House of Payne: Sage

by Stacy Gail

  “It’s got to be original work,” came the nodding reply. “You know that gallery-type space on the House’s main level? Usually all those white modular walls display the most famous tats that have come out of House Of Payne’s studio. But for this auction, we have the opportunity to show whatever the fuck we want. For instance, this year I’m donating a couple paintings and a sculpture.”

  “A sculpture?” That distracted her enough to make her forget all about clauses and legal mumbo jumbo. “You’re a sculptor?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “That sounds way cooler than what I actually do. I told you my old man owns a garage back in Vegas, right?” When she nodded, he shrugged again. “When I landed at Woodbridge Automotive, I got into taking scraps of metal nobody wanted and welding them together to make something completely new and different. At the time it kept me out of the house and in the workshop, which in turn kept me from killing everyone around me.”

  That made her brows inch up. “Why would you want to kill everyone around you?”

  He’d been keeping his attention on his meal, so she nearly jumped when his gaze suddenly lifted and nailed her to the spot. “Are we sharing now?”

  Well. “You’re right. It’s none of my—”

  “’Cause if we’re sharing, that means we both have to do it, yeah? I share something, then you share something. Where I come from, that’s how sharing works.”

  She started to backpedal before she caught herself. Geez. No wonder he called her Skittish. “Okay, deal. So, what’s the answer? Why would you want to kill everyone around you?”

  “There’s a reason why Scout tagged me with the rage machine nickname. I’ve got a temper—I yell when I’m pissed off, I don’t take shit from anyone, and if there’s some asshole who wants to start something, I don’t mind stepping outside to fucking finish it. That’s the grown-up me. The teenage me was a thousand times worse. Hormones and a shitty upbringing will do that every time.”

  “What was so shitty about your upbringing?”

  “Nope, I’ve shared enough. It’s your turn now.”

  She’d just managed to drag some ramen noodles up to her lips, only to become so startled by his response she stabbed the roof of her mouth. “Ow. Hold on.” Gamely she tried again, managing to slurp noodles in just as she’d seen him do, and tried not to worry when broth went up her nose. Thank God this wasn’t an actual date. If it were, she’d have died of embarrassment long ago. “Okay, I’m ready to share. Shoot.”

  “You once told me your old man teases you about your art—the ‘you can’t you take a joke’ kind of teasing. Give me an example of when he pulled that shit on you.”

  Inwardly she sighed. “Dude, you’re like a dog with a bone. Are you really back on that subject?”

  “Yeah, I am. Tell me the first memory that comes to mind.”

  “The hyper-saturation color technique that I created, blended with an overlay design.” She didn’t even hesitate. That was the memory that still stung the most. “It’s the technique that eventually landed me at House Of Payne. First, I digitally create an intensely colorful background—a landscape or seascape, or maybe a galaxy-type design. Then I overlay onto that design a shape—a flower, a fish, a hand, or whatever the client wants. Then I cut that shape out of the colored background, make a transfer of it, and voila—I’ve made a highly-colored tattoo design within the frame of a recognizable shape.”

  “I saw the tat that made Payne go apeshit over you at InkCon—the dying coral reef that’s set within the shape of a dolphin. It was sad, yet beautiful. It took my breath away. My favorite, though, was the tat you did during a live demo—a hyper-colored rainforest within the shape of a palm frond.”

  “I… Thank you.” The unexpected praise moved through her like warm, healing water, even as the tattoo he’d called his favorite flashed through her mind. She’d been incredibly proud of that image she’d done during a live demonstration at InkCon, even though some dickhole who thought women couldn’t do tats heckled her incessantly throughout the finish of it. Thankfully, someone had come along and turfed the dickhole out, and she’d managed to finish that tattoo with pride. “So, um… I actually got the overlay idea when a friend approached me about making him a special tattoo. He loved Sherlock Holmes, so he wanted the Reichenbach waterfall where Sherlock and Moriarty battled to the death. But he also wanted to incorporate Sherlock’s Calabash pipe in some way, because that shape is so iconic. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out how to incorporate an elegant smoking pipe into a famous scene depicting a brutal battle to the death.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been in enough fights to know there’s no time to light up for a few calming puffs on a pipe.”

