Steele

by Stacy Gail

  Essie nearly hyperventilated.

  “Great job, everyone, especially the kiddos.” Scout beamed at a now-whimpering Dillon and Charlotte, who was trying to climb her father’s leg. “Essie, I need you to come back out to the front curtain along with Olivier. Payne’s just told me they’ve made a decision on the winner.”

  “Oh.” That was all she could manage. Her tongue became hermetically sealed to the roof of her mouth, so speech from that point became impossible. Why had she never imagined this part of the process before? It was bad enough to lose, certainly. But to lose in front of the whole freaking world? She’d rather get a root canal than lose in front of her Hollywood crush as well as her whole family. She could just imagine her mother’s happy tears turning into tears of sorrow, while the light in her father’s eyes got snuffed out under a wave of devastation. And Steele…

  Steele would pity her.

  But maybe none of that would happen if she didn’t go out there…

  “Get going, Es.” Her not-helpful brother gave her a push, and she spared a second to shoot him a dirty look over her shoulder. As usual, Twist was about as subtle as a Howitzer. “Go win this stupid thing so we can get the fuck out of here and start celebrating.”

  Would they have anything to celebrate? At that moment she had a sinking feeling it would be more of a wake than a celebration.

  Her mouth was so dry it hurt as she followed Scout to where Olivier waited for them, deaf to the cheers of her friends and family behind her.

  She didn’t want to do this.

  Her hands balled into fists as her gaze bounced off Olivier’s. He didn’t look like he was freaking out. Then again, why would he? He knew what he was doing. He was a pro at the fashion business. She was nothing more than a university theater costume designer from Texas. Why had she thought she could do this?

  She couldn’t.

  Damn it.

  “Let’s hold up here for a minute.” Scout put up a hand, a signal for Essie to put on the brakes. Numbly she stared at the closed slit of the curtains while her lungs squeezed down to the size of raisins and refused to accept more than a trickle of air. Scout pressed a hand to her headset’s earpiece while Essie willed the House’s manager to hurry up and get this torture over with. Then Scout nodded decisively, and all at once Essie wanted her to stall a little longer. She wasn’t prepared for this humiliation. She’d never be prepared for this humiliation.

  She wanted out.

  “Got it,” Scout muttered into the headset’s mic before turning to Olivier and Essie. “Here’s the plan, guys. Payne’s going to introduce the guest judges and if he thinks about it, mention the poll going on right now online. The online voting doesn’t officially count, it’s just something for fun that we set up, so don’t let the possibility of internet trolls freak you out. Then Payne wants the two of you to go out to the end of the catwalk and await the judgment. Any questions?”

  Essie considered telling Scout that she very much feared she was going to throw up. But since that was a statement and not a question, she just shook her head.

  “Good deal.” Again Scout touched the earpiece. “We’re good to go here, Payne. Take it away.”

  When Payne’s voice boomed out, Essie couldn’t help but jump.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for joining us tonight here at House Of Payne as we choose our next designer—a person who typifies the best in cutting-edge, exclusive fashion, just as our tattooists here at the House bring the best and most innovative ink to the world.”

  Essie looked down at her hands.

  Aspen leaves were rock-steady compared to her.

  “We went through several elimination rounds to come down to just two finalists. They’re both incredibly talented and they’ve given us their all these past several months, so let’s hear it for them one more time.”

  No, let’s just get this shit over with so I can go hide in the darkest hole I can find and never come out again.

  The noise level hit ear-splitting heights for several moments before Payne resumed. “Both designers are already winners in my eyes, but as they say… there can be only one. And, as it turns out, both our online poll and our judges’ panel have made a unanimous decision as to who that winner is.”

  Everything inside her froze.

  What did that mean? Did no one vote for her? Did everyone vote for her?

  No.

  That couldn’t be. She wasn’t that good. She hadn’t seen any of Olivier’s collection, but she knew she wasn’t so brilliant as to pitch a proverbial shut-out against him. Olivier was probably that good.

