by Stacy Gail
“You must’ve missed how she quit the moment she found out she was left off the concierge list.”
“That was just the last straw. Think about it—she’s already got a website ready to go live with new designs and awesome new ink-slinging techniques that she took the time to perfect. She’s been planning to leave for months. Which means she’s been unhappy here at House Of Payne for months.”
“Yeah.” Twist drew in a slow breath, forcing down the need to rage, and looked Payne straight in the eye. “That’s on me.”
Payne said nothing, just watched him.
“She tried to quit six months ago. We both know I was the reason for that. I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong, pissed her off, then ragged on her for being an idiot when she really wasn’t. I was the one who was the idiot, not her.”
“As I recall, you also checked on her work schedule to give her clients your so-called approval, when that’s never been your job, or your business.”
“Like I said, Scout’s great at putting clients through the vetting process, but she was out on vacation at that time. In my defense, I didn’t know if Angel’s schedule had been properly screened for creepers. I know she took it bad, but all I was doing was trying to keep her safe.”
“You overstepped your bounds, pissed Angel off even more, and now here we are wondering what the hell we’re going to do without her.” When Twist didn’t have an answer for that, Payne sighed and swiveled idly in his chair. “Have you told her?”
“Told her what?”
“About your sister.”
Twist felt the muscles in his face freeze. “Why the hell would I do that? That’s none of her business.”
Payne grimaced and seesawed a hand. “It isn’t, but it also kind of is.”
“No fucking way, man. Seriously.”
“Look, I know why you act the way you do, because I know your history inside and out. You’re not a control freak because you’re not happy unless you’re pissing in someone else’s corner. You’ve got reasons.”
“Reasons that have nothing to do with Angel.”
“When those reasons make you look like a twitchy-eyed psychopath hunting for pervs in her client list when that’s not your job or your business, she wins the right to know why you’re acting like a twitchy-eyed psychopath.”
“If I went down that road with her, I’d have to explain everything. And at the moment, since they let that asshole out of prison last week, I’m not exactly in the mood to tackle the subject.”
Payne went very still. “You gotta be kidding me.”
Twist shrugged as hopelessness warred with churning, soul-deep rage. There was nothing he could say.
“They let that animal out on parole?”
“Nope. They just… let him out. Overcrowding,” Twist explained, and did his best to leech out the disgust boiling away inside him whenever he thought about it. “My folks told me about it last Sunday at dinner. They didn’t even get notified about it until after it was all said and done. At least in a parole hearing, a victim has the opportunity to give an impact statement. But this… this was just early release for a first-time offender.”
“How’s your family?”
“No one’s told Essie yet. She’s still in Texas, doing awesome at school and working part time as a costume designer for a theater group. There’s no need to rock her boat. As for the rest of us…” He shrugged again and smiled grimly. “The Santiagos are tough. We might be kinda pissed about this, but we’re standing strong, and we’re standing together. We’re gonna be just fine.”
“Never doubted it.” Payne nodded once before blowing out a short breath. “When the madness dies down, you might think about telling Angel the whole story, all right? At the very least it would help her understand why you’ve got such a hard-on for protecting those you perceive as innocent, and let’s face it—from top to bottom, Angel hits all those buttons of yours. She’s the personification of innocent.”
“Not so much now,” Twist said before he thought it through.
Payne’s idle swiveling came to a halt. “What?”
Fuck. “Nothing.”
“Shit.” Payne stared at him long and hard—so long Twist began to feel that unpleasant burning once more. With a sound of impatience, Payne looked up to the ceiling as if begging for deliverance. “Shit. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“What?” But he was pretty sure he knew.
Payne dropped his chin back down to glare pure death at him. “You slept with her?”
Twist returned the glare with a look any man with half a brain would be able to read. “I know you’re my boss and all, and I know we’re good friends. But I’m pretty sure that’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Jesus, you did. You fucking slept with her. Just when I thought the prospect of getting Angel back into House Of Payne couldn’t get any bleaker, you manage to fuck up an already fucked-up situation.” Twist’s old prison survival instincts kicked in with a vengeance, because at that moment Payne had the look of a man who badly wanted to toss him through the nearest window. “What the hell was going through your head?”
When it came to being with Angel, the triumphant roar of finally was the first thing that came to mind. “That’s between me and her, and has nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, no. You don’t get that luxury, pal. When anyone gets in the way of how I run House Of Payne—including my personnel, which is what makes the House the best tattoo studio in the whole goddamn world—it has everything to do with me. And make no mistake, right now you are fucking with how I run things. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shit-can your ass right this very second.”
“You’d be down another tattooist who’s just as popular, if not more so, than Angel.”
“Goddamn it.” Payne’s jaw knotted, looking for all the world like he wanted to take a bite out of something. “Give me another good reason.”
“She was the first ray of light I saw after spending four years in the worst kind of dark a man can experience. I won’t explain it any more than that, because I mean it when I say it’s none of your business. All you need to know is that I’ve waited fucking years for her to finally see me. So if you’ve got a problem with that, no bullshit, you really are going to lose two tattooists. Because I’m telling you straight-up, if it comes down to a choice between the House and her, I’m choosing her without so much as a backward glance.”
