House of Payne: Sage

by Stacy Gail

  Cash, seated next to Max, gave the Russian a wicked side-eye. “Dude, how can anything good come out of a death threat?”

  “If you’re the one threatening death, great things can happen. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Jesus.” Another tattooist, a behemoth of a biker by the name of Loki, snorted and shook his dark blonde head. “Every time you speak, man, I can’t help but think that everyday life in Russia must be fucking crazy.”

  Max shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

  “About the death threats,” Scout intervened in a tone that made Mads suspect the other woman would be more than happy to demonstrate her seriousness by killing someone then and there. “Under the threat of death, I need each and every one of the artists who’ve donated art to make themselves available to do multiple on-camera interviews with anyone who might ask for them.”

  The howl of protests that went up made Mads wince.

  “More dog-and-pony show shit,” Sage said from his place next to Mads. “Didn’t you learn anything from what happened last year?”

  “What else happened last year besides late projects?” Mads wanted to know.

  Sage’s eyeroll landed on Cash and Talon. “Let’s just say that somebody came to the auction totally shitfaced—”

  “Actually, several someones did that.” Loki held up his hand. “I was just better at hiding it than Talon, Raider and Cash. So were Twist and Angel, as I recall.”

  Angel smiled brilliantly. “Twist’s mother makes a killer eggnog that goes way heavy on the rum. It’s as addictive as freaking crack.”

  “We call it rumnog,” Twist offered, picking up his wife’s hand to kiss it. “Trust me, one sip and you’re three sheets to the wind.”

  “Guys, focus.” Sunny took her mug with the House Of Payne logo on it set it down with a crack. The sharp sound, coupled with the ice-cold calm in the assistant manager’s eyes, was enough to shut the room down. “Scout?”

  “Thanks, Sunny. Because this is an international event, with people bidding online from all around the globe as well as in-person, of course there are going to be members of the press who have requested interviews, both in-person and online. We’re talking everything from local TV crews with all their blinding lights, to print mags and newspapers, to a high-speed social media section we’re building downstairs, so that you can be interviewed remotely by the media from all over the world via Zoom.”

  “Fuck me,” Sage muttered, looking toward the ceiling, clearly asking for strength from a higher power. “Scout, before this goes any further, I’m just going to put this out there. No.”

  Scout scowled. “Sage—”

  “The night of the auction is Christmas Eve, which is a big deal for a lot of people here, but it also happens to be my woman’s birthday. I’ve made plans for Mads and me after the auction wraps up, and those plans don’t involve spending hours on end downstairs, giving five-minute interviews to every internet whack job that comes along. We’ll never get out of here.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Scout muttered, tapping rapidly on her tablet. “Christmas Eve is Mads’s birthday, isn’t it? What kind of cake do you like, Mads?”

  Oh, shit. “Um… I’m allergic to cake.”

  “Smooth,” Sunny applauded while Sage, the stinker, snorted with laughter. “Totally believable. Let’s get her chocolate with fudge icing, Scout. And silly hats. We’ll hold her down and force her to wear one.”

  “Happy early birthday, Mads,” Rocket offered, sneezed explosively, then lowered her forehead onto the table with a whimper.

  “Sage, as much as I’d love to give Mads a get-out-of-jail-free card because it’s her birthday, you knew what you were signing up for when you chose to do this auction. House Of Payne is famous only because of the greatness of you, its handpicked artists. The reason this fine art auction has become so popular is because it’s a chance for people who might not ever make it to Chicago—or even the United States—to buy some of your rare original artwork, or at the very least have a chance to hear what you have to say. These are the people who pay the bills, but they’re so much more than that. They’re the ones who genuinely love what you do. So death threats aside, I’m betting you can spare an hour or two, even on Christmas Eve and Mads’s birthday, to show the world what House Of Payne tattooists are made of.”

  “Bullshit and vodka,” Max offered with a grin so wild Mads wondered if the man was completely sane. “We’re made of bullshit and vodka. Or at least I am, anyway.”

  “And that is the perfect way to conclude this meeting.” Cheerfully clapping her hands together, Sunny rose to her feet. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Oh, and if you grab a couple cookies in the breakroom, please be sure to thank Mads for them. She’s really come through with some Christmas cookies this year, so thanks, Mads. You’re the best.”

  “Maybe next year we can do a cookie exchange.” Angel also got to her feet alongside her husband, the perfect dark foil with his black hair and tribal tattoos to her platinum blonde and pink dreads and psychedelic ink. “I like to bake, too, and so does Scout and her foster sisters. We could start a new tradition.”

  “I would love that,” Mads found herself saying, and to her surprise she discovered she meant every word. Maybe what Sage had said earlier was true. Maybe she really had decided to open herself up to her new life there at the House.

  And it felt… good.

  “If we have to spend a couple hours being on our best behavior in front of cameras when we could be fucking each other’s brains out in front of a roaring fire, I am gonna be pissed,” Sage muttered, heading out onto the mezzanine along with all the other tattooists. “This bullshit was not what I had in mind when I signed up for this.”

