by Stacy Gail
He turned his head almost to the side to give her a spectacular side-eye. “Ezekiel Steele, in case you want to lodge a complaint with management. But considering that would be Scout Upton, she’d be on my side.”
The shock receded under a surge of outrage so pure it was a wonder she didn’t explode. “A special kind of stupid? Do you want to retract that bullshit statement made to a perfect stranger before you wind up regretting it?”
“Why would I regret telling the truth? And before you say it’s none of my business whether or not you storm off like a diva because you don’t like the rules, don’t bother,” he added when she took a sharp breath to do exactly that. “This is my business. Like I said, I had to make sure every entrant was legit and not from one of the many competitors House of Payne has. That means at some point I ran you through the computer to make sure you were who you said you were. If you walk away now, that means you’ve wasted my time. And for what? Because you’re such a special snowflake the rules shouldn’t apply to you? That you believe you’re so interesting, people can’t wait to get the scoop on your private life, when in reality no one gives two shits about a wallflower like you? Or is it that you weren’t snagging enough attention during the meeting despite arriving late and made a grand entrance, so you went for an even grander exit?”
Just when she thought he couldn’t be any more insulting, he reached the expert level of obnoxiousness. What an asshole. “Man, you’ve really got me figured out, don’t you, Einstein? Attention whore, that’s me.”
“I don’t doubt it. I know you worked at a university, so that means you don’t have a criminal record of any consequence to hide. Since you think you can get your old job back, you obviously didn’t leave under a black cloud. And those glowing references you brought to the table when you first arrived at the House all checked out. So I can’t think of a reason big enough for you to act the way you just did… except for a burning need to drag the spotlight away from your two competitors. I can see why. They might be irritating, but they’re still more interesting than you.”
“Something happened to me.” The words snarled out of her. Wallflower, not interesting, attention whore… Each word grew poisonous teeth and bit down hard, hurting her in ways she didn’t know she could be hurt, until all she wanted to do was knock this bastard right on his ass. “Something happened, and it’s nobody’s business but my own.”
“Nobody cares what happened to you,” came the devastating response. “Even if you won this stupid contest, people are only going to care about what they can buy from the House, not you. You’re not even going to be a thought in anyone’s head, so losing your shit over what might be uncovered in your past is nothing more than an excuse.”
“An excuse? An excuse for what? To gain attention?”
“Attention, or sympathy. Who the hell knows what your motivation is? Maybe you’re in over your head. Maybe you don’t have what it takes to win this fashion thing and you know it. Maybe you’re just using this as an excuse to bail.”
“I could win this stupid contest in my sleep, asshole.”
Again that derisive side-eye appeared. “Yet here you are, walking out the door.”
“Not anymore,” she raged and stalked back to the entrance before she could think better of it. “Scout said I had twenty-four hours to change my mind, so I’m changing it.”
Steele watched the three finalists hand over their signed agreements from his place near the door. Neither the snobby hater dude nor the whacked-out skinny chick had been thrilled to see Twist Santiago’s sister storm back through the door, but that was no surprise. He wouldn’t put it past either of them to throw each other down the stairs, or in front of a bus, or off the entire planet.
Estella Santiago, however, was different.
Until today, he hadn’t heard her say a word. It was almost as though she tried to be invisible, sitting absolutely still as she huddled behind that sketchbook she always had with her. She wore those long, flowy maxi dresses draped over what appeared to be a not-too-bad body, but he couldn’t tell for sure because she also wore slouchy cardigans as an added layer, and scarves around her neck on top of that, despite it being the height of summer. Every now and again a flash of shapely leg showed through a split in the skirt, and since its creamy gold tint matched her face and hands, he figured it was her natural skin tone.
A neo-Quaker like her was hardly the type to be into nude sunbathing.
Her blue-black hair was the thickest he’d ever seen, curling in long coils down her back like a mermaid’s. But it was her eyes that had knocked him for a loop when he’d first seen them. Doe-shaped and surrounded by curly long lashes, they were as amber as a wolf’s with a black ring around the edges. At first he’d assumed they were colored contacts, but since she barely wore makeup and buried herself in shapeless clothing, he doubted she went in for that kind of vanity. Those eyes were all hers.
“This is unacceptable. If someone walks out of the competition, Dizzy Izz feels that Payne shouldn’t let them back in.” Across the office, the other female finalist with the pixie cut and crazy eyes was gesturing so grandly Steele half-believed she was being attacked by a swarm of invisible bees. “Payne should rule his world with an iron fist. What he shouldn’t do is look weak by giving second chances.”
“You’re lucky I give second chances, Dizzy.” With all three files back in his possession, Payne sat at the executive desk and laced his hands together with a face that resembled granite. “You just had the fucking gall to tell me how I should run my business, and that’s one of my Hulk-smash triggers. No one tells me how to run House Of Payne. Not unless they enjoy being squashed like a bug. Now,” he went on as the woman looked like she’d swallowed her tongue. “Let’s get down to it. You all have two months to come up with two items apiece for both men and women in three separate lines. Your lines can be activewear, day wear, lingerie, accessories, shoes, outerwear, club wear, or even formal wear. I don’t care what you choose—I leave it up to you. At the end of the two-month period, you will unveil your creations in a fashion show that’ll be streamed live online. We’ll supply the models, while you supply the clothes. Keep in mind that I want everything you produce to be original, and you get extra credit if you go beyond the two-item and three-line minimum. The more you offer up for me to look at, the more I get a feel for you, your art, and your ability to produce while under pressure. And make no mistake,” he added with a shrug. “It’s all about the product and how fast your creativity can cough something up.”
