by Stacy Gail
Fair point. “What can I say, I like to live dangerously. Take a left at the next light, and then head straight for three blocks. My place will be on the right.”
He got into the correct lane and slowed for the turn. “You should try Noodleheads a couple doors down from that shit diner. They have the best ramen in Chicago.”
Immediately her mouth began to water. “Do they have booths where you can pull a curtain for privacy?”
He shot her a baffled look. “Why the fuck would you want that?”
“Because I don’t want anyone to see the catastrophe that would be me, trying to use chopsticks. I’d probably put my eye out.”
His low huff of laughter, coming from such a grumpy-looking guy, was too charming to be legal. “It’s not that hard. I could teach you how to use them in no time.”
“Really?” For some reason, the thought of Sage taking her out to eat ramen and teaching her how to use chopsticks made her heart pause in her chest. His hand on hers, as he slowly guided food to her open, waiting mouth… “Um…”
“What? Do you not like ramen? Because everybody likes ramen.”
“Are you saying that we should…” Go on a date? “That we should eat together?”
“It’d be kinda hard to teach you how to use chopsticks if we're sitting at different tables. Don't complicate things by overthinking, Daniels,” he added dryly when she couldn't figure out how to answer that. “I just can't stand the thought of anyone eating that toxic diner slop when there's perfectly good food no more than a few feet away. The lack of chopstick knowledge shouldn't keep you from food that won't kill you.”
“When you put it that way, how can I resist?” Telling herself not to get too excited over the prospect of sharing a meal with the one man whose face she couldn't get out of her head, she reached for the radio. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”
“I'm fine with anything except any of that Christmas crap.”
That made her pause. “Do you not celebrate? Sorry, but I don't know what denomination you are.”
“Long-ago lapsed Catholic, and no, I don’t celebrate. You?”
“Before my parents got divorced when I was twelve or so, we were all in on the Christmas scene. My sister Serena and I did the lawn art and house lights thing the day after Thanksgiving. I’ve always been the baker of the family, so I started a tradition of introducing a new cookie recipe every year, along with everyone’s usual favorites. And one year I specifically remember driving my parents out of the house by singing the complete Twelve Days of Christmas. It was awesome.”
“I’m with your parents when it comes to Christmas carols—especially that one—but I could get behind the cookie tradition. The only reason I hit the gym on a regular basis is because I’ve got a helluva sweet tooth.”
So that was why he had shoulders like King Kong and thighs that could undoubtedly crack coconuts. Too bad she was a sucker for a man’s strong-looking thigh… “I never would’ve guessed you liked sweets. I do, too. That’s why I became the baker of the family when my mom left. Had to get that sugar high from somewhere.”
“Resourceful, a baker, and a tattooist.” He glanced at her, and she almost gasped out loud when she felt it all the way through her body. “You just keep getting more impressive by the minute, don’t you?”
“I guess these are the things you learn about your coworkers when they get stranded by a dead battery,” she tried to say casually, then mentally kicked herself for being so open with him. Being friendly with him, or anyone at House Of Payne, was seriously not on her To-Do list. “My place is coming up. Gated townhouse complex right there on the corner. Will you need my car key to change out the battery?”
“Yeah. You can leave it here,” he added, indicating the empty cupholders by the gearshift even as they approached her townhouse. “You’ve got an easy commute.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t too much out of your way,” she said, dropping the key into the cupholder. “Do you live far from the House?”
“Not too far. Maybe ten minutes or so away from where we are now.” In less than a minute, he had the Jeep pulled up to the gate’s keypad. “Number?”
“Oh, um…” For one ridiculous moment she gave serious consideration to hopping out of the vehicle like an idiot and running around to the keypad to input the number herself, just to keep it a secret. But even she could see that was taking her determined distancing from him and all things House Of Payne way too far. “It’s twelve, twenty-four.”
“Twelve, twenty-four.” He paused and slid her a look. “Your birthday?”