  If that was the case, that meant she’d lost.

  Resoundingly.

  “Tonight, I have the honor of being joined on the judges’ panel by Becks, House Of Payne’s premiere 3D artist and one of the main forces behind establishing a fashion profile for the House. What that really means is that she’s been bugging me to get this done, and since she’s my wife I make damn sure I listen to her. Happy wife, happy life—trust me on this, people.” There was a swell of laughter before he continued. “And last but not least, we have the one and only Candide, the ultimate voice in the world of fashion, first as an international supermodel, and now the editor-in-chief and co-owner of Luxe fashion magazine.”

  As another round of applause sounded, Essie racked her brain to come up with a valid excuse to get out of there. Anything would do. Pulling a fire alarm. Pretending an appendicitis attack. Fainting.

  At this point, pulling off a fainting spell would be a cinch.

  “With the introductions out of the way,” Payne’s voice announced over the loudspeakers, “let’s bring out our designers one last time and reveal who’s going to be the House’s premiere designer.”

  “That’s your cue. Head out to the end of the catwalk and face the judges, and behave like the professionals you are.” Scout pulled the curtain open. “Good luck.”

  Again the sound and lights pummeled Essie’s senses, but this time she barely noticed as it all swam before her. Her palms were so sweaty she had to wipe them on the sides of her skirt, and her stomach promised her that if she moved she’d barf while the world watched. Olivier went out and she knew she had to follow, but she couldn’t get her feet to move.

  Shit.

  “Essie.” Scout’s voice warbled in and out. “Go on out.”

  I’m scared. I’m seriously fucking scared.

  Through the gap in the open curtain, her eyes lifted to lock unerringly onto Steele. In that moment it didn’t matter that the sweet closeness that had been between them was gone. Just looking at him calmed the terrified clamor inside her and her pulse climbed down out of the stratosphere. He returned her gaze unblinkingly, his concentration on her so fierce it was almost a tangible thing. And when she shakily stepped out onto the runway, he nodded encouragingly and began to push through the crowd so he could keep pace with her while simultaneously closing the distance between them.

  Thank goodness.

  He was with her.

  That was all that mattered.

  “You can do this.” His mouth formed the words so perfectly she could have sworn she heard him, though that was impossible with all the cheering. “You’ve got this.”

  “I don’t know.” She gave a helpless shake of her head and kept her eyes glued to him as she traversed a runway that had somehow grown in length, as if it belonged in a nightmare and she was on a never-ending death march to get to the end.

  “I do.” His cocky grin was like sunshine as he moved with her through the crowd. “You. Are. Amazing. Believe it.”

  Her chest clenched with a beautiful ache, and she smiled for the first time in what felt like years, before she finally got to the end of the walk and came to stand by Olivier. A sea of flashing cameras blinded her, and she lost sight of Steele while Payne spoke into a handheld mic from the judges’ stand.

  “All right, Olivier and Essie. It’s been one crazy-ass ride getting to this point, and I know the two o
f you have put up with a lot of shit to get here. That’s why I wanted to let you both know that while one of you is destined to be House Of Payne’s official designer, you’re both getting paid for all the work you’ve put into this gig. The runner-up will leave here with a ten-thousand dollar consolation prize on the condition that the House gets the right of first-refusal on all the designs they’ve come up with for this contest. You’re both incredible, and I know I saw a lot of designs on the runway that I want exclusively for the House.”

  Holy crap, she thought, rocking back on her heels. Even if she lost, she could recoup the money she’d lost in moving back to Chicago. Maybe losing wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  Then her stomach tied itself in another knot, showing her what a crummy liar she was.

