House Of Payne: Scout

by Stacy Gail

  “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.” She squeezed her hand again. “Do you know what to do now?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.” Feeling better than she had since she watched the elevator close on Ivar, she got to her feet and kissed the older woman. “I’ve got to get going, Mama Coco. Lots to do.”

  “Keep me posted,” Mama Coco said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ivar pushed through the door of his hotel room, burdened with a heavy equipment bag and what had to be the worst mood in all of Jamaica. The shoot had turned out exactly as he’d expected it to—an absolute nightmare. An impossible model, a battalion of cringe-worthy sycophants and spring rain showers that wreaked havoc with the lighting. Add to that several sleepless nights, and he had the perfect recipe that turned even this tropical Eden into his idea of hell.

  Estelle was lucky to be physically out of his reach. For the past three days he’d battled the desire to wring her neck for setting him up for this train wreck. At this point, he doubted even the magic of a blanket fort could brighten his mood.

  With his mouth a grim line, he set his equipment bag by the door and headed determinedly toward his laptop. No blanket forts for him. They weren’t magical unless they had Scout in them, so there was no point. It would only make him more miserable.

  Miserable was a good word to describe him. He nearly doubled over every time Scout’s devastation surfaced in his thoughts. There was an edge of panic to the crushing sensation that now churned inside him, a panic worthy of being trapped in a burning building and no discernible way out. He might not be trapped, but he knew what the source of that fear was.

  Deep down, he was scared to death he’d lost Scout.

  He checked his email, pleased to see Payne had worked something out with the extra security Ivar had wanted around Scout’s workplace while he was out of town. He didn’t like that she had an enemy at House Of Payne, an enemy she’d called dangerous, and he seriously hated that he couldn’t be close by in case she needed him.

  But the question was, would she ever need him again?

  That awful crushing sensation intensified just as his cell phone went off. He took his time answering it, because it wasn’t the special ringtone he’d given Scout’s number, and he didn’t care about talking to anyone else.

  “Estelle.” With a sigh, he pushed out of his chair and didn’t stop moving until he was out onto the hotel room’s narrow balcony, now awash in the orange glow of sunset. Far below, Montego Bay stretched out with its sugar-white beaches and turquoise water. He didn’t see any of it. “Before you say one word, you need to be warned. This has been the most fucked-up day I think I have ever endured as a professional photographer, and the blame is on you.”

  “Me?” The shocked tone of his manager came through loud and clear. “What did I do?”

  “You sold me a bill of goods with that crap about Liesl being on her meds and mending her ways. We were onsite only ten minutes before she began screaming shit at innocent passers-by for daring to watch the shoot, flipped them off, then turned around and began to dig sand up doggie-style through her legs to throw it all over me, the crew and all my equipment. If anything is damaged, who do you think should get the bill? You, or her?”

  “You’ll never again hear me say that model’s name, I swear it,” came the quick reply. “And stick her with the bill, please. Whereas I’m an eternal optimist who believes in giving people a second chance, she’s the psycho bitch who deserves to take that hit.”

  A second chance. Now there was something he’d give his left nut for. If he could rewind time and have a do-over with Scout, he’d be smart and tell her straight away what he was after, and let the chips fall where they may. Too late, he could see that was where he’d fucked up, and he’d made it even worse when he’d tried to come clean with her. He’d been so busy trying to dig himself out of the hole he’d made for himself that he’d forgotten to tell her that his so-called seduction hadn’t been part of some diabolical plan that he’d had to go through.

  He’d done everything he could to get her into bed because he genuinely wanted her.

  His childhood had sucked, but at least his first five years had been filled with the knowledge that he was worth love and attention. Scout had never had that. She’d just been shuffled from one place to another, by people who’d thought of her as a stray. Forever unwanted, forever unloved.

  No wonder she couldn’t believe in him. When she’d been treated her whole life as a temporary transplant, she couldn’t believe that anyone wanted her permanently.

  “I need to get back to Chicago,” he said, voice hollow as he stared blindly out at the bay. Feminine laughter floated on the breeze and it balled up the muscles in his stomach. It sounded so much like Scout he had to stop himself from looking around for her. “This was a fucking waste of my time.”

  “Did you get any usable prints from the shoot?”

  “I think I was able to capture the true essence of Liesl.”

  “Oh, boy,” Estelle muttered, and he could just imagine her reaching for the ever-present bottle of antacids. “That’s never a good thing with you.”

  “Of course it is. The camera does not lie, Estelle. The world will soon see what Liesl really is.”

  “Which is?”

  “She has become like the demons that drive her. She is gone. There is simply nothing left inside of her to believe in.”

  You’ve left me with nothing to believe in when it comes to you.

  He closed his eyes against the spasm of pain ripping him apart. It was like he suffered an invisible punch in the gut every time the memory of Scout’s anguish surfaced.

  “I doubt the magazine will want to buy any demonic-looking photos of a soon-to-be has-been supermodel.”

