by Stacy Gail
“He was right.” But Carla’s tone was absent, and a frown had appeared between her brows. “You said he knows about you. You’re talking about when you were attacked?”
Essie nodded. “I think he knows more about that time in my life than I do.”
“I guess that explains the face-touching, then.”
Essie stared at her. “Um. What?’
“When I walked in on you two, at first I thought I’d interrupted a kiss in the making, except Gigantor wasn’t exactly breaking overland speed records to seal the deal. He was in the right position, but he seemed… I don’t know. Oddly frozen in place, like he didn’t know what to do next.”
“Terrific.” A wave of darkness rolled through her, swallowing up the budding hope of living a life that nothing to do with her past. Honest to God, she was destined to drag that crap around like an anchor tied around her neck. “So you’re saying he didn’t want to kiss me because he knows I’m damaged goods. Out-fucking-standing.”
“Shut the hell up, that’s not what I’m saying, so don’t put words in my mouth.” The heat in Carla’s tone surprised Essie and little Dillon as well, if the whimper the baby gave was any indication. “I’m saying he’s a nice guy who cares enough to replace a broken mug, worry over whether or not you’re elevating your hand and doesn’t want to scare the shit out of you if he makes a move. That’s why I think he was testing the waters with a little face-touching. If he pulls a move like that again, and you like it, the next move’s going to have to come from you. You need to show him that, far from being scared, you’re giving him the green light.”
She stared at Carla. “A move.”
“Only if you want to. If you don’t, then you don’t. From what I could tell, Gigantor is the kind of guy who’d respect that.”
“From what you could tell? You saw him for like five seconds.”
“And he was totally face-touching you. Like this.” She cupped Little Dillon’s rosy cheek in her hand, and smiled down at him when he cooed up at her. “So the next time your Steele guy does something like this, it’s an opportunity for you to invite more. See what I mean?”
“Right.” Essie watched them together and tried to keep the envy from her voice. “Any suggestions on how I do the inviting?”
“Oh, that’s the fun part,” Carla answered, though she was still looking down at Dillon, making silly faces at him until he chortled. “You could lean your sweet widdle cheek into his hand and give him a nuzzle-wuzzle, or press your widdle dimpled hand over his like this.” She moved her son’s hand up to mirror her words, then giggled when Dillon baby-smacked his hand on hers. “Oh, no! That would be a silly thing to do, yes it would.”
She was losing her friend fast. “Carla, babe, I don’t think I’ve ever nuzzle-wuzzled anyone with my sweet widdle cheek before.”
“There’s a first time for everything. And once you’ve nuzzle-wuzzled, you get in real close, like this.” She brought her face to Dillon’s until her forehead almost touched his, causing him to reach up a pudgy hand to her face on the sweetest little “Mama” Essie had ever heard. “If you do that, you’ll look so sweet and yum-yums, Mr. Gigantor won’t be able to stop himself from doing this.” With that, she rained smacking smooches all over Dillon’s face until he erupted in thoroughly adorable giggles.
Essie’s heart twisted with such bittersweet longing she half-feared the mangled thing would never be able to beat right again.
“I want that, Carla.” It was barely a whisper, because it was stupid and weak and pathetic to wish for something that could never be. She hated being any of that. “It’s so weird how things change. I mean, I didn’t really care when the doctors told me I’d have as much chance of getting struck by lightning as I would getting pregnant after…” She swallowed hard. “After what my attacker did to me. I mean, I was sixteen and too young to wrap my mind around the idea of someday wanting a family, you know?”
“Yeah, Es.” Carla’s voice was soft. “I know.”
“Not to mention I was too busy trying to stay alive back then, so it didn’t seem like a big deal, not being able to have kids. But now…” Her vision swam as she stared at Dillon, and though she tried to fight it, the hollow emptiness blossomed like a dark disease in her chest. “I want it. And it feels like I’m dying inside to know that this want will never be fulfilled.”