That sounded reasonable to Steele, but the little hater guy, Olivier, reared back like he’s just had shit thrown at him. “Creativity can’t be rushed.”
“Tell that to someone who’s not an artist,” Payne shot back, and his voice was so abrupt it cracked like a whip around the room. Automatically Steele searched the faces of the contestants for trouble. Dizzy Izz was still struggling with her smackdown, and appeared as though she might never rediscover the ability to talk.
He could only hope.
Olivier seemed to be teetering on the edge of a tantrum.
Steele would have to put his foot down on him if that was the case. That was fine with him.
His attention flicked to Estella Santiago. As he watched, she smirked.
Hmm.
Unexpected.
His attention slipped to that smirking mouth, and how her upper lip was equal in fullness to her lower one. There was a shadow of a scar at the corner, virtually undetectable in good lighting. He almost moved closer, to make sure he was seeing it right, but Payne’s voice snapped him back to what he was supposed to be doing, which sure as hell wasn’t looking at a woman’s mouth.
“We artists create something from nothing, and yeah, that takes time. But if you want to make money off of that something, you’ve got to prove that you can produce high quality shit over and over again. When you stop thinking of yourself as a fancy artist and start thinking of yourself as a one-man or one-woman factory that doesn�
�t get paid until your product has been delivered, an amazing thing happens. You get… fuckin’… paid. Until then, you’re just another brilliant bag of hot air and unfulfilled potential, and the only fan you have is yourself. Now, does anyone have any questions?”
Dizzy and Olivier had apparently turned to stone, but Estella’s long-fingered, creamy gold hand went up. “Do we get an allowance for the raw materials, or does this come out of our own pocket? I’m not rich, so I live on a budget. I like to work in leathers, but if I’m shelling out my own dinero to create my lines, I’ll have to use less expensive materials.”
“You each get fifteen-hundred bucks.”
Much to Steele’s disappointment, Dizzy rediscovered her tongue. “Per line?”
“Nope. Fifteen-hundred dollars for everything, so budget accordingly.”
Olivier clearly came to the conclusion that now was a perfect time to launch himself from his place off the couch. “That is insane! I would have to use inferior materials to keep to that meager budget. Inferior materials mean inferior results. Is that what the great House Of Payne wants? Inferiority?”
Estella, who had merely nodded at the response before digging her phone out of her pocket, did some quick thumb-typing, then opened her sketchbook to write furiously. The other two were veritable geysers of melodrama, but for all the attention she gave them, Essie might as well have been alone in the room. She even seemed pleased with something as she wrote it down, smiling to herself in a way that made him want to lean over to see what she was writing.
Again, with the moving closer to her.
He needed to lock that shit down. Now.
“You really should have read what you signed in this agreement, pal.” Payne tapped the folders on his desk before settling back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “You’ve agreed to accept whatever terms I throw at you and not bitch about it. You’ve also agreed to stay out of each other’s way and not trip each other up, because backstabbing each other doesn’t help the House one bit. And lastly you promised that you’d be courteous to me, the people who work here and your fellow contestants. So check your damn self when you’re under this roof, or I get to bounce you.”
Steele watched Estella nod absently without looking up from whatever it was she was doing in her sketchbook.
“As of now, the three of you can wander wherever you want inside the House, except for the tattoo booths and private offices, in order to get a feel for the place and soak up its vibe. That’s what I’m looking for in your designs. I want something that truly represents everything that the House is.”
Again Essie’s hand went up—a kind of cute grown-up version of a kid in a classroom. “I understand that it’s a very private affair, getting a tattoo, and we wouldn’t dream of making a customer uncomfortable by asking to sit in on a tattoo session. But are we allowed to talk to the tattooists?”
Dizzy Izz gave a juicy-sounding snort. “Why? Dizzy Izz sees no need for that. An artist doesn’t question other artists.”
Steele gave Estella Santiago credit for not rolling her eyes. “I personally feel that talking to the tattooists is very important. You know, get to know them in their downtime in order to get a feel for who they are. I’d like to know what’s important to them in both their art and how they perceive the world so that I can more fully represent who they are. Are we allowed to do that?”
Steele watched Payne’s pissy expression vanish with a quick grin. “Great question, Es. Most of our tattooists are slinging ink from the moment they arrive, so it’s probably best to make an appointment with them ahead of time initially, and then you can work details out as you go. They all know what’s going on, and since one of you will be responsible for integrating their artwork into fashion, I’m sure all the tattooists will be happy to help you understand the depth and meaning behind each piece.”
She nodded. “Cool. Thanks.”
“Any more questions? No? I’m now officially done with this meeting, so I want everyone except Essie out. Now.”
