Steele

by Stacy Gail

  “If I don’t win, there’s no reason for me to stay. Even if I can’t get my old job back in Austin, at least I’ve got a sterling reputation down in Texas. I would have a much better chance of finding work quickly there than I would in this city. Here in Chicago, I would only be known as that pathetic House Of Payne loser.”

  “So you’d just leave?”

  “Yeah.” Then she blinked. “Wow. I didn’t know that was my game plan until I said it out loud, but…yeah, Carla. If I don’t win this contest, I’m out of here. I even want to leave, so much so that it would kind of be a relief to not win. I could just get the hell out of town and not look back.”

  Carla’s mouth drooped. “But what about your family? What about me? You have people here who love you.”

  People, yes. But not Steele. He’d made that abundantly clear. “I love you, too. But as much as I love you and my family, this city also holds a hell of a lot of painful memories. Leaving it behind wouldn’t erase that pain, and I get that. But it would help in wiping the mental slate clean. After all the crap that’s been poisoning my head lately, a clean slate sounds like a slice of heaven.”

  Her friend made a sound of distress. “Now I’m really hoping you win. I just got you back, Es. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You’re guaranteed to have me for the next forty-eight hours.” Impulsively Essie hugged her before grabbing up the garment bag that held all the children’s apparel. “Let’s make this time as memorable as possible by showing off how adorable your kids are in my amazing outfits.”

  Angel and a sleepy-grouchy Twist showed up a few minutes later, just as Essie finished laying out the items she wanted them to wear. The murmur of the other designers and their models within the curtained chaos of the backstage area floated to her ears, and she was relieved she couldn’t see any of them. Despite what she’d told Carla, she still wanted to win. Burned to win. She’d come too far to leave with nothing, and that was what defeat meant. She’d lost months of her life, most of her savings, and her heart to Steele in this endeavor.

  That meant she had to win now.

  Not that getting a contract with House Of Payne and potential worldwide fame in the fashion industry would get her heart back; that was a crippling blow that nothing could compensate for. But the thought of coming away from this ordeal empty-handed after all the sacrifices she’d made filled her with dizzying dread.

  She had to win.

  She had to.

  “If I could have the designers’ attention, please.” Scout’s no-nonsense voice sounded beyond her curtained-off cubicle, dragging Essie’s attention away from her two models, her brother Twist and Angel. Fussing quickly with Twist’s long-sleeved graphic shirt that displayed his tattoo design of a dragon—its tail curled around one sleeve, its talons “gripping” the ruched fabric on the back panel, the neck over the shoulder, and the chest panel nothing but vicious teeth and burning eyes—she ducked out into the miniscule common area by the center curtain. To her left, Olivier had also appeared, while further down Dizzy Izz stuck only her head out of her cubicle.

  “So, here we are at last—the dress rehearsal. Congratulations to you all for making it through this marathon of fashion creativity. No matter how things wind up tomorrow, you should know that your efforts through this time are deeply appreciated.” Scout stood in front of the center curtain’s gap, running a manicured finger down the tablet she held. “First up is Dizzy Izz, so here’s how it’s going to go. You’ll set up your models right where I’m standing one minute prior to your cue, which will be given to you by me. No model will enter the runway without my say-so. I have to eyeball each model before they go out to make sure there’s nothing wrong, like inappropriate graphics or wardrobe malfunctions. I don’t want anything shown out there that would embarrass the House, so if I see something like that, it’s out. This is not negotiable,” she added before anyone could utter a word. “What’s more, if I eliminate something from your collection and this knocks you out of the minimum requirements that were set at the beginning of this contest, you’ll be disqualified from the competition. Does anyone have any questions so far?”

  Feverishly Essie went over her inventory while Olivier and Dizzy went on verbal warpaths. To be on the safe side, she’d created more than what the rules had called for—three items for both men and women in the three categories of daily wear, outerwear and activewear, plus three outfits for both baby Dillon and toddler Charlotte, completing a children’s line as well. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Hopefully those weren’t famous last words.