  “Exactly. But then, after days of making myself crazy trying to figure out how my friend’s design should look, the light went on. A silhouette of the Calabash pipe, with a hyper-realistic depiction of the Grand Reichenbach Fall within the shape of the pipe. I’d never seen any tattoo like it, but when I did it that first time, it turned out even better than I’d imagined. I was so thrilled with the results that I wanted to enter it into a design contest. I was filling out the contest form when my dad came in, saw what I was doing and laughed. Said my design looked like total amateur hour, and that he hoped I wasn’t going to put my actual name on it so I wouldn’t bring embarrassment to the family when I lost the contest.”

  “Fuck him,” Sage growled softly, his fingers tightening on his sticks. “Fuck him, that motherfucker.”

  “He said he was just kidding, though.” She shrugged, trying to act like she couldn’t still feel that barb festering deep inside. “I’ve never been able to take his jokes. I mean, not when it comes to my art, anyway. I get him wrong all the time, and then I wind up having to apologize for being such a sensitive little flower. I promise you, he said he was just kidding.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet he did, after you did the right fucking thing and defended your work. You did defend your work, right?” he went on while she just sat there. “Answer, Daniels.”

  “I wound up not entering the contest, actually. I also changed my public name at that point, using my nickname Mads instead of Madelyn Daniels, so I guess it’s safe to say I caved in every possible way.” With her bowl half-empty and her appetite well and truly gone, she grabbed up the backpack she used as a purse and scooted to the end of the booth’s bench. “Well, this was loads of fun, but I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for pushing me to get something submitted for the charity auction. Is this Dutch treat, or are you going to cough up the dough for this so-called meeting?”

  “I got it. Wait a sec.” In a flash he was on his feet and standing in front of her, blocking her exit so that all she could do was sit there, looking up at him in surprise. “Hold still.”

  “Hold still?” At first baffled, all she could do was stare up at him as he reached for her face. Her heart stuttered to a stop when he cupped her chin in one hand, his fingers warm against her skin. Slowly his gaze slid over her, and for one crazy minute she couldn’t help but think he liked what he saw…

  Then he snagged up his napkin and wiped it over her cheeks and chin, clearly intent on removing the remains of her dinner like she was an oblivious, slow-witted toddler.

  Perfect.

  “Oh, um…thanks.” Her cheeks sizzled with embarrassment as he drew the napkin slowly over her skin. “Told you I’d wind up wearing my meal.”

  “You wear it well, so I’ve got no complaints.” His attention moved to her mouth, and with a slow deliberation that both shocked and aroused her, he traced the line of her lips, the thin veil of the napkin the only barrier between her and his fingertips. “I've got to admit, Skittish, I got a kick out of this. We should do this every dinner break. You game?”

  “What, have a meeting?” He was still holding her chin, and his touch was so warm against her skin it seemed to be melting her brain. “I’m not sure we have that much business to discuss.”

  “Fuck calling it a meeting. Just spend your
dinner breaks with me. We’ll get to know each other better before moving on from there. Say yes.”

  “Uh…”

  Before moving on from there.

  What did that mean?

  “Don’t leave me hanging.” The napkin had vanished, but he still held her chin in the palm of his hand, and for the life of her she couldn’t look away. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, and if you’re honest about it, I think you’ll admit you enjoyed hanging with me. So let’s do this tomorrow night, and the night after that. And then we’ll go from there. Say yes, Daniels. I’m not going to ask you again.”

  “Yes.” The word was out before she could stop it, then sat there and wondered how the hell her own voice had hijacked the rest of her. “Though to be honest, pal, you didn’t really ask the first time.”

  “As long as it gets you where I want you, it’s all good.” Before she knew what he was going to do, he bent to her upturned face and brushed her mouth with his.