She crossed her arms defensively. “If you’re going to lecture me about having a crappy passcode, don’t. It’s the only four-digit number I can remember without having to write it down.”
“So you’re a Christmas Eve baby.”
Damn it, was there nothing she could keep from him? If he asked for her panties, she’d probably drop them before she knew what she was doing. “My first baby picture was me in a Christmas stocking. I look like something Krampus left behind.”
He snorted and punched the numbers in. “You’re going to be a birthday girl in just a few weeks. Fair warning—the House usually likes to celebrate shit like that with cake and hats and basically making you miserable and embarrassed the whole fucking day. I suggest calling in sick.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Though the Jeep’s heater was going full blast, Mads’s skin iced over at the thought of all those nice people celebrating her birthday. Celebrating her would be the last thing they’d want to do if they knew she had her eyes peeled for any artistic dirty dealings that would sink Sebastian Payne. “That’s my townhome there on the right. Thank you for the ride.”
“No problem.” To her surprise, he parked in her usual slot and pocketed the keys. “Now that I think about it, the House is doing their usual charity auction the night of your birthday—you know, the Give and Grab Fine Art Auction? They’ll be so busy your birthday might actually skate under their radar.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“What time am I picking you up tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Still flummoxed that he’d turned off the engine just to say their farewells, she watched him carefully. “You’re sweet to offer, but I can take a taxi. As you can see, I don’t live that far away.”
“Yeah, exactly, so it’s not a problem swinging this way to pick you up. What time?”
Oy. “You don’t have to pick me up, Sage.”
“And you don’t have to act like your head’s going to explode if you allow someone to help you out when you’re in a jam,” came the measured response. “I’m not proposing fucking marriage here, so you don’t have to be so damn skittish.”
“I’m not skittish.” Skittish? No. Guilt-ridden? Yes.
But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
The look he slanted her spoke volumes. “Skittish, Daniels. That’s you, top to bottom and everything in between. But it’s time you got over it.”
For crying out loud. “Here’s a repeat for the cheap seats—I’m not skittish. I just move in baby steps.”
“You’ve been ready to jump out of your skin from the moment Payne recruited you at InkCon this past summer,” he said, shaking his head while those seductive eyes of his peeled her defenses away until she was nothing more than an exposed nerve. “What you need to do is stop fighting reality and accept where you’ve landed.”
“What I need to do is ignore people who tell me what I need to do.”
“You need to relax,” he said, clearly blessed with the ability to go deaf when he chose to. “Settle into your new life at the House and believe that you really belong there. Because you do. You know that, right?”
She sighed. “Listen—”
“House Of Payne prides itself in gathering the best of the best in the world of ink. The entire industry watched when Payne went to crazy-ass lengths to recruit you this past summer. So you have to know that means one thing—you’re fucking brilli
ant, Mads Daniels. Do yourself a favor and stop pushing people away and accept that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“Yeah?” Warmth spread across her face at the unexpected compliment, and though she tried to fight it, the artist in her soaked it up like a sponge. “I don’t know about that. All I know is that one minute I was working for a nice little tattoo joint and living my best life while showing off my techniques at a tattooing convention called InkCon. And the next, I’ve got a House Of Payne contract shoved in front of me, stacks of cash waiting to be banked, and my employer from the nice little tattoo joint telling me to pack my shit because he fired me. He then he drives off in a brand-new Maserati—a Maserati that Payne gave him in exchange for firing me. It was like I’d been fucking sold off.”
“You didn’t have to sign the contract.”
“Do I look stupid? Or independently wealthy?”
Something dark and delicious moved through his expression, and the way his gaze slid over her made the chilly air turn boiling hot. “Oh, I know exactly how you look, but go on. Make your point.”
“My point is that if I couldn’t have the loyalty of my old employer, at least I could have the money and prestige of working at House Of Payne. It just… I never imagined working at House Of Payne, much less planned on being chosen by Payne. Even now it doesn’t seem real.”