  “If there’s a massive issue that has to be addressed, you can take it up with Payne, who would have the final say in the matter, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go.” Scout held up a hand, and that was enough to silence the designers’ objections. “Personally I don’t foresee a problem like that, but this had to be stated before we got things going. Now, about how we want the show itself to go… to give our models enough time to change into their next outfits, we need all the models to walk slowly down the runway side by side, stop halfway down, look out to the crowd and pose for photos.”

  “Fuck me,” came Twist’s pained protest from the curtained-off cubicle behind her.

  Essie just stopped herself from facepalming. She’d kill him. When all this was over and she had time to breathe, she’d absolutely kill him.

  Thankfully Scout’s eyes barely flicked in their direction. “The models will switch places, pose for pictures again, then proceed to the end of the catwalk where Payne and the other judges will be seated. Once your models have come to a stop, this is where you’ll begin your narration of the items you’ve created from the podium just on the other side of this curtain. You may describe your creations however you wish, but if you’ve used a tattoo design in your clothing that came from the House, it’s mandatory that you name the tattoo artist, as well as the fact that this tattoo can be found exclusively at House Of Payne. Each turn on the catwalk should last approximately one to two minutes, and models must exit the catwalk completely before the next set of models is allowed to enter. If you have questions about how to proceed, now is the time to ask.”

  Essie’s mind whirled as she tried to weave this new content into what had to be done, then relaxed when she realized her narration script that described each article of clothing already had all the information that Scout wanted.

  Amazingly enough, she was ready to go.

  As if sensing this, Scout nodded once and turned to Dizzy Izz. “All right, Dizzy, you’re up. The rest of you, get ready.”

  With her heart suddenly pounding so hard in her chest she thought she might faint, Essie ducked back into her cubicle. “Okay, it’s time to kick some ass. Twist, feel free to glower and stalk as much as you want—that’s actually cool for guys on the runway. Just don’t slouch or cross your arms, because you’ll make my clothes look bad and if you do that, I’ll tell Mom.”

  “Fuck me,” he groaned again, looking heavenward for deliverance.

  Essie ignored him. “Angel, you look fabulous. Thank you so much for putting your hair up so that everyone can see those lovely snowflake designs of yours on your top. The skirt goes really well with it, too.”

  “I’m stealing this outfit, Es,” Angel announced, grinning. “As soon as this is all over, I’m stealing it and you totally cannot stop me.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that, especially since those snowflakes were inspired by your tattoo designs. Your artistic genius is the reason that outfit exists.”

  Angel squealed and hugged her tight. “Oh my God, I love you so much right now.”

  “Fuck me,” Twist muttered behind them, but this time Essie heard the laughter in his voice, so she decided to let him live.

  Techno music suddenly hit the air, way too loud, and somewhere beyond their cubicle Scout screamed out the threat of skinning someone alive if they didn’t turn it down in the next three seconds. Wide-eyed
and more than a little impressed with Scout’s badass attitude, Essie popped out of their cubicle in time to see Scout push Dizzy Izz through the center curtain. Absently noting that Olivier was ushering his models toward the center curtain, Essie cast about to see where Carla and the kids had run off to.

  Instead, her preoccupied gaze ran smack into Steele.

  Holy…

  Shit.

  In a blink, every trace of oxygen evaporated from the building. Her lungs froze, becoming useless blocks of ice, but that hardly mattered since there was no oxygen left for them to process. Her head began to swim while a war between mindless joy at seeing him again and the sick, stabbing cold of hopelessness exploded inside her, with no winner in sight. Her throat tightened and tightened, as if an invisible hand had clamped around it to squeeze it so hard it was almost as though she was once again having the life choked out of her. She retreated a few steps even as she put a hand to the source of distress, and felt the scars beneath her fingers.