  What…?

  It was barely a kiss.

  A mere brushing of lips against lips, really. Almost brotherly. Platonic.

  But he wasn’t her brother.

  And the heat that flashed over her skin to curl her toes and settle between her legs was far from platonic.

  Then he straightened and held out his hand, like the world hadn’t just changed forever, and gave her a smile that took her breath away. Good grief, had she ever seen him smile before that moment? “Time to get to work.”

  Chapter Four

  “As far as I can tell, there isn’t anything in this charity auction form that’d give Sebastian Payne the right to steal anything you create.” Grimacing, Serena folded up the entry form and looked out at the snow-covered scenery as they drove past Millennium Park. “Just like your employee’s contract, it’s totally benign. Maybe Payne really has mended his ways. Maybe he doesn’t steal from his employees anymore.”

  “Since he’s got such an intense spotlight on him these days, he probably walks the straight and narrow.” With a sigh, Mads absently tucked the entry into her backpack before slowing for a turn. “If I invited Dad to this charity auction thing, what are the odds he’d actually show up?”

  “Since it’s being held at House Of Payne, less than zero. Payne will always be Dad’s sworn enemy. That man ruined Dad’s shot at epic greatness, and Dad would be a star if it weren’t for Payne, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Yeah.” Mads nodded, trying to look like she didn’t care. There was no point in showing her sister how much their father’s continued fury at her job—and her—hurt. But it was always there, eating away at her like poison. “I figured as much.”

  “I’ll be there, though, as long as I’m not called into work.” Rena stifled a yawn and slouched deeper into her seat, looking remarkably comfortable in her blue scrubs and jacket. “You never know what life is going to be like in the pediatric ward from hour to hour, much less day to day. But I’ll do everything I can to be there to cheer you on.”

  That brought a smile to Mads’s lips. “With you there, I can at least count on someone bidding on my work.”

  “As long as the bid stays under twenty bucks,” came the drawling reply. “It’s doctors who make the big bucks, not nurses.”

  “I’d be proud to know someone wanted one of my works enough to spend twenty dollars on it.”

  “You are so much better than you think you are, sister,” Rena said, shaking her head. “Just think how all my little patients love the pictures you draw for them. You bring them so much joy with your caricatures.”

  “Rena, they’re kids stuck in the hospital at Christmastime. They love just about anything that’s not another test or anything involving needles.”

  “My point is that your art brings joy into the world, and not every artist can say that. What art piece are you thinking of donating?”

  “I don’t know.” Mads took off her sunglasses, setting them inside the console between the car’s seats before cutting through a side street to get to her place. “Ever since Dad announced that one of my paintings looked like something Helen Keller would do, I pretty much fell out of the habit of putting any of my serious projects on canvas.”

  “Are they accepting sketches?”

  “According to what Sage said, yeah. But I feel like a charity auction deserves more than that, you know? And I do have that one painting I did that might be good enough. You know that piece I have hanging in the foyer?”

  “Ooh, that one of the bird in a gilded cage, and the bird’s silhouette is filled with blue skies and puffy clouds? I love that piece, even though it makes me sad. It’s a picture of stifled freedom, but I love it so much.”

  Seriously, she adored her sister. “If I can’t come up with anything else, I’ll donate that piece. I just think I’d like to come up with something new and spectacular and not-yet-imagined. Too bad I have no idea what that might be.”

  “Well, whatever it is, you need to be quick about it. The auction’s less than four weeks away.”

  “Thanks, Serena,” she muttered, taking a second to open the gate to her townhome complex. “Pressure like that always makes the creative juices flow so much more.”

  “As much joy as your art brings to my patients, I’m so glad I didn’t inherit a drop of all that creative talent that burns in you and Dad. Half the time it seems like more of a burden than a blessing, especially when you’ve got something going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, right now you’re putting pressure on yourself to come up with something for the auction, and Dad’s had artist’s block for freaking years. Maybe the two of you could get together at my house for dinner this weekend and commiserate on how tough it is to walk the path of the artist.”