“It’s real. Time you accepted it and started making yourself at home.” With that, he opened his door. “Speaking of home, let’s get you inside. No point in sitting out here turning into a pair of icicles.”
“Oh, you don’t have to walk me—”
“I know exactly what I have to do. Get a move on, Skittish, before I freeze my ass off waiting for you.”
“I am not skittish. I do baby steps.” Irritated, she slammed the Jeep’s door with more force than necessary before leading the way up the well-maintained concrete path toward her front door. Just as she reached for her keys, the door to the townhouse on the other side of the pathway opened, and her neighbor stepped out, jacket in hand.
“Oh. Hey there, Mads.” Buff, bespectacled and good-looking in a blandly homogenized, central-casting sort of way, Zane Buford’s weirdly never-blinking gaze bounced from her to Sage, and back again, this time with a flicker of unmistakable interest. “Funny how we keep bumping into each other.”
“We do live right across from each other, so that pretty much solves that mystery.” Barely giving him a glance, she unlocked her door. “Have a nice night.”
“Who’s your friend?” Zane stepped up to Sage, hand outstretched. “I’m Zane. I’m guessing you’re my replacement?”
“What the actual hell.” At that, Mads wheeled around to gape at her neighbor as if he’d just started speaking in tongues. Considering what had just come out of his damn mouth, that wasn’t far off. “Replacement? What the fuck are you talking about? I hardly know you.”
Zane’s freaky nonblinking gaze slid to her. “How can you say that? We’ve been neighbors for months. You’re always talking to me, and you gave me your number—”
“If I talk to you at all, it’s because you’re in the vicinity and I’m not good at being rude. And since you’re my nearest neighbor, I gave you and our landlord my contact information when I went out of town months ago, just in case some emergency came up—like a fire, or a break-in, or a meteor hitting our complex. Don’t tell me you still have it.” Because that would be creepy.
Zane gave her a cocky smile that any self-respecting woman would have ached to slap into the next county. “Come on, Mads, no need to be coy here. We’re all adults. I know why you gave me that number. What can I say?” he added in a bold aside to an unsmiling Sage. “I guess I’ve just got the kind of face women go for.”
Wow. “Okay. I’m going to go inside now, because…” Because she couldn’t figure out if she was more embarrassed for herself, or for him. “Whatever. Goodnight and goodbye.”
Clearly her neighbor didn’t know when to quit. “Look, Mads, I’m sorry I’ve been kind of slow in getting around to using that number you gave me. But you should know I’ve been thinking that you and I should hang out more—”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” To her jaw-dropping amazement, Sage stepped in between them, pushed her none too gently into her townhome before he turned to face Zane, leaving her in her foyer with nothing to see but one of the few paintings she’d ever done, and Sage’s broad back. “Y’know, I’ve known guys like you before. You think you’re so fucking hot that every woman you meet can’t wait to spread their legs for you, yeah? But you don’t want just any chick, because fuck it, you could have ‘em all. What you want is a woman that other guys want. If you can take a woman away from another man, you’ve proven to yourself how goddamn awesome you think you are. Just so you know, that narcissistic way of thinking is fucked up.”
“What?” Zane’s blandly handsome face screwed up into an ugly sneer that was part offended, part appalled. “What the hell are you talking about? Mads, who is this guy?”
“None of your business,” she returned, certain her face was as red as Sage’s Jeep. “You and I are strangers, so let’s just say goodnight, promise to never speak to each other again, and go our separate ways.”
“No, Mads. I want to know—”
“You don’t get to question her,” Sage broke in, and his tone was beyond grumpy. It was downright lethal, covered in razorblades and dipped in poison. If her weirdo neighbor dropped dead right there on the spot, she wouldn’t have been surprised in the least. “You think you have any right to this woman simply because she fucking talked to you? What kind of deluded asshole do you have to be to think she’s into you, when you clearly haven’t gotten around to showing her the attention she deserves in all the time she’s been living here?”
