House of Payne: Steele (5 page)

“That I was a frigging moron to open the door to that monster in the first place, and that I’m a terrible judge of character?”

“You don’t give up.” He swung around to face her fully once more, and there was something so fierce in his gaze it had the power to nail her to the spot. “I spent nearly a decade in combat duty, and I’ve never known any soldier to go through what you’ve gone through. Not one. And you did it without any physical or psychological training. You were just a kid enjoying a lazy summer day at home when you were plunged into an all-out fight for your life. It wasn’t a conscious decision on your part to not give up. It just happened. That means you’re a fighter who’ll never quit when pushed. So I pushed you. You didn’t quit.”

It was a struggle, but she pushed the horrors of her past to the side in order to focus on him. “So you decided being a total asshole was the best way to give me a helping hand. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously to
you
. To me, you just came off as the supreme king of all dickheads.”

“I’m good with that, because hey, being supreme king of anything sounds kind of awesome. But mainly because being the supreme king of all dickheads got you back into the contest. Do I get crown with that, by the way?”

“What you almost got was my foot up your ass.”

“If those are my only choices, I’d prefer a crown. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m still standing here waiting for my thank you, Estella.”

“I hate the name Estella.” She heard the confusion in her tone, and wondered if her expression matched it. Probably. Maybe it was crazy for her to believe him, but… she kind of did. She didn’t want to, since basically hating his guts was what he deserved. But when he looked into her eyes as if daring her to call him a liar, she had the strangest feeling he was telling her the truth. “I was named after Estella Havisham, a character I personally cannot stand, so I prefer Essie.”

“Essie.” He said it as though he’d closed some kind of deal with her and was satisfied about it in a big way. Then he cocked his head. “Still waiting over here.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed, to make sure her voice didn’t fade at the last. “I mean, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“News flash, pal—it’s no fun being called names. But considering the outcome, I’m glad I didn’t bail.”

“You wouldn’t have,” came the offhand response, as if it was already a foregone conclusion in his mind. “You would have come back on your own. For one thing, you’re the only one I’ve seen so far who’s shown any sign of enthusiasm over designing for this thing. You’re always making notations in your book.”

“And designs. Though most of them center around either my brother’s work or Angel’s.” Before she could think better of it, she opened her sketchbook to show him a sketch of a snowflake cutout design on sleeves for a shirt that matched Angel’s winter wonderland work. On the opposite page was her brother’s famous hooded cobra running up the back of a fitted black hoodie so the hood itself was the cobra’s head. “I guess I should try to incorporate other tattooists into what I’m doing, just to be balanced.”

“I’d wear that. I’ve got a lot of hoodies, but if I had that one, I wouldn’t wear the others.” He pointed to the hoodie, then ran a curious finger over the ragged edge of the sketchbook’s cover. “You’ve had this a while.”

“My personal talisman.” She closed the ringed binder and smoothed a hand over the familiar leather cover. “My Aunt Victoria gave me this sketchbook after I moved down to Texas. I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t manage to focus my eyes for any length of time. This book gave me something to work on, as well as distract me from smashing mirrors.”

“Smashing mirrors?”

“Uh, yeah.” She grimaced, mortified. Sure, why not just pour out her whole screwed-up life story to this total stranger? Clearly it was important to see just how awkward she could make this situation. “I smashed every mirror that came within reach. The monster that I’d become…I didn’t recognize my face, so I just couldn’t handle mirrors. Not back then, anyway.”

Something terrible in his eyes surfaced. It was a strange mixture of bitterness and pity that was hard for her heart to take. “You weren’t the monster.” Again he gave her his profile as he looked away, this time to rub an absent hand over one side of his face. “You were
never
the monster.”

“Try to convince a once-pretty teenage girl of that when she can’t recognize her own reflection.”

“You’re still pretty. You’re beautiful.”

“Well, uh, I…thank you.” Shockwaves rolled through her so hard they nearly knocked her off her feet, and it took her a moment to realize why. No man had ever said those words to her before. Her father and brothers, sure, but they didn’t count. Ezekiel Steele was definitely a man who counted. Even if she couldn’t believe words said out of pity and kindness, it still knocked her flat on her ass to hear them. “Um…since I was hard to communicate with during that time, my aunt gave me this book so I wouldn’t drown inside myself.”

“Interesting way of putting it. Or maybe I should say
accurate
.”