  He looked out at the bay once more. “I do not have a single fuck to give about that. The shoot yesterday and the day before lasted about as long as today’s, and all that is Liesl was put on full display for my camera to see. Maybe they can Photoshop some goodness into her.”

  “It’s in your contract that no one can alter your work.”

  “Then they get what Liesl showed me—her true face.”

  “I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving it one more day?”

  “Estelle, I already gave it an extra day. It is now Monday, and time to admit defeat.” Monday. Scout was back at work by now. Being in this paradise without her made it a bitter joke. “After I hang up with you, I will not give this hopeless assignment one more minute of my time. Liesl will not miraculously see the error of her ways and become a better human being. I am going home.”

  “New York or Montreal?’

  “I already said Chicago.”

  There was a beat of silence. “Since when did Chicago become home?”

  Fuck. “Home is wherever I wish it to be.”

  “I suppose that works out well for you, now that I think about it,” she said after a moment. “I just had a call from Scout Upton.”

  He stopped. His breath stopped. His heart stopped. His blood paused in his veins. He’d never been more still in his life. If it weren’t for the fact that he could feel the gentle sea breeze feathering over his skin, he would have thought he’d turned to stone.

  “She neither called nor texted me.” God knew he’d been listening for her ringtone every waking moment since he’d last seen her. He’d limited himself to texting her once a day, every day, since he’d been out of town, giving them both time to cool down and hopefully get a better perspective on things. She’d responded just once, wishing him “safe travels” when he’d told her he was headed to Jamaica for the shoot.

  That was it.

  Safe travels.

  But that meant she knew he had his phone with him. If Scout had wanted to get in touch, she could have. Easily.

  She’d just chosen not to.

  Goddamn it.

  “I had the impression she was in professional go-mode,” came Estelle’s reply when the si
lence dragged itself into the explosive realm. “Apparently she’s back at House Of Payne, with her vacation over and a trip to Canada behind her, so—”

  “Canada? Why was she in Canada?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Honestly, Estelle was always in his business when he didn’t want her there. Her sudden lack of curiosity pissed him off no end. “Did you at least ask why she chose to not call me instead? Why did she call you?”

  “According to her, she wasn’t sure you’d want to be bothered while you were out on a shoot, so she called me.”

  “Not sure?” The concept that he would ignore any communication from Scout was so completely alien it took him a moment to get the rest of the message. “What did she say?”

  “She needs you to call her about Frank Bournival’s files.”

  The mere mention of the man’s name turned the colorful world around him flat. “I do not give a shit about that mess anymore. If I never hear Bournival’s name again, it will be too soon.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Ivar. It’s healthier to look forward instead of back.” The relief in Estelle’s tone was clear. “So… does this mean you won’t be calling Scout Upton?”

  “Oh, I will most definitely call her,” he promised grimly. “But Bournival is the last thing we are going to talk about.”

  As Ivar stalked through the front doors of House Of Payne, Scout could honestly say that for the first time since she’d known him, he looked awful. Or, as awful as a former supermodel could look. Unshaven with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, he looked like he was one nervous twitch away from going nuclear.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Angel at the reception desk quickly turn and get busy with a sketchpad she had with her, her head dropping in an attempt to appear invisible. There was no need for Angel to worry about being seen. The way Ivar’s attention was locked on her, Scout doubted he saw anyone else.

  Was that a good thing, or a bad thing?

  To cover her flurry of anxiety, she looked at her watch before plucking up some files from the reception area’s counter. “Good morning, Ivar. Thank you for being on time for—”

  He didn’t speak, didn’t pause, didn’t slow his roll in the least. He plowed right into her and kept on going, his arms lifting her cleanly off her feet as he walked until her back was up against the reception counter and his mouth was on hers.

  Like magic, the nerves twisting her into knots stilled. So much was communicated in that one kiss—desperation, loneliness, lust, remorse, anger. Everything but indifference, which was what she’d half-feared he would hit her with. She still couldn’t be sure what was really going on in his head, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he was still pissed at her for using what he’d shared about his life against him. Tonya was right to say she should be angry with Ivar about being lied to. And she was. But to use what he’d confided in her against him was beneath her.

  If Ivar was still pissed, the hungry fusing of his mouth certainly had an odd way of communicating it. Her lips softened despite her determination to keep things on an emotionally detached keel, and she couldn’t help but shiver when he growled his approval at her response.

  “Seven days.” At last he allowed her to come up for air, only to nuzzle his face against hers as if he couldn’t get close enough. “Seven fucking days.”

  She blinked, her brain still back at the kiss. “Seven days?”

  “That is how long I have been without you. Seven days of thinking I would never touch you again, kiss you again. Seven days of not being able to breathe.”

  “Oh.” All the broken pieces inside her came back together to fracture in a new and completely different way, and she caught her breath at its painful sweetness. “That must be some kind of record.”

  “I do not give a shit what it is, as long as I never go through it again. Have you been safe?”

  She backed away, surprised. “Safe?”

  “I did not like leaving Chicago when you had made an enemy. I need to know you were properly looked after here at work while I was away.”