Payne stared at him so long Twist thought he wasn’t going to respond. Then he shifted his shoulders and let loose an amused scoff. “Geez, man, a choice? Do you have to be so fucking dramatic?”
Twist relaxed enough to give him a squinty-eyed glare. “Screw you.”
Payne clutched a hand to his chest. “She’s the light in my dark, the wind beneath my wings, the Kool in my Aid…”
“Did I say screw you? My bad. What I meant to say was eat shit and choke.”
“I’m just pissed I didn’t write any of that sappy shit down, it’d make a great tattoo. Chicks would eat it up with a spoon. I could frame it in roses, maybe add some birdies…”
“Yeah, okay. Leaving now, ‘cause I’ve got this thing called work to do.” He pushed to his feet and didn’t stop until he was near the door when Payne called out to him.
“I do know what that’s like, you know. Finding that light that shines just for you.” Payne was still grinning, but it seemed more self-directed than at Twist. “Some people go their entire lives not finding theirs, so when you do find it you do everything you can think of to hold onto it. It changes everything, because it changes you.”
Twist eyed the other man. “Is there a ‘but’ coming up?”
“Just some advice. Holding onto that light to make sure it stays safe—and stays yours—is understandable. But it’s tricky as shit. Hold onto it the wrong way, and you could smother it before you even realize what you’ve done.” With that, Payne shooed him out the door, but not before serenading him with the loud, off-key humming o
f “Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Asshole, Twist thought. But he fought a grin all the way to his booth.
Chapter Twelve
Midmorning sunlight beamed into the kitchen above a deep farmhouse-style sink that hadn’t been there when Angel had lived with her parents. After removing old, limp curtains from the rod and throwing them in a nearby trash bag, Angel focused on the space beneath the sink. Most of the stuff there was tossed straight away. The pantry, however, was going to be a different story, filled with time-consuming decisions on what to pack up for the local food bank and what to toss out.
She’d made excellent progress, though, in spite of Twist constantly at her to take it easy. Despite his assertions that she was still symptomatic for a concussion, she felt tons better. It was obvious to her that she was healing up without any complications.
Well, not counting Twist. When it came to complications, he redefined the term.
Maybe that was because he was in every facet of her life, and she didn’t seem to mind it in the least. Logically she knew she should; his overprotective tendencies had driven her freaking insane a mere week ago. She wasn’t a big believer in letting sex alter everything; relationships should be more complex than that. But there was no denying she sensed a deeper closeness with Twist that hadn’t been there twenty-four hours ago. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, physical intimacy had the psychological side-effect of bringing people closer together from an emotional standpoint. It was unavoidable. If a person trusted someone enough to take them as a lover, it was clear that many mental and emotional barriers had already been overcome.
She still wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
She didn’t regret her decision though, she thought, dumping the now-full garbage bag on a pile of other trash bags destined for the dumpster before she fished a new bag out of the box. Any woman with a pulse would think she’d hit the hot-guy jackpot if they got Twist into bed. He was rough and rugged, sexy and inked out, with a dangerous past balanced out by a mile-wide protective streak that promised to keep the world at bay if that was what she wanted. True, he was a bit rough around the edges, which meant he’d never be part of the diplomatic world. But so what? He never lied, was never deliberately cruel and she always knew where she stood with him.
And on the plus side, he knew what to do with his fingers. And his mouth. And his body.
In that regard, he was an absolute treasure.
Maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head since he’d kissed her in the ER. He wasn’t perfect, of course. Far from it.
But as crazy as it seemed, maybe… maybe he was perfect for her.
“Hey.”
In the process of pulling open the narrow door leading to the butler’s pantry by the fridge, Angel almost jumped out of her skin when Twist appeared, seemingly right out of her thoughts. She plastered a hand to her heart and gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
“I’ll get in the habit of stomping whenever I approach you.” Clearly unrepentant if his grin was any indication, he leaned against the door. “I could’ve sworn you said you were going to take a break after you boxed up the pots and pans.”
Good thing he didn’t know about all the time she’d spent upside down cleaning things out from under the sink. “I did. Now I’m back at it with the pantry. Want to hand me that box behind you?”
“Not really.” But he did, opening the pantry door all the way and stepping inside the small, windowless space with her. “Whoa. Smells like cinnamon in here.”
“My mom spilled an entire bottle in here when I was still in elementary school. Even though she vacuumed most of it up, it went airborne and settled kind of everywhere. It’s smelled like this ever since.”
“Note to self—don’t drop a bottle of cinnamon. Ever.”
“Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been cayenne pepper.”
“Good point. What’s this?”
Angel looked over her shoulder and saw him running his fingers lightly over the door frame decorated with many familiar markings. “Oh. That’s my growth chart.”
“No way.” He knelt down to peer at the first mark. “Eighteen inches? There’s no way you were standing then. That’s like elf-sized.”
“Of course I wasn’t standing. My father took my length as a newborn—eighteen inches—and commemorated my birth by marking it down.”