“Essie.” Her friend reached over to grip her hand, her eyes filling with a compassion that somehow only made the emptiness worse. “Carrying a baby might have been lost to you, but that doesn’t mean you have no hope of one day having a family of your own, complete with a child to fill your world with laughter and a man to fill your heart with love. I’m positive that by taking one step at a time, you’ll get to wherever it is you want to go.”
Essie shook her head, breathing deep as she fought like hell against hopelessness threatening to smother her. “I don’t even know what my next step is.”
“Dare to make a move when your Steele guy does. I don’t know where that step will lead you, but I do know one thing—it’ll be a step forward.”
Chapter Seven
As far as Essie was concerned, progress on her designs had slowed to a crawl. In all the hullabaloo of the day before, she’d forgotten to finish her email to Scout to schedule an appointment with the tattoo artist, Maximo. As a result, Scout couldn’t get her squeezed in until the day after next, which meant her activewear plans had to be put on hold. She did find out that her brother and Angel would be her models, something that thrilled her out of her mind. Now that she knew the basic body-types of her models, Essie wrapped up the snowflake shirt and the hooded cobra hoodie with vented arms and an asymmetrical zip, again placing the House Of Payne logo both on the left front chest and in the snake’s skin pattern itself.
Twist, of course, was less than happy that he had to do the show at all. But for her, he swore he’d try not to look like he was in too much agony as he walked the catwalk modeling her designs.
He was a sweetheart when he wasn’t driving her crazy.
She spent a great part of the day with Carla, Charlotte and Dillon, struggling to get the children’s measurements. It took several games of hide-and-seek, playing an incomprehensible drama with a herd of My Pretty Ponies and Star Wars action figures, and an hour of sing-a-long cartoons. But eventually, her plan partially worked and Charlotte wore out. Dillon, however, decided to be cranky and overexcited, so Carla promised to see what size of onesies currently fit him best. Essie got his big sister’s stats recorded in an ordinary spiral notebook, all the while wanting to throw the thing across the room when she had to work at getting a page turned.
She wanted her damn sketchbook back.
The drumming from Thor upstairs began late in the afternoon, luckily after Charlotte was up from her nap, and Essie headed back across the hall to let Mooch in. Sure enough, as soon as she entered the studio, she spied the cat crouched as close as he could get to the window, his bony orange body squished up against the glass. The moment she had the window open he was in like a shot, paused in momentary cat confusion when he didn’t find his usual hiding place—under the bed—and settled for disappearing into the darkened bathroom where a litter box now resided.
“Poor thing.” Making sure the window and front door were safely locked, she headed for the kitchen to prepare a plate of food for him. “It’s tough being a twitchy personality in this crazy world, isn’t it, Mooch? For instance, look at me. I feel like I can barely force myself to sketch in a spiral notebook, because it’s not what I’m used to. How stupid is that? I know it doesn’t matter what I use. Some of the best ideas in the world have been jotted down on humble paper napkins. It just feels wrong, you know? I haven’t been without that book since I was sixteen, and I’m starting to feel like Linus without his blanket.”
When the little animal didn’t poke his head out like she’d expected him to, she came over to stand outside the open bathroom door and spied him huddled close to the toilet brush. Ick.
Life had truly hit rock bottom for poor Mooch if there wasn’t any place better in the world than next to a toilet brush.
“Come on out, Mooch.” No movement, despite her best wheedling voice. “You can do it, buddy. You might think you’re nothing but a scaredy cat, but I know there’s a tiger inside of you. And you know what? That tiger’s just waiting to feel safe enough to come out. So what do you say you come on out and keep me company? I’ll be real quiet while you have some dinner, and then you can laugh at me while I pretend I’m fine with sketching in something that’s not my sketchbook.” When there was no sign of life from the cat, she set the food down in the threshold, retrieved the notebook, her phone and the folded throw she’d been using as bedding while camping out on the couch. Hunkering down to sit cross-legged on the floor, she put the folded throw on her lap as a sort of cushiony lap desk and went about trying to recreate the baby clothes she’d already fleshed out in her sketchbook. “Okay, buddy. I’m here if you need me.”