  “Oh. That.” She felt her face grow hot and she heard a muffled giggle come from Angel, but she ignored both. What she couldn’t ignore was how Ivar’s determination to keep her protected filled her with a strange mixture of exasperation and happiness that she couldn’t begin to cope with. “I still can’t believe you hired a bodyguard for me.”

  “I wanted to hire more, but one was all Payne would allow on the premises.”

  “Yeah. He told me.” While laughing his ass off. Then she reminded him that he’d bought an outrageously expensive security system for an entire apartment building that wasn’t even his, just so he knew that his then-girlfriend, Becks, was safe. That was when Payne had decided maybe Ivar wasn’t such a bad egg, after all. “You should know something about the guy I said I’d made into an enemy.”

  “You said he was a dangerous man.”

  “At the time I meant it. But apparently I did a great job of convincing him that I was both violent and insane. Whenever he sees me now, he pretty much turns and walks the other way, so I think I’m good.”

  “Nevertheless, the bodyguard stays until I feel that you are safe here.” He ignored the distance she’d put between them and hugged her so fiercely her bones groaned in protest. “If anything happened to you, I would fucking lose it.”

  There it was again, that strange happiness drowning out all the darkness that had gathered inside. “That… seriously sounds like you care.”

  “I tell you that I have not been able to breathe without you, yet you still doubt me? Tell me you are going to allow me to breathe again. No, wait,” he said, before she could make a sound. “It does not matter what you say. I refuse to go through this any longer, do you hear me? Be angry with me. Hate me. Hit me. Swear you will never speak to me again. Just do it while I am holding you, because letting you go is not going to happen.”

  She stared up at him while his words echoed in her head. She didn’t know what to believe. He’d killed the dream man she’d thought he was by giving her a harsh dose of reality, and the reality was that a man like him would never go for an inked-out, blue-collar inner city hard case like her all on his own. The pain of that truth hadn’t receded. It messed with her head so she couldn’t separate all that was real from all that was a lie. That left her with no choice but to reject it all.

  So, yes. She was still angry, in a scary, deep-down kind of way that wasn’t getting any better.

  But hate?

  Of all the things he made her feel, hate wasn’t one of them. It never could be.

  “If you’re never letting me go,” she said, arching her back in the hope of gaining a little distance, “we’re going to have one hell of a time getting up the stairs to my office.”

  He looked down at her with eyes that burned while she stepped out of his arms. “I would love to see the privacy of your office.”

  “I’m happy to hear your enthusiasm, but I didn’t call this meeting for a tryst.”

  “I can both see and feel that, ma fleur. Nevertheless, a man can hope.”

  His smile was so charming she had to look away to keep her sanity. “And I can hope that you weren’t expecting privacy right off the bat.” As she spoke, she took the opportunity to move around the reception area toward the stairs. Ivar stayed with her step for step, one hand holding hers, the other resting in the small of her back, as if he had every intention if staying in physical contact with her until the end of time. “Because that’s the one thing you won’t find up in my office. Someone’s in there waiting for us.”

  “Get rid of them”

  “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t. Ivar.” They topped the stairs, and she came to a halt when they reached the closed door of her office. “Before we go in, I need to get a few things off my chest.”

  His face darkened, and it buried all remnants of his smile. “Why bother? I know what you are going to say.”

  “I doubt that.”

 
; “Allow me to prove it to you,” he said, and the bitterness in his tone hurt her in a way that made her want close her ears. “You no longer trust me. You no longer feel safe with me. I can tell by the way you hold yourself back now.”

  He was right on at least one thing; she didn’t trust him like she used to. A thick cocoon had grown around her heart over the past several days while it frantically tried to heal itself, and there was nothing she could do about it. “I wasn’t aware that I was holding anything back.”

  “You are,” he assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. “I know you are, because I know what it is to have you in my arms when you let all the barriers go and you have faith in me to take care of you. Now when I hold you, there is a barrier between us.”

  Did that bother him? She searched his eyes, trying to see if he really cared, all the while hating how she now had to second-guess his every move.

  Ultimately it should be up to him to make it right, and if he tries to do that, be thrilled about it.

  Things weren’t right, and she was far from thrilled. But he was there with her now. That meant he was trying.

  It also meant she needed to try, too.

  “There was someone in my life, around the time we opened House Of Payne,” she heard her mouth confess, and she blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what she’d been planning to say at all. “The House had made a big splash, and virtually overnight we’d become a household name. It seemed like the sky was the limit, and we felt invincible. Maybe that’s why Vishous came up on my blind side and fooled me so completely.”

  “Vishous?”

  “That wasn’t really his name.” She tried to smile, mainly because his brows had come together in an increasingly ominous scowl. “He was the perfect boyfriend. He doted on me, made me feel special, and I fell for him like a ton of bricks. I let him into the inner workings of the House and before I knew it, I was reading all about it in the article he wrote for Rolling Stone. When I demanded an explanation, he laughed at me.”

  “That fucker.” It was the most dangerous growl she had ever heard a human make. “That motherfucker.”