“‘The day an angel was delivered from Heaven. August 10th, Angel Taylor came to earth.’” He rubbed a thumb over what could have been mistaken for a smudge. “He drew a picture of a sleeping baby with a cute little curlicue falling on her forehead.”
“Yeah, though I was pretty bald when I was born. That curl is what you’d call artistic license.”
“Your dad has some talent. Not on your level, of course, but you come by your artistic gifts naturally.”
“I guess.”
“‘Angel gave me her first smile—NO, IT’S NOT GAS!’” Twist laughed while she focused on sorting cans into a box to be donated. “Wow, this is hilarious.”
“I’m glad you’re entertained.”
“‘Angel, two. Now we know why it’s called the Terrible Twos. Send help. Or beer. Actually, just send beer.’”
She snorted and made room in the box for a can of creamed corn. “My dad has always liked a good beer. My mom told me he’s now interested in microbrewing his own. Can you imagine? He’ll probably blow up the house.”
“A definite beer lover.” Twist moved up the doorjamb. “‘Angel, three years, two weeks. Flipped Grandpa the bird for the first time. May it not be the last.’”
In the process of setting the increasingly heavy box down, she turned to gape at him, aghast. “I don’t remember that.”
“Obviously your dad did and thought it was a moment that needed to be commemorated. There’s also a caricature of a sharp-nosed man smiling while wiping a tear away.”
“Must have been a proud-dad moment.”
“Must’ve been. I know I said I probably wouldn’t like your dad if I ever met him, but now I’m not so sure. If he can leave all the drama at the door, I think he’d be a fucking riot to get to know.”
“I’ll give you his number. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
“‘Angel, five. First day of Sunday school.’ The measurement mark has another branch attached to it that says, ‘Angel getting kicked out of Sunday school. THAT’S MY GIRL.’” He looked up at her with raised brows. “I’ve never known anyone to get kicked out of Sunday school.”
“Now you do.”
“What’d you do?”
“I defended my honor by punching a boy when he flipped my dress up to show the class my underwear. Note that he didn’t get kicked out for being a disgusting, skeevy perv-in-the-making. Just me. But I regret nothing.”
“No wonder your dad was proud of you.”
She laughed. “You mean you’re not horrified by my automatic violent reaction?”
“Are you kidding? I want my daughter to have that exact same reaction if some snot-nosed little douchebag does that to her.” As she turned to look at him in surprised pleasure, he continued to read his way through her life. “‘Angel, seven. Played flawless Für Elise at first piano recital. My kid’s a genius!’ Damn, Angel.” Again Twist looked back at her, and though she couldn’t decipher the softening expression in his dark eyes, it made her tingle in an all-over body blush. “I didn’t know you played the piano.”
“I haven’t played in a while. I’m sure I’m rusty.” Dragging her gaze from his, she held up a dusty can of sardines. “I don’t remember ever having sardines in this house, and this can smells vaguely like cinnamon. How old do you think these are?”
“If you can’t find an expiration date, I’d toss ‘em, just to be safe.” As she examined the tin before tossing it in a trash bag, he turned his attention back to the growth chart. “‘Front tooth lost for Angel, coinciding with first flash of adult cynicism. Ap
parently believing in the Tooth Fairy is lame.’” He frowned at the notation before sliding her a narrow-eyed glance. “You did believe in Santa though, right?”
“Not really. But since it made my parents happy, I did my best to fake it.”
He shook his head. “They didn’t try hard enough with you, obviously.”
“Try hard enough? What do you mean?”
“You were an intelligent kid who wasn’t going to just believe something you were told. You were going to question it and look for proof, but they didn’t bother to give you any. My kids, though… When I have kids, they’re gonna believe in Santa and Rudolph and Comet all those other reindeer, the Easter Bunny, and even the Great Pumpkin, if I can manage it. They’re going to have that irritating Elf on a Shelf pulling crazy shit all over the house, and sometimes their toys are going to randomly come alive overnight, just to keep them on their toes. I want them to have all those magical memories that’ll fire up their imaginations, and if I have to dress up as a fat guy in a red suit to make it happen, I’m totally down with that.”
Her throat was suddenly too tight to let air pass as she imagined a doting Twist going to extreme lengths to make special memories for bright-eyed, overexcited little ones. It was such a beautiful mental picture that she almost didn’t want to let it go. That alone alarmed her, and she made herself shut out those loving, perfect images that made her ache deep down inside before she began to wonder what those little ones would look like if she were their mother…
When she realized he was watching her intently, that all-over body tingling got worse. Nervously she cleared her throat and made herself get back to work. “You’re going to be a great father someday, you know. You’ve got good dad instincts.”
“I was raised by a great guy. And flawed though he obviously was, I think your father had a few good dad instincts too.”
That made her pause. “You think?”
“Yeah, I do. Most people chart their children’s growth on their birthdays, and leave it at that. Your dad chose to do that as well, plus he recorded individual moments like—” He leaned in to read a mark near the top. “‘First heartbreak for my precious Angel, twelve, because of an idiot not fit to breathe her air.’ And there’s a cartoon of a drooling monkey-boy picking his nose and wearing a Dunce’s cap.”