House of Payne: Steele (4 page)

But no matter how cluttered the room was, it was still empty.

Empty of people.

Empty of sound.

Empty of life.

The faintest mew caught her attention as she moved to the kitchen area, and she glanced back to see that Mooch, all eyes and skittish tension, had crept out to watch her. When she bent to open the cabinet beneath the sink to retrieve a paper plate, a can of cat food and a box of dry kibble, he came running.

“You only like me for the food,” she muttered at the skinny animal, who decided to polish her ankles to show her how much he approved of her decision to feed him. Mentally she shook her head over the idiocy of feeding someone else’s pet when she wasn’t currently making a dime. Oh well. At least Mooch gave her someone to talk to.

“Okay, cat. Chow time.” Setting the plate down, she filled a shallow bowl with water even as her neighbor’s pet dived into the offering like he’d never seen food before. She left him to it, snagged up the sketchbook she’d dropped on her way to save Mooch, and plopped down on the squeaky fold-out bed. But as she scanned the notations she’d made on materials she wanted to use, she couldn’t get her mind to focus.

You must be a special kind of stupid.

They’re still more interesting than you.

No one gives two shits about a wallflower like you.

A low sigh deflated her as Ezekiel Steele filled her head. That dick, she thought, but without any heat. It hurt like hell, knowing what that man saw when he looked at her, but his brutal assessment wasn’t wrong. She
wasn’t
interesting. At all.

That was a good thing, she reminded herself fiercely. She went out of her way to bury herself inside her protective cocoon. That was the only way she knew how to keep herself safe. Making the most of her appearance, being open and smiling or chatting freely with people…that was what she used to do. Some might call that ordinary, day-to-day living, but she saw it as a surefire way to make someone notice her existence.

The wrong kind of someone.

Life was better when she was invisible. Safer.

But…

If she was invisible, how was she supposed to attract the
right
kind of someone?

Good luck with that, she snorted, settling a pillow behind her. It had taken years of therapy to get her to interact with the world as much as she did, after her sense of security had been obliterated. But as far as she’d come, she still hadn’t been able to shake the fear of gaining unwanted attention. That was why Ezekiel Steele’s assertion that she was an attention whore was beyond laughable. It took courage to not be invisible, and that was a kind of courage she didn’t have.

So, no. She wasn’t an attention whore. She was something much worse.

She was a coward.

Yet there she was, in the center of a fashion contest that was getting tens of thousands of hits online on a daily basis and heaven only knew how much more attention in mainstream media.

She had to be out of her damn mind.

No wonder Ezekiel Steele took one look at her and decided she was a twitchy wallflower desperate for some attention, she thought, angrily flipping through her sketchbook. How pathetic she must seem to him, a gorgeous hottie who probably had women hanging all over him. He was much taller than her height of 5’6”, with the build of a football player who didn’t require shoulder pads. His clean-shaven jaw was square and begging for a woman’s hand to cup it, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t felt her palm itch to do just that. When his mouth wasn’t twisted in derision, she loved the way it curled up a fraction at the corners even when it was at rest. And his scars were fascinating as hell, though part of her hurt for the pain he must have endured when he’d earned them.

More than anyone, she understood that kind of pain.

But it was his eyes she found the most mesmerizing. They were as light as mirrors, yet they reflected nothing of what was going on behind them. Then she backtracked with a derisive snort. That wasn’t exactly true. Those eyes had definitely reflected that he hadn’t liked what he saw when he looked at her.

Too bad she couldn’t say the same.

A “mrrr” sounded as Mooch jumped up onto the edge of the bed, then stood statue-still as he regarded her warily. Lowering her book, she held out a hand. “Hey there, buddy. You want some company? I’m cool with that.”

At the sound of her voice, the thin orange cat slunk over, sniffed her fingers, then moved onto her open book to make himself comfortable. She sighed, resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to get any work done tonight, and gently stroked Mooch’s head. Immediately, the stressed-out ball of orange fur relaxed enough to do his best impression of a diesel engine.