  As the ballooning anguish tried to pull her into a pool of never-ending hopelessness, those scars grounded her. They were proof that she had survived worse.

  That meant she could survive Steele.

  She’d told him that, and she believed it.

  She could survive him.

  Then he moved toward her, his eyes locked unwaveringly on her, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive the next five minutes.

  “Okay, that wasn’t too awful.” Scout reappeared at the curtain gap, looked Olivier’s models over from head to toe, front to back, then had them back away from the curtain gap. “What you’ll need to do is wait for Dizzy Izz’s narration to come to an end, and watch for her models exiting off to the right…”

  The all-important instructions faded as Essie watched Steele approach in much the same way a helpless swimmer watched the approach of a great white shark. Why now, was all she could think while the jagged pieces of her heart sank into her stomach. She didn’t want to see him—see his beloved but unloving face. Hear his beloved but unloving voice. Having him there now was akin to having her jaw wired shut at a feast. It was worse than looking but not being able touch, worse even than torture.

  It was hell.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” The words squeaked out of her, and each one seemed to be wrapped in rusty barbed wire that tore chunks out of her throat. Uselessly she tried to massage her throat into working properly. “Luke Keyes replaced you. You’re supposed to be gone.”

  “I was gone. Now I’m back.” A world of turbulence was in the eyes that remained locked on her like his life depended on it. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m busy.” Thank God.

  “I know. Tonight.”

  “No.”

  He stopped within a breath of her, and his hand lifted as if to cup her face. “Sweetness—”

  “I said no.” She flinched away before he made contact. His hand froze between them, and the turbulence she’d noted blew up into an all-out tempest. She didn’t care. “You really shouldn’t be here, Steele.”

  His hand fell to his side. Clenched into a fist. “You saying you don’t want me here?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” So what if it killed her to say it?

  His chest heaved with a closed-mouth deep breath. “Part of you does. I could tell when you first caught sight of me. Part of you was happy to see me.”

  “But not all of me. All of me is miserable because of you, and I can’t deal with that right now. If there’s any mercy in you, you’ll go away and leave me alone.”

  It was his turn to flinch—just the slightest twitch of his eyelids, but she caught it. “Give me a chance to make it up to you, Essie.”

  If she didn’t hurt so much, she would have laughed. “Make it up to me? It tears me apart just to look at you. I’d rather not be with you at all, than be with you knowing you don’t care enough about me to protect me from the pain you’ve given me. I’m tough, but I’m not so tough that I can’t still be crushed by how carelessly you handled me.”

  This time his whole face flinched. “I won’t—”

  “Essie, you’re up.” Scout was by the center curtain, beckoning her forward. “I need your models front and center.”

  “Right.” Refusing to look Steele’s way, Essie ducked back into the cubicle and looked to Twist and Angel with a falsely bright smile. “Showtime, kids.”

  With her jaw locked tight to hold back a storm of anguish beating her to death inside, Essie didn’t acknowledge Steele’s presence nearby as she guided her brother and sister-in-law to the curtain. Scout looked up from her tablet, but instead of giving her models the careful once-over as she had all the others, her jaw dropped and she simply stared.

  “What the hell?” Scout stared at what Angel wore for a long moment before shaking her head. “I don’t believe this.”

  “What?” Twist scowled over at Scout while Essie’s blood ran cold. Was her design really that awful? Mortification sank its acid teeth into her, and she couldn’t help but glance at Steele, who’d stepped forward. A failure was bad enough, but not in front of the man who’d so completely rejected her.

  God, please not in front of Steele…

  “This can’t be,” Scout muttered, then unclipped a walkie-talkie from her belt. “Payne, we’ve got a problem. Essie’s design for a woman’s daily wear outfit and Dizzy Izz’s design are almost identical. We have two designers who’ve made the same thing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On one side of Payne’s office were all of Essie’s designs—designs she’d spent months on. Designs she’d given up her excellent job and peaceful life in Texas to create.