  “For the winner, though, it’s a different story.” Payne grinned at them, then at the camera streaming the event live on the internet, proving yet again that he was a first-class showman. “In addition to being offered a multi-year contract with the House and representing the House Of Payne brand in the international fashion world, our winner will also receive a signing bonus of fifty grand. So, now that you know no one’s walking away empty-handed, let’s get to it. Olivier, Essie… do you have any final words before the decision is rendered?”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Olivier shake his head. Then she glanced over at Steele and heard herself blurt out, “I’m honored to have made it this far, but I’m also really scared and need to hold someone’s hand, because I think I’m gonna faint.”

  Oh crap, did she actually say that out loud?

  On the judges’ stand, Becks made a sound of sympathy while the crowd laughed.

  Yep. She’d definitely said it out loud.

  Stupid mouth.

  “Hand-holding, huh? I get that.” Payne grinned at her. “We don’t want you to crap out on us now, Es, so go ahead and grab up Olivier’s hand and—”

  “No.” A fluid move beside her had her turning in shock, even as Steele jumped up onto the stage like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

  Holy crap.

  “Steele—”

  “It’s okay, sweetness. I’m here.” His left hand reached for hers while his right arm looped around her shoulders, tucking her in tight to his side. Lowering his head, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her forehead before looking to the judges’ stand. “I’m the one who holds Essie’s hand around here. No one else.” He lifted a brow at Payne while she continued to gape up at him. Honest to God, the man had to have the biggest frigging balls in the world. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  Considering Steele said it in a way that warned Payne that he’d better not have a problem with it, Essie let out a relieved breath when Payne shrugged a careless shoulder. “I don’t give a shit, dude, unless Olivier has a problem with it.”

  Olivier appeared too appalled that he had to share the stage with them to come up with a suitably stinging reply. “Why would I care?”

  “All right, then. And, uh, ladies and gentlemen,” Payne added while the crowd buzzed at the unusual turn of events. “Don’t be too alarmed at the apparent lax security that allowed this gentleman to come bounding up onstage to be with Essie. This is Ezekiel Steele, the chief of security here at House Of Payne in addition to being Essie’s official hand-holder, so if anyone else tries to bounce onstage like he just did, you’re going to have to deal with either him or a member of his team.”

  “And no one wants to do that,” Steele added for good measure, scowling at the crowd around them. “Trust me on this.”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Essie whispered, leaning against him. She didn’t care that he didn’t love her, or that he’d played her while never intending to let her in on the rules of his game. He was there. Just having him close soothed her jangling nerves. “What if you get in trouble? Your job at PSI—”

  “No one holds your hand but me,” he reiterated shortly, sounding almost pissed off. But the squeeze his arm gave her was gentle, and his mouth dropped to the crown of her head. “Everything’s cool. Stop worrying.”

  “But—”

  “Shh, even if this move would get me fired, which it won’t, it’d still be totally fucking worth it. Now shut up, hold on tight to my hand, and let’s get through this.”

  She rolled both her lips together and bit down. It was the only way to stop herself from babbling even more.

  “The judging was close in several categories.” Payne looked down at a score sheet he’d picked up from the stand in front of him. “From design, to originality, to practicality and ease of use, the designers were virtually tied. But only one designer tipped the scales in the other categories of understanding what House Of Payne stands for, the creativity in use of materials, the incorporation of exclusive House Of Payne tattoo designs, and the versatility and broad range of their overall collection. The House needs a designer with vision and an understanding of who we are, as well as understanding its core audience while also trying to reach the next-gen audience. Only one designer aced all these categories, hands down. So, without further ado, the House Of Payne’s fashion contest winner is…”

  She stopped breathing.

  Steele’s arm tightened. His mouth pressed against her hair while his hand gripped hers.

  “Essie!”

  “Yes.” The word burst out of Steele a second before she was lifted off the floor. The world spun dizzily while the crowd roared. Then his mouth slammed down onto hers in a wild kiss packed with relief and joy and unapologetic hunger. His hand cupped the back of her head as if he wanted to fuse her lips to his forever, and she wasn’t sure if the flashing fireworks going off behind her closed lids came from the bank of photographers, or from the absolute perfection of his kiss.

