldn’t have copied Dizzy Izz in the first place if you can’t handle the heat of real competition.”

That bitch.

A flash fire of savage heat swept over her as the words struck her like a contemptuous slap in the face. Blood roared in her ears and her vision narrowed in a black tunnel, and at the end of that tunnel was Dizzy Izz.

That…fucking…
bitch
.

Essie wasn’t aware of moving toward the other woman until Steele’s arm came around her waist to haul her back hard against his chest. “You bitch!
You’re
the one who stole
my
designs. I’ve had that hooded cobra hoodie design, a favorite tattoo that my brother came up with, since before the final round of this stupid fucking contest even began.”

Dizzy Izz made a production of stepping back. “Prove it.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Steele snarled, tightening his arm on Essie. “After the background-check meeting with the finalists, Essie showed me that hoodie design, along with the snowflake design, in her sketchbook.”

Essie stilled along with the rest of the world, and her shocked gasp echoed in her ears.

Her.

Sketchbook.

Goddamn it.

A tidal wave of rage punched through so hard, so fast, it took over completely.

She didn’t direct her hand to dig her fingers into Steele’s wrist to throw it clear. Nor did she consciously think of elbowing him in the ribs when he tried to grab her again, and she sure as hell didn’t plan on rocketing for Dizzy Izz with all the vicious poison of fury pouring through her veins, fueled by the intention of shaking the other woman until her frigging head popped off.

She definitely didn’t
plan
to do any of that.

But she did it all.

And she did not
care
.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had deep regrets that Steele caught her again, this time hauling her up so hard her feet left the floor to kick uselessly in the air.

“Where is it?” Essie screeched, in that moment hating everyone in that room, but hating Steele most of all for not letting her murder Dizzy Izz. “Where the fuck is it, you fucking thief?”

“Oh. Oh, of
course
.” From far, far away Scout’s voice seeped in through the blanket of fury smothering Essie’s brain. “Essie’s sketchbook. It went missing early on. Almost from the beginning, now that I think about it.”

Steele stiffened. “What? When?”

Scout’s voice turned pensive. “Um… the day those paparazzi came crashing in, looking for a Royal and instead sending Essie to the hospital. She said she left it in her brother’s tattoo booth, but the next day no one could find it.”

“I
did
leave it in Twist’s booth,” Essie raged, growling as she struggled against Steele’s impossibly strong arms. “But this
bitch
obviously snuck in somehow and stole it.”

“Dizzy Izz will sue you for that,” Dizzy Izz announced.

“Shut the fuck up,” Payne snapped before frowning over at Scout. “Why the hell didn’t I know about this?”

“It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.”

“Give it back to me,” Essie all but screamed at the older woman. “My sketchbook was my voice, don’t you understand? When I couldn’t speak, when I’d wished I had died, that book was all I had when I had nothing—when I
was
nothing. You don’t just take something that special from someone who was nothing.”

“Sweetness, no.” Steele hunched his body over hers, pressing her down as if he was trying to shield her from the ravages that had torn her apart so many years ago. “You were never
nothing
, you hear me? Don’t you ever say such a damn dirty lie again. This world is a better place with you in it, a more beautiful place. You find a way to see beauty in everything around you. Even me.”

“You’re not beautiful when you won’t let…me…
go
.” Rage drove her to beat and kick every part of Steele that she could reach, desperate to get to Dizzy Izz. “Let me go,
now
.”

“Not going to happen, baby, not when you’re in fight-mode.”

“I’m not in fight-mode, now let me go or I’ll fucking
kill
you.”

Steele’s chuckle against her ear was worse than tossing a matchstick into a lake of oil. “Sorry, not sorry.”

“Look at her, she’s crazy.” Dizzy Izz’s voice cut through the veil of red around her. “So what if her stupid book went poof? That has nothing to do with Dizzy Izz. Anyone who attempts to say that Dizzy Izz stole anything will find themselves in court. Dizzy Izz will sue everyone here.”

“Until I have proof of what happened, I’m suspending any judgment on who should be disqualified. And if I can’t find proof,” Payne added with a grimace, as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth, “then I have no choice but to drop all duplicated fashion items. That would make Olivier the winner of the contest by default.”

It was nearly midnight by the time Steele shut the door to Essie’s apartment behind him. When his conscience nagged at him for the questionable B and E, he shut it up with the facts. And the facts were that Essie hadn’t answered any of his calls and texts for a week. Nor had she spoken to him after he kept her from murdering that fucking talentless bitch, Dizzy Izz, other than to tell him that if he grabbed her like that again, she’d bite chunks out of him.

This was the only way he could talk to his fierce little fighter.

Since Essie hadn’t responded to his knock—no surprise—he wouldn’t have been surprised if the studio had been dark. But the light was on next to that sad, broken-down couch she slept on, the bedclothes rumpled and showing all the earmarks of a sleepless tussle.

But the would-be sleeper was nowhere to be found.

One glance at the empty bathroom had him half-turning to head over to Carla’s, but the open window leading to the fire escape made him pause. There was a naked foot resting on the metal stairs leading up to what he knew was a vacant apartment above, so he altered course, making plenty of sound as he went.

“Essie?” He watched that foot twitch in a response to an unexpected presence in her space, a nervous reflexive action she would probably have for the rest of her life. When it flattened, relaxing, on the stair and didn’t disappear on him, he eased his weight down onto the sill, ducked his head out and leaned back against the window frame, facing Essie. She sat on the stairs leading up from her fire escape landing with the orange cat on her lap, wearing a pair of thin, yellow cotton short-shorts and a loose-fitting, almost see-through white tank. “Hey.”

“I don’t remember giving you a key.”

Her voice was dead, unwelcoming. But at least she didn’t threaten to bite chunks out of him. It wasn’t much, but he’d take what he could get. “I don’t need one. How are you?”

“Ready to go home.”

He tensed, muscle by muscle. Considering where they were, that didn’t sound good. “Where’s home?”

“Texas. I never should have left. I see that now.” She darted a glance in his direction, then away again. “You should go. I don’t want you here.”

“Let’s clear something up first.” His chest tightened so hard it took his breath, and he had to wait for it to settle before he could speak again. “Are you saying you never should have left Texas because you genuinely believe it, or are you saying that because you’re feeling defeated?”

“I
am
defeated. Every single day that I’ve been in Chicago, I’ve lost something that used to be mine. My savings, my heart, my dignity, my designs, my future. Now I have none of the above, so it’s time to get out before I lose my sanity. I can’t stand this stupid town.”

“That’s too bad,” he said after a moment, absorbing that. “Because your future is here in this town, whether you like it or not. You need to give it another chance.”

In the semi-darkness, he watched her brows pull together. “What the hell are you talking about? There’s nothing here for me now. I’m done, get it? I’m done with Chicago.”

“It’s not done with you. Payne wanted proof that your designs got jacked, so I worked all damn day to get him that proof.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he growled, the remembered fury still honing his tone to a lethal edge. “That bitch doesn’t get to cheat you, or give you even a moment of stress. She doesn’t get to steal your greatness and call it her own, and she sure as hell doesn’t get to turn right around and accuse
you
of pulling that shit on
her
. She’s lucky the only thing that’s happened to her is disqualification from the competition, not to mention Payne is currently hell-bent on doing all he can to let the world know she’s a fucking thief and a fraud. It’ll be all over the news tomorrow, but I wanted you to hear it first from me.”