  On the other side of the office were Dizzy Izz’s.

  She shook her head, dismayed. It was like looking at a Bizarro World version of her own stuff.

  Her collection had far more items in it, and as far as she could tell, Dizzy hadn’t done an activewear line showcasing Max’s artwork—or an activewear line at all. But the daily wear, the children’s line and a few pieces from her outerwear line—such as the cobra hoodies—were almost identical.

  “What are the odds,” Payne said softly, looking from one side of the room to the other, “of this being a coincidence?”

  That was what Essie wanted to know. Out of the thousands of tattoo designs exclusive to House Of Payne, what were the odds that she and Dizzy Izz would choose the same ones, and then weave them into their own creations in almost the exact same way? She’d worked her fingers to the bone to incorporate the House Of Payne logo into everything she’d made, something Dizzy Izz hadn’t done, and her designs were more sophisticated, in her opinion. But there was no denying they were basically the same.

  Just looking at it made her sick.

  “Seriously, I want to know.” Payne’s voice rose until it was like the crack of a whip, ringing around the room. The fury in it made her heart skip a beat. “What are the motherfucking odds that two designers—who’ve been ordered not to have any contact with each other—would come up with the same ideas? Not just once. Not just twice. Eight fucking times. This couldn’t be any more magically improbable if it had happened at fucking Hogwarts. Maybe I should call Professor Dumbledore to see if he can figure this shit out.”

  “What matters at this point is how we’re going to pull this show off without looking like a bunch of morons.” Scout scowled at Essie and Dizzy Izz, who stood by their respective clothing collections, and a wave of dismay and irrational shame inundated Essie. Before that moment, she’d been so proud of what she had managed to create. But now that she saw so much of her own collection echoed—and damn it, echoed in an inferior way with more jagged and cartoony lines—she couldn’t stand the sight of it.

  Nor could she stand this humiliating scene of being yelled at and looked at as though she had committed a crime was being witnessed by Luke and Steele. She didn’t give a damn about Luke, but Steele…

  This was a nightmare.

  Her eyes burned wi
th the horrified upset she stubbornly refused to give in to. Just when she thought her pride couldn’t get any more obliterated, fate took that as a challenge to show her just how wrong she was. She didn’t want Steele to witness this. Hadn’t she already been destroyed enough?

  “No. No. I don’t give two fucks about that stupid-ass show right now, Scout. The only thing I give a fuck about is who has the goddamn balls to think they can fuck with me. Is it you?” Without warning Payne wheeled toward Essie and roared in her face, his expression so wrathful she stepped back. “Are you the one who thinks she can fuck with me? Huh?”

  Dear God. “No.”

  Steele was suddenly there, his body a wall between them. “You’re going to keep it calm, and you’re going to do that right now.”

  “Calm? You want fucking calm? So if it’s not her, then it must be you.” Just as fast as he’d turned on Essie, Payne whipped his head around to Dizzy Izz, whose eyes widened dramatically. “You did this, am I right? You fucking stole these designs, didn’t you?”

  “Dizzy Izz will sue over such a charge, so don’t even think of going there.”

  Standing by the office’s closed double doors, Luke made a little “hmph” noise that had Payne glancing his way, but Dizzy Izz wasn’t done.

  “Since you obviously don’t come from the world of fashion, you don’t know that it’s very much like the entertainment world—the show must go on, no matter what. Let the show go on. Let the people decide whose designs are best.”

  “What?” Aghast, Essie stared at her. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Having the same designs from two different collections…for God’s sake, I’d rather withdraw my collection than see them mocked in front of the whole world.”

  “It’s not a matter of whether or not you voluntarily get to withdraw from this contest,” Scout put in, her voice as hard as granite. “If we eliminated everything that’s been duplicated, neither one of you has a complete collection, as per the terms of your contract. You both are headed for disqualification if we can’t figure this out.”