“At first I thought it was a stupid idea, putting whatever was inside me down on paper. What was inside of me was so awful, no one would want to see it or read it. But eventually this book became everything to me. It was my way of communicating with the people around me as well as being my outlet. Ultimately it gave me something to focus all my energy on. Even if it was just drawing, it gave me something I could hang onto, even when I wanted to die.” Then she winced. Wow. Just when she thought she couldn’t get any worse, she went and gabbed about a fun subject like death. “Okay, share-time’s over. Forgive my awkward social skills. I don’t get out of my head very much to be amongst actual people. I’m sure I’ve now convinced you that while I do have a few screws loose, I’m nowhere near the fighter you thought I was.”

“You’re still here,” he said simply, his tone gruff. “You’re not the first to curse the fighting spirit that kept you anchored to a life you didn’t want after that life changed. What matters is that you’re still here.”

She blinked, shocked he understood. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

“I hope you listen when you tell yourself that.”

“Absolutely.” She nodded firmly, making sure she didn’t sound self-pitying. She’d gone down that road once long ago, and it had been so all-consuming in its darkness that she now made a conscious effort to avoid it whenever it popped up. She might be stuck on a lonely road with no off-ramps, but she didn’t have to drive herself into the dark. “I’m lucky to be alive, and luckier still to be doing what I love, which is creating. So, um… thanks again for keeping me on track, Ezekiel.”

“Steele.” Those upward tilting corners of his mouth curled even more, and for no reason her heart pulled off a slow-rolling somersault. “I don’t like my name either, though I’m glad you remembered it. Just call me Steele.”

“Steele.” She tried it out, and discovered she liked how it felt rolling off her tongue. “That’s a cool name. I think it suits—”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, but it didn’t register that it was the door to Twist’s booth opening until he arrowed straight at them like a sister-seeking, overprotective brother missile.

“Meeting’s over already? Great timing. Why don’t you come downstairs with me and my client and keep me company while he pays up? No need for you to hang around up here all alone waiting for me.” An arm came around her shoulders, and before she knew what was happening, Twist had her marching toward the stairs.

“I wasn’t alone, I was talking to someone.” Appalled at Twist’s rude behavior, Essie twisted around to yell an apology to Steele, but he was already walking away.

Chapter Five

David Bowie’s “Fame” pulsed overhead as Essie entered House Of Payne’s gift shop. She’d managed to escape the confines of her brother’s frosted glass tattoo booth when a client had arrived for a session, but up to that point Twist had been on a stranger-danger rant. A rant, moreover, that had become his favorite thing in the world since he’d dragged her away from Steele days ago.

Clearly, Twist thought she was a child.

She wasn’t an idiot. When it came to her safety, she understood the very real trauma that still existed in the dark corners of Twist’s soul. She had it too. But at some point they all had to step out of the horrible shadow of the past and into a new day.  That was what she’d decided to do when she’d moved back to Chicago, where her attack had happened. It was past time that she started living a normal life, and embracing every aspect of it to the fullest. That meant getting a job, hopefully at House Of Payne.

At this point, she’d take just about any job that came her way, she thought wryly, browsing through the gift shop’s shelves. Since she’d come back home, not a single dime had been put into her savings. Two months from now, when this crazy competition came to an end, her savings would be just about done as well. If she didn’t win, she’d be broke with no job in sight, and no doubt moving into her parents’ house until she got a job.

Nothing said
loser
quite like moving back home with Mommy and Daddy.

She had to win, she thought, her preoccupied gaze falling on a display of colorful mugs. She had to dig deep for every lesson she’d ever learned in both fashion design and in theater to create wearable statements that conveyed what House Of Payne was all about. If she didn’t, she’d be ruined.

No pressure there.

A colorful mandala-covered mug caught her eye, and she plucked it off the shelf to give it a closer study. The mandala itself was done in rainbow hues and melting to a center point at the bottom, reminding her of crayon wax art. It was beautiful, but if she had been in charge of how the design had been placed on the mug, she would have had it so the dripping colors flowed into the handle itself…

Inspiration struck hard. A nanosecond later she cursed a blue streak under her breath. She’d been in such a hurry to escape her brother that she’d left her sketchbook up in his booth. With a frustrated sigh, she headed for the cashier, mug in hand. This was Twist’s fault, she decided on a irritated huff. If he hadn’t been preaching so incessantly on the virtues of not talking to strange men, she wouldn’t have needed to make a bid for freedom. Now she was stuck waiting around for heaven knew how long before she could get her book back.

Fabulous.

Leaving the gift shop behind, Essie headed toward the reception area at the front of the building. While most of her time had been spent upstairs in either Payne’s office or her brother’s booth, it was the entirety of the downstairs floor she liked best. Tinted floor-to-ceiling windows in the reception area looked out onto the never-ending traffic of The Loop. The black marble floor gleamed like a skating rink under the bright white lights overhead, and beyond the reception area was a sophisticated art gallery, where the House’s more famous pieces were displayed on stark white modular walls.