She might be an uninteresting, attention-starved wallflower in Ezekiel Steele’s eyes, and she’d never have the wonderful family that Carla and Patrick were busily building, and she’d never meet her other half while staying in her protective cocoon. But at least she could make her neighbor’s cat purr. That was something.

As the empty silence tried to smother her, Essie’s eyes began to burn.

Allergies, she told herself firmly, and closed them up tight as she continued to pet Mooch. Just allergies.

The cat’s purr was almost loud enough to make the silence bearable.

Chapter Four

“It took a week to get everyone’s personal information sorted out.” Payne moved around his chrome and glass desk to perch on the edge of it, while Essie, Dizzy Izz and Olivier took their places on the couch and surrounding leather chairs. Unlike their meeting the week before, Scout was nowhere to be found and the redheaded videographer was also MIA.

Too bad Essie couldn’t say the same for Ezekiel Steele.

She struggled to keep her expression from sliding into resting bitch-face. That jerk. His words had gnawed at her all week long. She might an uninteresting wallflower—boring, ordinary, and determined to be invisible. But she was a
safe
uninteresting wallflower, so he had no right to judge.

Jerk.

The thing was, she could
feel
Ezekiel Steele standing there judging her, and suddenly being safe didn’t feel all that awesome. Worse yet, he knew everything about her now. It was bad enough that the guy she’d come to think of as a physically ideal man—though his personality
sucked
—believed she was a pathetic example of femininity. But now he knew all the details of her background.
All
of them. Even the stuff she’d blocked just to stay sane.

If she’d walked down Michigan Avenue naked, she couldn’t have felt more exposed.

“So,” Payne continued with his sharp smile, “I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. After reviewing your personal backgrounds with my head of security, I don’t see any insurmountable issues. The good news is that you’re all still in the running. The bad news is that you now only have seven weeks to kick some serious fashion ass.”

The sound of Dizzy’s release of pent-up breath dragged Essie out of her murky thoughts. Interesting. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one sweating the snoop-fest.

To her shock, Olivier leaned over to pat her knee. “You were worried about that, weren’t you, Texas? But since you’re still here, I guess it’s obvious they’ll let just about anyone play this game—even you.”

“Shut up.”

The room froze, because the order came from both Payne and, of all people, Ezekiel Steele, who’d loomed up like some kind of nightmare from behind. Olivier’s dour mouth dropped open as he stared at the man who’d come to stand directly behind her chair before it pinched shut, and he shifted around on the couch as if he suddenly had a monster case of hemorrhoids. For her part, Essie suffered the sensation of her face going up in flames while the room’s focus snapped to her.

Great.

So much for being invisible.

“See, that kind of shit right there is what I’ve got a real fucking problem with.” Looking as pissed off as she’d ever seen him, Payne jerked to his full height, his hands curled into fists. “I get that you all have egos—everyone here at House Of Payne does. I put up with those egos because they’re attached to people who are literally the best in the business. As long as those egos don’t get in the way and my people keep producing quality work, I let it go whenever those egos flare up. But the moment one artist tries playing petty mind games with another artist, they’re out. You know why? Because that shit doesn’t benefit my business. I’ve tried making it clear from the beginning that House Of Payne is all that matters, and I’d hoped I would get some adult understanding. But since that’s obviously too much to expect from you, I now have to lay down the law like you’re a bunch of fucking five-year-olds. So fine, here it is—you don’t talk to each other. You don’t text or email each other. You don’t touch each other. You don’t broadcast shit about each other online in any way, shape or form. You don’t look at each other’s work, and you don’t make one goddamn comment about each other’s work, past or present. If you happen to be in the same room together, pretend you can’t see each other. If I feel there’s evidence of any of you crossing a line, you’re out, because that kind of dissention won’t help me find the best designer, and that’s the only reason you’re here. Does anyone have any questions?”