  “What did you have in mind, exactly?” Mads asked, turning to him to rest a quietly possessive hand on his chest. Lord, how she loved touching this man. “This is the first I've heard of any plans for my birthday, other than having dinner together at Noodleheads.”

  “Dinner’s just the beginning. I'm not letting you in on anything else,” he added when she drew a breath to pester him. “I've still got high hopes we can sneak out of here and celebrate your birthday in style. Just know that I have plans worthy of the woman who loves me.”

  “Well, then. I can't wait.” An odd little flutter moved through her, along with the anticipation of spending her special day with Sage. It took some getting used to, this whole love thing. Every time she remembered he knew how she felt about him, that weird flutter happened—part panic, part anxiety, part defiance and part happiness. It all tangled together to make her one hot mess, but there was nothing she could do about it. That cat was out of the bag, and there was no way to put it back in. She didn't even want to. If anything, it was a relief that she no longer had to guard herself from what her heart truly wanted.

  And he seemed to revel in the fact that he had managed to steal her heart, despite her loner ways and defensive walls. As far as she could tell, Sage seemed to love that she loved him.

  That was great.

  Better than great.

  But there was something that wasn’t so great.

  Though she told herself it wasn’t a big deal, he hadn’t given any indication that he loved her back.

  Life was still better than it had ever been, even without those three little words coming out of his mouth, she decided, trying to squash that odd flutter out of existence with cold logic. She was no longer alone where all she’d had was a driving passion for her art. Sage had become her new passion, her driving force, and she’d forever be grateful to him for that.

  Sage falling in love with her would just be the icing on an already amazing cake.

  But in all honesty, she really did like icing.

  “By the way, Sage.” Scout came up to them, looking distracted as she frowned down at her tablet, “I forgot to tell you. Your sculpture arrived this morning long before we got everyone’s paintings back from the framer’s, so we had time to set it up ea
rly. You have a few minutes before the second half of your shift begins, if you want to pop downstairs to see how it looks. It’s just about in the center of the gallery, so it’ll get good traffic views.”

  “Cool.” Looking pleased, he caught Mads’s hand in his. “Let’s go check it out.”

  “Call me crazy, but I’m starting to look forward to this shindig.” Mads grinned at his air of anticipation as they headed down to the large gallery portion of House Of Payne. The gleaming black marble floors, stark white modular walls and pinpoint lighting would have been an appropriate setting for any upscale art gallery or museum, and at first she’d found it bizarre that such a place existed within a tattoo studio. But first and foremost House Of Payne was a temple built to celebrate a kind of art that people loved so much they chose to wear it on their very skin. The most famous tattoos the House had ever produced invariably wound up on those modular walls, and she loved spending whatever free time she had meandering through the gallery to become inspired by her fellow artists’ brilliant creations.

  Sage lifted a brow while the sound of construction grew. “So you’re no longer pissed off that I talked you into doing the auction?”

  “I’ve decided to forgive you for that.”

  “That’s very big of you.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s been a pain in the ass, and the stress was insane when that extra week for production and drying time suddenly vanished, but we all made it. I’m even thinking I might actually sign up to go through this insanity come next Christmas. Next time, though, I’ll give myself more than three freaking weeks to complete a project.”

  “Three weeks.” He held up their entwined hands and examined them as if he couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten laced together. “Hard to believe that a little over three weeks ago your car died. Up until then, you’d never spoken a word to me.”

  “I guess it’s true what they say—life comes at you fast. When it does, everything can change in a single moment. And besides,” she added wryly, “even though I never actually spoke to you, I sure did a lot of looking.”

  He shot her an amused glance. “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah. In some ways I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in just these past few weeks with you. I’m not even the same person I was when you knocked on my car window and asked if I needed help.”

  “It’s like this crazy hotness we’ve got going on between us was meant to be.” Coming to a halt just outside the gallery area, he caught her free hand in his. “Almost makes me wonder if there’s such a thing as fate.”

  She raised a brow. “You mean like a grand plan for everyone?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hm.” She frowned, mulling it over. “So much of my life has been random chaos, which I hate. I prefer to be in control. I’ve learned enough about you to know you’re the same way.”

  “True enough. Control is something I need like I need air. But neither one of us was in control the night your car died. That was the wrinkle that forced our paths to cross.”

  “But was that fate, or just more random chaos? I don’t see the difference.”

  “I’m thinking you can tell the difference by the outcome.”

  She shook her head. “The outcome?”

  “The odds of us meeting were about a billion to one. I was born in fucking Vegas and you were born here, a thousand miles away. I wasn’t looking for anyone to take up space in my life, because I thought it was perfect the way it was. But it’s like you said, life comes at you fast, and now it’s like the whole damn world is different. You’ve made it different.”

  “Wait, I’m still back at someone taking up space in your life.” She took a careful breath, while the odd fluttering again tried to take hold of her. And only then was she able to finally put a label on it—unease. “Is that how you see me? Because that doesn’t sound like it’s a good thing.”