  Ugh, not again. “Rena, come on.”

  “What?”

  “Dad and I haven’t talked like normal human beings since I got shanghaied into House Of Payne. You know this.”

  Her sister shifted uneasily. “What I know is that in order to bridge the gap that’s between you right now, you and Dad need to talk. Otherwise nothing’s going to change.”

  “Why bother? He won’t even listen to my side of the story. All he cares about is stoking his hurt feelings and going on about how I’ve betrayed him.”

  “I’ve told him what happened, Mads, and that it wasn’t your choice to seek out a position at the House.”

  “I’ve told him that. You’ve told him that. I wound up on the fucking cover of World Ink magazine because the story of how I got yoinked into House Of Payne is so splashy. He doesn’t need to be told anymore, Rena. He knows. It just suits him to play the victim.”

  “My point is that he really seemed to listen the last time I spoke with him. I think he’s softening his stance about you working there.”

  “At this point, I’m now pissed off that he actually believes I would ever go out of my way to betray him by trying to get hired by Payne. I didn’t try to get hired. It just fucking happened.”

  “I know, Mads.”

  “I’m his daughter, yet Dad straight-up accused me of betraying him to my face. It’s like he believes I’ve got nothing better to do than lie awake at night trying to think up ways to hurt him. Where the hell does he even get that level of victimization?”

  “Maybe Payne’s betrayal made Dad think that everyone’s out to get him.”

  “Even his own daughter?” A sound of slow-boiling outrage escaped her as she parked in her usual spot. “He should know me better than that.”

  “Mads—”

  “You know what else he should do? He should pull his head out of his ass and realize that not everything that happens in my life has to do with him. He had nothing to do with my landing at House Of Payne, so he has no right to take it so personally.”

  “So in other words, you’re not going to have dinner at my place this weekend, right?” Rena sighed before her head fell dejectedly back against the seat’s headrest. “Are you telling me that we’re done no
w as a family?”

  The words shot a shaft of pure ice through her soul. “Good grief, Rena, of course I’m not saying that.”

  “Aren’t you? We’re less than four weeks away from Christmas, Mads. The way things are going, I’m worried this is going to be the first Christmas without our family gathering together, and it’s breaking my heart.”

  Like a switch being thrown, Mads’s anger blinked out. In its place bloomed a terrible hollowness that made her throat clench. “I just wish… I wish I knew things would be different if I tried one more time to reach him. It hurts when he accuses me of stabbing him in the back, and it’s a kind of hurt that no nurse—not even one as good as you—can fix.”

  “I know.” Rena reached over to lace her hand with hers. “But I’ll be there to help if I can. And you can bring anyone else along if you want to have some extra support. Just please give it another try. Don’t you think our family’s worth it? Don’t you think you are?”

  “Yeah.” With a grim sigh, Mads gave her sister’s hand a squeeze before reaching for the car keys. “Text me what time I need to be at your place and what I need to bring, if anything, and I’ll give it one more try.”

  “Yay.” Her sister threw her arms around her neck to give her an awkward car-hug. “And don’t forget, you can bring someone special for moral support, if you want.”

  “Enough with the fishing for info on my personal life, Serena,” she drawled, opening her car door. Movement out of the corner of her eye brought her head up as she pocketed her car keys. Her neighbor, Zane, stepped out into the midday sun, wrapped up in an all-weather tracksuit, shades and a ball cap worn backwards in the ultimate poser fashion. She froze, hoping he wouldn’t notice her, but clearly the sound of her closing the car door snagged his attention.

  Lovely.

  “Hey, neighbor.” He semi-jogged to the edge of the path leading to her townhome, all his teeth showing in his smile. “Just getting in? Don’t suppose you’ve got enough in the tank to go on a killer jog with me?”

  Mads just managed not to roll her eyes. “No killer jogs for me, thanks. I’m working later on this afternoon, so I’m just going to, you know…” She gestured vaguely toward her townhome.