Her baby and toddler line was going to be a total kick. She’d been inspired by stock photos with the term “Your Logo Here,” but instead of logos, she’d thought interchangeable Velcro patches with different tattoo designs would be a cute way to get future ink lovers an early appreciation for wearable art.
She hadn’t gotten very far on the overall concept in her sketchbook. As far as she could recall, she’s just made a notation of “Your Logo Here” and had arrows pointing to various areas on little onesies, coveralls, shirts, pants and outerwear. Now she went into greater detail, drawing from memory half a dozen of Twist’s designs that would be appropriate for boys. She was just starting on the tattoo designs she’d like for the little girls when a faint trill reached her ears. She glanced up to find Mooch had cleaned the plate and was now sitting politely in front of her, as if waiting for an opportune moment to interrupt.
“See? Coming out of your hiding place was worth it, wasn’t it, cutie?” Very slowly she raised her hand, and just as she connected with Mooch—who leaned into her touch to do some serious nuzzle-wuzzling—her own body language reminded her mightily of Steele when he reached out to her.
Did he see her as the human equivalent of Mooch? Overwhelmed by a world that was too much for her fragile nature to handle?
That wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought.
Mooch started up his diesel-engine purr, and before she knew it he’d pushed the notebook aside to take over her lap. He kneaded the folded throw before curling up, head-butting her arm to make she sure understood that he was now the center of her attention.
If he pulls a move like that again, and you like it, the next move’s going to have to come from you.
Huh.
Maybe she had a thing or two to learn from Mooch.
Her text chime sounded, dragging her attention to the phone lying beside her. She grabbed it up while continuing to pet the cat, but she had to pause the purr-inducing action when she saw Twist’s text.
Where’d U leave UR book?
Essie’s brows drew together. Hadn’t she already told him?
Her thumbs flew over the screen. “In your booth. Remember where I was leaning against the supply cabinet? It’s there on the counter, next to the alcohol wipes.”
No, it’s not.
Her stomach did a weird little dip, like she’d missed the last step on a flight of stairs. That didn’t make sense. She remembered setting her book aside to cross her arms while Twist lectured her. Maybe she’d bumped it in her haste to escape him…
“Look around on the floor. Maybe it fell between the counter and wall?”
There’s no space between counter and wall. Floor’s clean. It’s not here.
“Shit.” Her stomach stayed knotted as she stared down at the message, and wondered if she’d finally lost her mind.
“It’s going to be a light schedule for you and your team this week.” Seated at his desk, Payne picked up a black folder and handed it over to Steele. “We’ve got a YouTube makeup guru slated for a session tomorrow with our new guy, Talon Galloway, so we’ll see how that works out. You should know this client has asked for extra security. Says she’s got a stalker problem. I wouldn’t doubt it. World’s full of whack jobs and she’s got a huge online presence.”
Steele settled back in his chair across from Payne and perused the schedule he’d been handed. “I’ll have added security here on that day, and as always, we’ll have a couple people posted onsite even on the off days. Tyrell Lions?”
“He’s one of Twist’s clients, which isn’t surprising. Basketball’s bad boy and House Of Payne’s bad boy get along like they were separated at birth.”
“Any threats to Lions other than the usual shit like paparazzi trying to get in? Stalkers, pissed-off exes, that sort of thing?”
“Nah, not that I know of. Lions usually rolls in with his own bodyguard and a couple people who’re in his entourage. They’re a pain in the ass, sucking up all the coffee downstairs without buying shit, but whatever. Cost of doing business.”
“If you want, we can enforce a No Loitering policy.”