Essie almost hated to raise her hand, but there was just no way of getting around it. “Um…”

Payne nodded at her so curtly she almost lost her nerve.

“About the models you mentioned during the last meeting for the fashion show… are we going to have a chance to get their measurements any time soon?”

For a moment Payne just stared at her. Then he looked to the other designers. “You see? Professionalism. It’s not hard. All you have to do is give a fuck about what you do. To answer the question,” he went on when Essie’s face got hot all over again, “we’ve decided to keep the focus on House Of Payne by having our tattooists model the clothing. Fay, Rocket and Angel will be the female models, and Twist, Maximo and a new guy who’s coming in will be the male models. It’ll be decided later this week which designer gets which set of models.”

“If I come up with some baby clothes that somehow define House Of Payne, I know a baby and a toddler with parents who would be all for their kids being models. Would that be okay?” When this was greeted with silence and appalled looks from her competitors, Essie cleared her throat and gamely forged ahead. “I mean… it’s just that there’s a huge margin when it comes to baby clothes. It doesn’t cost much to make, considering the small amount of fabric that’s used, but I know a lot of parents would pay whatever you asked to get something from the House. In fact, the parents of these particular kids are insisting I design some exclusive House Of Payne playwear for their one-year-old son and two-year-old daughter. They basically want to show off to their fellow parents at the play park—parents who obviously aren’t as cool as they are.”

“Outstanding.” From looking borderline-murderous, Payne smiled and once again relaxed back against the desk. “Yeah, sure, as far as I’m concerned children’s clothes and baby wear are just more potential lines that you, the designers, can explore if that’s what you want to do. Just remember that I want both male and female versions of whatever you create. Now, if that’s all, feel free to hang out and soak up everything you can about House Of Payne.”

With that obvious dismissal, Essie clutched her book and hopped to her feet, careful not to look at anyone as she headed for the door. Before she could get there, Ezekiel Steele beat her to it, pulling the door open wide.

“Thank you.” She barely managed to push the words out, and she flat-out refused to look his way as she went through. She wasn’t exactly anxious to see the contempt that had been in his eyes like last time, and she sure as hell didn’t want to see the pity she feared would be there now.

Pretending he didn’t exist was the only option she had left, and she was totally comfortable with that.

Moving out into the common area outside Payne’s office, she glanced toward the frosted glass tattoo booths with the idea of dropping in on either Twist or Angel. But the discreet lights over their doors were both lit, indicating they were already hard at work slinging ink. So much for that idea, she thought, checking her watch. Since it was a couple hours before lunch, she’d do what Payne suggested and hang around for inspirational purposes while waiting—

“Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

For the second time, she nearly jumped into orbit at Ezekiel Steele’s unexpected closeness. She snapped around and found him only a foot away rather than holding the door open for the others, like she’d assumed. Before she could brace herself for the impact, her gaze slammed into his, and all at once she couldn’t remember how to make her lungs work.

Neither contempt nor pity were in those light eyes, just a detached sort of interest she couldn’t begin to read. “Oh. No, I’m going to hang around for a while.”

He didn’t move. “So that’s it? There’s nothing else you want to say to me?”

The words
fuck off
came to mind so clearly she could taste them. “How about good-bye?”

“How about
thank you
?”

It was a wonder her jaw didn’t dislocate, it dropped open so hard. “For what?”

“You’re still here. What’s more, I think it’s obvious you’re the frontrunner in Payne’s mind, since you’re the only one who knows how to keep it professional. That wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t pulled you back on-course. Throwing some gratitude my way wouldn’t be out of line.”

“You…I…” She’d been speechless before in her life, but that had been due to physical injury. This type of speechlessness was infinitely more frustrating. “You must have been dropped on your head when you were little, if that’s what you think. Either that, or you’re the one who needs a drug test.”

“So, you’re saying you’re not grateful that I talked you into staying in the competition? That’s pretty cold.”