  “I didn’t think it ever would be, but it is. It’s better than good. You and me together, it’s fucking right. In my whole screwed-up life I’ve never experienced anything more right than you and me occupying the same space. So we should do that all the time, Skittish.”

  Did her ears blink? “Do what?”

  “Move in together. Pack up your shit, today, and move into my place. With me is where you need to be.”

  The ground shifted under her feet. “Holy crap.”

  His expression darkened. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Did we just have an earthquake?”

  “No.”

  “I could’ve sworn we just had an earthquake. Everything in me went topsy-turvy for a second.”

  “Asking again—what the hell does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” She put a hand to her forehead in the hope that the room would stop the spinning. It didn’t. “I’ve never been asked to move in with someone who wasn’t my sister before.”

  “I’ll give you some time to get used to the idea.” He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the gallery. “Okay, time’s up. Tell me you’re moving in with me.”

  God, this man. “This is a big step, Sage, for both of us.”

  “How is this a big step? We’ve been moving toward this from the moment I gave you a key to my place.”

  “I know that. The thing is, if I’m the one who moves into your place, that means I’ll have to be the one who has to pull up stakes and move out if things don’t work out between us.”

  “Woman, you’re not even moved in yet, and you’re already talking about how inconvenient it’s going to be for you to move back out? What kind of shit is that?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “It’s realistic shit.”

  “More like pessimistic shit.”

  He had her there. “I’m just saying we would be smart to take things slowly. Like, one baby step at a time—”

  “You and your fucking baby steps are killing me.”

  Damn it. “Baby steps have taken me this far in life without bringing me too much damage. Like it or not, that makes me a big believer in taking things nice and slow.”

  “And I’ve become a big believer in fate.” They rounded another white wall before his statue came into view. “For all we know, our fates are already written. I could get hit by a goddamn bus on my way home tonight and that’d be it. Done. All those baby steps get boiled down to the fact that you were too afraid to take a fucking leap of faith. Which would mean my nickname for you was on-point right from the beginning… Skittish.”

  A low growl escaped her. “I swear, you really can be the most aggravating man on the planet.”

  “Yeah, but I’m right. And you know it.”

  “I know it’s not wrong to be cautious. But,” she added grudgingly when he just kept looking at her, “I won’t deny you’re the kind of man women the world over would regret not taking a chance on.”

  “I don’t give a damn about other women, Skittish. We’re talking about you here. Are you willing to pull up those stakes and throw in with me?”

  There were only two places throwing in with him could possibly take her—heaven, or hell. Hell would be an eventual future where they both realized he couldn’t return her love, and she’d have to leave for the sake of her sanity.

  But heaven would be to plant herself in his life and do everything she could to make him fall in love with her.

  Put like that, there was no choice,

  “I have no idea what it’s going to take to break my lease,” she said, her heart trying to climb out of her chest by way of her throat as she took the leap of faith. “But I’m sure it can’t be that hard.”

  He stared hard at her. “Is that a yes?”

  “That I think you’re worth taking a chance on? Of course it’s a yes.”

  “Come here,” he said roughly, which was silly, since they were practically standing on each other’s feet. But she leaned into him even as his hand curled around her nape and pulled her in for a surprisingly hot kiss, and the hungry stroke of his tongue almost made her
forget where they were. It was only when the sound of an electric saw starting up somewhere reminded her that they should at least try to keep from tearing each other’s clothes off.

  Unfortunately.

  “So, um.” Fanning herself and counting her lucky stars that she had a man who knew how to kiss in a way that made her tingle in all the right places, she tried to remember what they were doing. “Tell me about your sculpture.”

  “Not much to tell.” Looking like a man who wanted to take a bite out of her, Sage put his arm around her shoulders and stared at a roughly three-foot-tall metal sculpture sitting on a simple plinth. It was surprisingly delicate, Mads thought, falling in love with the graceful swirl of metal that looked like a wisp of smoke. “When I started welding pieces of metal together back in the day at my old man’s garage, I never really knew how things would come out. I’d just sort of work on stuff until it started telling me what it was. This one, for instance, didn’t tell me it was going to be an abstract take on the first hint of fire, but suddenly there it was—smoke. So that’s its name.”

  “Smoke. It’s incredible.” She put her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze. “Did your father ever say anything about what you were doing? Did he even understand it?”

  “I’ve gotta give credit where it’s due,” he said after a moment, frowning thoughtfully. “My old man was nothing like yours. He took one look at my very first sculpture, gave me some useful pointers on how to refine my welds, then told me I could have any damn thing I could find in his scrap shed, and turn it into whatever I wanted.”

  “That was cool of him.”

  “Now that I think about it, he also lugged a bunch of junk out of a corner in the main garage and set me up there to work on my stuff. He even took that first piece I made—it kinda looked like an eagle about to take flight—and put it right outside, next to the sign with the lube and oil specials. Every customer who walked into the office had no choice but to see it, bad welding seams and all.”

  Something unbearably sweet clenched her heart. “Sounds to me like he was proud of you, Sage.”