“Hey, man, I didn’t—”
“Exactly, asshole. You didn’t. That’s the fucking point. You didn’t make a move on her. You didn’t put your claim in like a real man, and you didn’t make it to first base with her, much less into her bed. But now that another man’s on her doorstep, you suddenly think you’ve got a right to bust in on her life like you fucking belong there?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you did. You totally thought you had that right. You know how I know that? Because you’re the dipshit who sprang out of nowhere, trying to embarrass Mads in front of her guest at fucking midnight. Newsflash, asshole—unlike me, you don’t belong here. You’re just the loser neighbor who’s too goddamn stupid to respect her privacy when she shows up with guests. Lucky for you, you’ve got a chance to rectify your dumbassery. You can continue to be an embarrassing pain in the ass—something I seriously don’t recommend—or you can bow out as gracefully right the hell now, and leave this woman alone from here on in. Make your choice.”
There was a beat of silence. Mads tried telling herself she was only imagining that it felt as dangerous as the moment before a volcano blew, but she knew better. This was serious shit, and even a blind person could see it was trembling on a knife’s edge.
Then she heard a huff, a muttered, “Fuck this,” and the slam of Zane’s front door, before the set of Sage’s shoulders seemed to relax.
“There we go. Vermin problem solved.” Dusting his hands off like he’d just done some major manual labor, Sage turned to her with what could only be described as a wild grin. “So. What time did you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”
“That was amazing.” The words were out of her mouth before she even knew she was going to speak. “You’re really something once you get going, aren’t you?”
He lifted a shoulder in a way that made her think he wasn’t completely comfortable with the praise. “Guys like that—assclowns who’ve been given everything in life just because they’ve been made to think they’re pretty—piss me off no end. I’ve got no time for pricks like that.”
“I don’t think he’s pretty.” Again, with the talking before thinking. This time, though, sh
e couldn’t help but smile at the truth of it. “Guys like that are way too bland for me. My taste in men is… not that.”
“Oh, really?” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms, suddenly looking like he was more than happy to chat the entire night away. “That begs the question, Skittish. What exactly is your taste when it comes to men?”
“I would’ve said grumpy, but then you called me skittish.” She pursed her lips while exhilaration zipped through her. How crazy was it that she stood there flirting with someone whose life could be upended if and when she revealed their boss, the famous Sebastian Payne, was a talentless fraud? “Talk about blowing it.”
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em.” He leaned down until they were eye-level, their faces no more than a few inches apart. “Skittish.”
By God, he was something else, she marveled, even as her heart almost stopped and her lips throbbed to be covered by his. “I’m on late shift all week, four to midnight.” There was no way to stop her attention from dropping to his mouth. Framed by that dark scruff and so very close to hers, all she needed to do was lean in, just a little… “Do you have time in your schedule to pick me up?”
“Be ready half an hour before your shift starts.” A slow, knowing smile curled that kissable mouth, like he knew exactly what she was thinking, before he straightened and stepped out onto her doorstep. “Lock this up,” he added, nodding to her door before he headed out into the frozen night.
Chapter Two
“Baking your special Christmas cookies for the enemy doesn’t seem like a strategic move.” Measuring out flour at the kitchen counter, Mads’s sister, Serena shook her head, her sable brown hair—much longer than Mads’s—brushing her shoulders. “Is there some kind of super-secret logic behind this?”
“One, a coworker who helped me out isn’t my enemy, Rena.” Carefully rolling cookie dough balls in cinnamon and sugar, Mads listened to Johnny Mathis croon out “Merry Christmas” through the tablet she had propped up on the counter. In the open-plan living room beyond, her Christmas tree was up, but not yet decorated, and a cheery, pine-scented garland with white lights was draped across the fireplace mantel. “And two, I’m starting my holiday baking early because I’m in the mood for it. The least I can do to thank this coworker for helping me out is to give him some fudge brownie cookies and snickerdoodles.”