“
Talked me into
…” Something snapped inside, and she tried to broil him alive with the heat of her glare. “You called me a stupid, uninteresting wallflower, you epic dick. The only reason you’re still alive is because I don’t have enough money to hire a hitman.”

“Like I said, I talked you into it.”

Wow
.
Just wow
. “If that’s what you think happened, you need to check yourself into rehab like, yesterday. You didn’t talk me into anything.”

“You’re a fighter, Estella Santiago.” His voice was so low it garnered her full attention, despite the fact that she wanted to leave this first-class prick in the dust.  Her gaze lingered on his mouth and those charmingly upturned corners. Just her luck, the jerk had a yummy-looking mouth. Sometimes life wasn’t at all fair. “Fighting isn’t something you plan to do, or strategize over. Being a fighter is just who you are.”

“Huh.” She rolled her eyes in lieu of kicking him in the shins. “That awkward moment when a stranger mistakenly thinks he knows you.”

“You didn’t fight Payne’s rules, or Scout’s pleas to stay, because there was nothing to fight against. A soft touch defeats you. But the moment you’re faced with a challenge—or an insult or two that pisses you off—you absolutely will not stop until you’re the last one standing.”

“Oh, really? That’s the excuse you’re going with to explain your shitty behavior?”

“No excuses. It’s the truth.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Grimly she forced her attention from his fabulous mouth, to instead focus on his equally fabulous eyes. “You’re hoping to pass off your jumbo-sized jackassery as a way of
helping
me? And better yet, you expect me to believe you did this, helping someone you don’t even know, out of the goodness of your sweet little heart?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“You really must think I’m as stupid as you said. We’re
strangers
, pal. Even if it’s impossible to believe you’d give a damn about whether or not I stayed in this stupid contest, there’s no way you could have known that antagonizing me would provoke me into doing an about-face. You don’t know me.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Every employee at the House, including your brother, has had a thorough background check. Those background checks were done by me.”

She’d figured as much. “That doesn’t mean you know who I am. You might know my official history through Twist, I’ll give you that. But you don’t know
me
, who I really am behind those facts.”

“Here are the facts.” Again he gave her that side-eye, showing her an almost complete profile of the unscarred side of his face. “During the summer of your sixteenth year, a co-worker of Twist’s dropped in, claiming to be looking for your brother. You were home alone, but as he was a friend of the family who had been invited in several times before, you did the natural thing and opened the door to him. You were then sexually and physically tortured for hours in the privacy of your own home with no one to hear your screams.”

Essie flinched. To hear him speak so unemotionally of the hell she’d been put through at the hands of a demon in human skin was like getting stabbed. Did he know that hearing a stranger talk about her assault out of the blue like that was akin to tearing her flesh open with his bare hands?

If he knew—and he’d done it anyway—that made him almost as cruel as her attacker, Zane Hildebrandt. 

“Those are the facts.” She nodded once, and the cold in her voice bit into her until she fought to keep from shivering. “Facts like that don’t exactly scream out
fighter
, now do they? If it had been an actual fight, I would have been the total loser, getting knocked out with the very first blow—the door hitting my face, in case you were wondering.”

“Depends on how you look at it. That animal crushed your face in—about half of it is now metal plating and implants, thanks to nearly a dozen reconstructive surgeries. That beating alone should have killed you, but it didn’t. So he tried strangling you, causing permanent damage to the nerves in your larynx. But you
still
didn’t die. Your brother Nick came home unexpectedly, putting an end to the attack, and shortly thereafter that monster was caught by Twist and nearly killed, an act which landed your brother in prison. Once you were released from the hospital, you were shipped down to an aunt in Texas to fully recuperate, as you understandably couldn’t bear to step foot in that house ever again. Your parents were able to sell that property about a year later, but by then you’d settled into your new life in Austin, and had a team of doctors working on getting you rehabilitated back to where you needed to be. Those are the facts and they tell me one hell of a lot about you. Do you know what they tell me?”