At House Of Payne, art reigned supreme.

“Hey, Scout.” Essie smiled at the woman behind the state-of-the-art reception desk. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“I hope I’ve got an answer.” Scout looked up from her tablet and returned her smile. “What’s up?”

“See this gorgeous thing?” Essie handed the mug over to the other woman. “Do you happen to know who the artist is who made it?”

“I think that’s Max’s work… aha, yep.” She turned the mug over, then showed the name to Essie. “He usually specializes in retro tats—you know, giving it that forties and fifties look down to the last detail. But every now and again, he goes Salvador Dali on us and melts whatever he’s working on. It’s weird, but cool.”

“I love the melty part, but I was kind of hoping I could manipulate the way it looks… ugh,” Essie interrupted herself and gave a tiny stomp of her foot. “It’s too hard to explain without my sketchbook, which I left upstairs in Twist’s booth. I don’t suppose my brother’s going to be done with his client any time soon, is he?”

“Let’s see.” Scout set the mug on the desk and let her fingers fly over a keyboard embedded in the console, her eyes on a large monitor. “Nope, sorry. Twist is going to be socked in there for another three hours or so.”

Naturally
. “Well, that might give me some time to chat with this Maximo dude. I don’t suppose he’s available during the next three hours, is he?”

“No, and I strongly advise making an appointment, if you’re sure you absolutely have to talk to Maximo,” came the quelling reply. “He’s got a couple of nicknames around here—The Mad Russian, and Mad Max. See the common thread going on there?”

“Mm-hm.” Essie plucked the mug back up and contemplated the melting mandala. It was simply too cool to not use. “Just how mad is he?”

“In all honesty, I find your brother to be way more of a handful than Max. But he is like the rest of you weirdo artists—very hard to predict.”

“I’m not a weirdo. In fact, I’m the most normal fashion designer I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not saying much, but at least you don’t refer to yourself in the third person,” Scout added fairly when Essie opened her mouth to protest. “Maybe you’ll see what I mean when you talk to Max… that is, if you still think you want to talk to him?”

“I definitely do, even if it’s only for five minutes. I have a great idea for some activewear for this design, but I need to make sure the artist is cool with what I intend to do with it.”

“Okay, I’ll—”

“Scout, we’ve got company coming, so drop what you’re doing and listen up.” Payne appeared around the corner along with Ezekiel Steele—or Steele—his aura crackling with intensity. Surprised, Essie’s glance caught Steele’s, and all at once she forgot why she was there.

Pow
.

The impact of his gaze slammed into her hard enough to punch the air out of her lungs. She heard herself gasp even as her heart sprouted happy-feet and started skipping all over the place. Her hand fluttered to her chest—just in case she needed to perform CPR on herself—and tried to remember when she’d ever had such a profound reaction to someone simply looking at her.

And he
had
been looking. His gaze had already been trained on her by the time she’d looked his way, and that fact made her entire nervous system light up. Unlike every other human being on the planet, Steele didn’t seem thrown by her clothing-camouflage that made her invisible. For some reason, this man
saw
her.

She liked that.

A lot.

Scout arched her brows at Payne’s announcement. “What’s going on?”

“I just got a call from the personal secretary of one the Royals—”

“Stop right there.” She held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Kansas City baseball, Buckingham or a cast member from that TV series?”

“Buckingham. It doesn’t matter who, so I’m not going to say,” he tacked on when Scout’s eyes went huge. Essie deflated and pooched out her lips in a disappointment she couldn’t help. Well, boo. Nothing cool ever happened in her life, but being in the same building with an English Royal was definitely cool. At the very least she’d like to know who it was going to be.

A low huff of laughter made her glance up, only to find Steele watching—and apparently enjoying—her pouty reaction. The moment she looked up at him, his meticulously kept professional mask slipped even more, and he winked at her.

Oh… wow.

Her breath shallowed out and her pulse took off like a rocket. Good grief. Who knew a simple wink from a man could look so damn
hot
?

“All that matters,” Payne was saying while she struggled not to pearl-clutch, “is that we get my schedule cleared for the day.”

“I take it you’re the one who’s going to be slinging some royal ink?”

“You got it. They’re going to be here in about an hour, so we need to reschedule the appointment I had, with our apologies and a discount.”