  Personally, she was betting on his kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I’m just saying it would be nice if you invited your boyfriend over.” Seated at a picnic table under a brilliant late summer sky, Lynette Santiago tied yet another primary-colored balloon to a small peat container holding a sprouting begonia. She and the rest of the Santiago family, along with Angel’s parents, had been at it for hours, tying balloons to whatever they could think of. The balloons would then be used to outline the life-sized floor plan of a house. It was Angel’s birthday, the day Essie’s brother Twist had been working toward for months, and since he was at last revealing the plans for the house he’d bought as her birthday surprise, he needed all hands on deck to help him out.

  Unfortunately, this landed Essie squarely in her family’s lap, something she’d been avoiding since she’d won House Of Payne’s fashion contest.

  Clearing her throat, Essie pushed to her feet, taking a flat of weighted-down balloons with her. “It’s taken all morning, but we’re almost done outlining the floor plan of Twist’s new house. I think Angel’s dad said we only have the foyer left to do, right? What was his name again?”

  “Jackson Taylor, and Angel’s mother is Emily. Don’t forget again.”

  “Sorry, my brain seems to be out of order. I think the fashion show killed it.”

  “You’re not changing the subject on me, young lady.”

  “Oooh. Young lady. Someone’s in trouble.” Looking stylish in a preppy, country-clubber way, Angel’s best friend whom Essie knew only as Joey came along and relieved her of the balloon-filled flat. “Maybe now’s not the time to drop in and offer my help?”

  Essie flashed him a bright smile. “You could help me out by shooting me.”

  A deep, masculine chuckle came from behind her, and she glanced back to see Joey’s partner, the stunningly gorgeous Novak, watching them with wicked eyes. “Sorry, babe, but the only thing my Joey would ever do to a sweetheart like you is kill you with kindness.”

  “Is it so wrong that your mother and father would like to meet your young man?” Lynette turned appealing eyes to the men. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Essie groaned
. “Mom, Joey and Novak don’t know who you’re talking about. They barely even know me.”

  “It’s still a legitimate question, young lady.”

  “Young lady again. Ouch.” Joey arched a brow at her in a way that made her frown dissolve into a reluctant smile. “That’s two in under a minute. You’re so in the doghouse.”

  “Personally I don’t see how it’s such a difficult question to answer, even without the particulars.” Novak shrugged. “If it’s a serious relationship, then the fams should get together and run through the whole meet-and-greet ordeal. But if it’s a matter of hittin’ it and quittin’ it, then no way. No need to drag your loved ones through something that’s basically an elongated version of a one-night stand. That’d be awkward.”

  “Unlike this conversation.” Essie looked up at the cloudless sky and sighed. “Why is there never a convenient bolt of lightning around when you need one?”

  “Your Ezekiel Steele kissed you in front of hundreds of people when you won. That kiss made all the local papers. It’s been a week and I’m still seeing it pop up online. Yet I’d never even heard of this young man until that night. And I still haven’t met him. Me, your own mother.”

  “Steele’s somewhere in Dallas on business, he’s not my young man and he doesn’t like the name Ezekiel because his dad was a freaky fire-and-brimstone preacher who tried to kill him with rattlesnakes.” Then she threw up her hands in exasperation. “The main takeaway from all of that is that Steele isn’t my young man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a foyer to outline.”

  Dragging Joey with her before her mother could apply another layer of pressurized guilt, Essie marched along the huge residential lot to where the future foyer was marked out with strings tied to wooden stakes hammered into the ground. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, her face uncomfortably warm as she took a weighted balloon in each hand and set them along what would be the walls of the foyer. The rest of the house had been outlined with a rainbow of balloons in exactly the same way, because Twist had said the only thing Angel had asked for was a balloon or two for her birthday. “My life got a little weird last week, and it’s still not back on track.”