“Entourages come with the territory when you’re dealing with spoiled celebs, so hassling their cling-ons would be bad for our business in the long run.” Payne grinned suddenly. “Besides, it’s a small price to pay when you’ve got basketball legend Tyrell Lions as your client. If you’re in the mood for a laugh, you should see that dude trying to get comfortable on a tattoo table. It’s like watching a giraffe trying to fit onto a folding chair.”
“I guess nothing really fits right when you’re over seven feet tall.” His skimming gaze snagged on a side note. “I see you’ve also scheduled a meeting with the fashion finalists at the end of the week.”
“It’ll be a month since they got their final assignment, so now’s the time to apply the pressure to make sure they get their jobs done. I’ve got nightmares about those three not having their shit together by the time we stream this fashion thing live to the world. If they’ve got nothing to show after all the hype I’ve poured into this project, I’ll be the one who’s going to look like some weak-ass idiot. The House already earned itself one black eye the last time we tried launching a fashion line. I sure as fuck do not want another.”
“They’ll be ready.” Or at least Essie would be. He didn’t give a damn about the others.
Payne sighed and rocked back in his chair. “Wish I had that same confidence, but I don’t know, man. I know ink, not all this clothing shit. I’m way out of my element. And the designers? Jesus. I thought tattoo artists were a twitchy lot, but these designers are in a class by themselves. Bunch of fucking flakes.”
“Not Essie Santiago.” He shrugged, well aware that this had nothing to do with security, but the truth was the truth. “She seems to be the only one who takes this seriously.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” came the grudging reply. “And it’s obvious she’s got that Santiago spark of heaven-sent creativity, but that’s a double-edged sword and a whole other problem I don’t relish messing with on a regular basis.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve had years of dealing with Twist Santiago. Without a doubt he’s the best in his field and the House is lucky to have him. But he redefines the term artistic temperament. His little sister seems to be as crazy-creative as he is, producing one idea after another, and those ideas are things I’ve never even thought about. But she’s already shown she’s got more than a hint of legendary Santiago swagger to go along with it. How much you wanna bet she’s got that same volatile temper buried way down deep?”
“Whether it’s there or not doesn’t matter. She’s got a firm handle on it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she hasn’t taken a swipe at you for fucking with her life like it’s your personal play toy.” It was out almost before Steele was aware of it, but even after reviewing his statement, he didn’t give a shit. There were some things in life that just had to be said, and pointing out how Pa
yne had fucked Essie over for the sake of the House was one of them.
Payne went still as danger poured into his expression. “What?”
“Dizzy Izz and Olivier are locals, with homes and jobs already established. When they chose to enter into this contest, they weren’t risking anything because they’re still pulling down a paycheck. Essie Santiago, on the other hand, got caught up in your bait-and-switch. You lured her away from a solid job in Texas by promising her a better-paying job here—”
“That was done without my knowledge.”
“The point is,” Steele continued relentlessly, “you knew she’d left a great job and stability for a job here at the House—a job you took away without giving her a thought. Because of that, she’s now forced to live in a building that’s about as secure as a fucking sieve in Logan Square, murder capital of Chicago, and she feels like a loser because she’s scared she’s going to have to move back in with her parents because she’s not pulling down a paycheck. So, since you’re concerned about whether or not Essie Santiago has a handle on her temper, that right there should prove that you’ve got nothing to worry about. And if you still have doubts about her temperament, just think about what your reaction would be if she’d pulled that shit on you.”
“You’ve got a lot of balls, Steele, talking to me like that.”
“You hired PSI for the purpose of ensuring your security. That means I analyze everything that comes your way, looking for potential threats. This includes a woman who has every reason to hate your guts for possibly ruining her career and making her both homeless and penniless while you use her to promote your business. Whether or not you’re comfortable with hearing the reality of the situation isn’t my problem. It is what it is.”
“Fuck you.” Payne came to his feet, his hands balled into fists. Steele remained seated, unmoved by the show of force. “Every fucking word you just said is total bullshit.”