“As you know, I’m all for catering to our heavy-hitter clients, but I don’t like people getting preferential treatment just because they’ve got crowns and tiaras and shit.” Scout turned her attention back to the calendar displayed on the monitor, tapped the screen twice, then dragged her finger to another box. “You should’ve told them you were booked for the next ten months, and to take a number like everyone else.”

“Not everyone else can influence the masses by getting a House Of Payne tattoo, so I don’t want to hear any bitching about it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Is there anything you do want to hear?”

“Yeah, I want to hear that you’ll help Steele with all the security issues this unexpected visit kicks off.”

“Right.” Clearly torn between being thrilled with the Royal arrival, and irritated on behalf of all the working-class everywhere, Scout nodded to their chief of security. “What do you need?”

“No drop-ins will be allowed from now until however long the Royal is in-house.” At last Steele pulled his gaze from Essie to turn his attention to Scout, who’d once again grabbed up her tablet. “I’ve called for more warm bodies to be posted at all points of egress to make sure we control who comes in and out.”

“Points of egress. Sweet. I’ve always wanted an excuse to say that phrase. What else?”

“I need you to email me a list of the names of all the House’s clients who are scheduled to come in today, so that my team can check them in at the door.”

“Wow, really? You don’t want us to cancel everyone?”

“Absolutely not. We want to give the appearance that everything at House Of Payne is business as usual. That means everyone keeps their appointments with their various tattooists, just like they would on any other day.”

“Sure, this is just another normal day here at the House, getting balls-to-the-walls ready for Prince Charming or whoever’s going to be waltzing through the door.” Looking down at her tablet, Scout worked it like a concert pianist. “I guess it’d be weird to roll out the red carpet since we’re wanting to keep a low profile?”

Essie loved the slow rise of Steele’s scarred eyebrow. “Yeah. It’d be weird.”

“Okay, nix on the red carpet, you killjoy, you. When’s your team due in to lock this place down like Fort Knox?”

“The next fifteen minutes or so, is my guess. However long it takes them to get from PSI to here.”

“PSI?” Essie asked, then immediately clamped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“It stands for Private Security International. We’ve been contracted to do security for the House.” Again, Steele’s gaze drifted to Essie. That looked like a hint to her, so she straightened away from the counter.

“Do you want me to leave? I should leave, right? Sorry about that.”

“What? No.” A half-smile softened Steele’s all-business mask before he moved to stand at the corner of the counter closest to her, as if to prevent her from going anywhere. “After careful consideration, it’s my professional opinion that you’re not a threat to some English Royal who may or may not be able to take the pain of a tattoo needle. I mean, you might look like a dangerous desperado, but I think it’s safe enough for you to stay.”

Oh, yeah, she silently snorted. Dangerous. That was her, all right. “Good, because I can’t leave until I get my sketchbook out of Twist’s booth, and finish making an appointment with some artist named Maximo.” She held up her mug, letting it dangle from her fingers by its handle. “Cool design, yeah?”

“You’re interested in Mad Max’s work?” Payne cast a curious glance their way. “Fair warning, Es—Max is what you might call
eccentric
. You can be chatting about something as simple as the merits of microwavable mac and cheese, and suddenly he’s turned the whole conversation into sexual innuendo. He doesn’t do it to be offensive. That’s just the way his mind works, and he seems to assume that everyone’s like that.”

“Aha.” Not sure whether she was put off or amused, she found herself grinning at Payne. Amusement won. “Thanks for the warning.”

“When’s your appointment with this guy?” Steele’s expression had slipped back into stone-faced professional mode, with his mouth a flat line.

“Um.” Surprised at his interest, she nodded at Scout. “I was just about to make an appointment when you guys rolled up.”

“Sorry, honey, but I have to put that on the backburner for now.” Scout spoke without looking up, busily typing away. “Could you do me a favor and remind me to make you an appointment later? I’ve got to get this done.”

“I’ll shoot you an email so that when you do have time, you can go ahead and get it then. No rush,” she added with a quick smile when the other woman looked up with a grateful glance. “It’d probably be best if this doesn’t even happen today, considering how busy everyone is, so it’s all good.”

Scout paused in her super-sonic typing just long enough to blow her a kiss. “You are
so
much easier to deal with than your brother. Email me right now so you don’t forget.”

“Got it.” As she dug for her phone to thumb at the screen, she listened absently to Payne brief Steele on just how many Royal bodyguards would be invading the House. Since it sounded like sensitive information that shouldn’t be heard by totally normal people like her, she wandered toward the front door, head down over her phone as she pulled up Scout’s email and began to type. It was sweet of Payne to give her fair warning about this Maximo dude, but she wasn’t fragile. A few naughty suggestions or dirty words weren’t going to send her into a—