It seemed Olivier hadn’t yet gotten his full quota of being an asshole out of his system. “Essie? You can’t meet with just one of us. That’s favoritism—”
“There you go, telling me what I can and can’t do in my own house. Get the fuck out of my office before I throw you out.” He nodded to Steele, who wordlessly opened the door to herd the two other designers out. Without conscious thought, he glanced back to where Estella Santiago sat, no longer scribbling away in her sketchbook, but sitting ramrod straight and eyeing Payne like he held a bloody axe.
It took a shocking amount of willpower to shut the door behind him, leaving her to face Payne alone.
Chapter Three
Silence reigned as the others left the office, except for the heavy thudding of Essie’s heart.
Crap, crap, crap.
She’d screwed up big-time, and now she had to pay for it.
“I’m sorry,” she said even as Payne took a breath. She eyed him warily, knowing full well that he had a temper almost as bad as her brother’s. Twist, she could handle. Payne was a different story. “You must think I’m as flaky as the others, walking out without a word one minute, then swinging back in the next. I just reacted badly to…to something, and I needed to have an attitude adjustment.” Of course, Ezekiel Steele of the awesome boots and shitty disposition had been in charge of that attitude adjustment, but she wasn’t about to go into that now. “I know this isn’t a game you made up for funsies, and I know your time is too precious for me to jerk you around, so I’m truly sorry, not to mention embarrassed. It won’t happen again.”
He stared at her for a long moment before a grin split his face. “Damn.”
“What?”
“I’m struggling not to call your brother in so you can demonstrate how to properly apologize. He’s never done it without a shitload of sarcasm involved.”
Heh. “That sounds like Twist.”
“I was the one who wanted to apologize,” he went on, surprising her. “I didn’t think how my need to know all about the contestants would hit you. That’s probably because through Twist, I already feel like I know you—your story, your family, and what to generally expect from the Santiago artistic temperament. But the least I could’ve done was given you a heads-up that this background check was on the horizon.”
She took in a slow breath. Of course Payne knew about her as well. At this point it wouldn’t have surprised her if passersby knew her background chapter and verse. “That’s nice of you, Payne, but I don’t want to be treated any differently than anyone else.”
“Glad to hear it, because I’m still going to go through the personal background check on all three of you.”
“Yeah, I’d already assumed that.”
“But I promise none of it will be made public. I just don’t want any nasty surprises cropping up and potentially tarnishing this project for the House.”
“I can’t imagine anything nastier than my background, so if you’re willing to put up with someone like me being involved with House Of Payne, you should be okay.”
Payne’s expression turned stony so fast it was alarming. “That shit that went down… that had nothing to do with who you are, Essie, you hear me? Someone like you. What the hell does that even mean?”
Whoops. “I’m sorry. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant, and it still pisses me off. That horrible shit that happened… that wasn’t you, so there’s no way in hell I’d ever think that it somehow reflects badly on who you are. And it sure as fuck doesn’t make you someone like you in my mind. Understand?”
She nodded, relieved. “Got it.”
“All I care about is whether or not you can produce original ideas and do it quickly. Oh, and I’m also kind of hopeful you’ll help keep your brother off my back during this final stage of the contest.”
Oh, no. “What’s he done now?”
“Up to this point, nothing more than the usual shit I’ve been expecting, so he’
s been easy to ignore. But if he gets wind that you were upset during today’s meeting—”
“He won’t hear it from me.” That was something she’d already decided, so it was easy to promise. Then the rest of his statement sank in. “Wait, what do you mean, the usual shit? What’s Twist been doing?”
Payne eye-rolled. “‘You know my sister’s the best one out of all these losers, right? I don’t even know why you started this fucking circus when you know my sister’s the best one. You should be grateful she’s even bothering with you and your bullshit. Why aren’t you thanking me for bringing the best designer you’re ever going meet right to your front door? I should get a raise.’ That kind of usual shit.”
“He probably does deserve a raise, or at the very least a finder’s fee,” she couldn’t help point out, now that they were being honest. “I really am the best at what I do, and obviously so is Twist. Now that I think about it, it is kind of a lucky break for you and House Of Payne that my brother and I decided to be here. We could have gone anywhere, but we chose the House.”
“Holy shit, it’s genetic.” With a resigned shake of his head, he shooed a hand at her. “Get outta here and make brilliant things. And remember, you’re doing it for the House.”
The moment Essie stepped into the apartment building’s hallway, the thud of drumming hit her ears. Perfect, she thought on a sigh, keys already out. The mighty Thor in the apartment above hers was at it again. Maybe she should count her blessings. At least this time around it wasn’t two o’clock in the morning when he decided to practice his heavy metal drum riffs.
“Hey, girlie.” Before she could slide the key in, the door opposite hers swung open, revealing the reason Essie had moved into that particular building in Logan Square. Carla Knowles—now Carla Knowles-Harper—popped her dark blonde head out. It was up in a messy bun, and since it had once been almost as dark as Essie’s when they’d been growing up, her upswept ‘do revealed it was time to get her roots done. “Drumming started about an hour ago. Want to complain to the super again?”