by Stacy Gail
“Well,” Serena said, having entered the living area with them and clearly unnerved by their father’s silent staring, “now that we’re all here, I’d better get some food on the table. Mads, why don’t you introduce your date to Dad in the meantime?”
“Sounds like fun.” Handing the twin caddy of wine over to her sister—mainly because Serena looked like she needed the biggest glass of wine available—she turned to face her father head on. “Good evening, Dad. You’re looking well.”
Her father raised his chin in a sort of upward-nod acknowledgment of her existence, which was better than she’d hoped for. Then his expressionless gaze swung to Sage, somehow managing to express without words both vague hostility and imperious expectation.
Noncommunication was so much fun.
Not.
“So, this is Sage McCormick, a fellow tattooist at… where I work,” she explained lamely, while her face began to burn. Maybe Serena wasn’t the only one who needed an ocean of wine right about now. “He specializes in hyper-realistic portraits, though I personally think he’s amazing at just about anything. Sage, may I present Fletcher Daniels, my father.” And her current number-one hater, but since that was becoming increasingly obvious there was no need to point it out.
“Mr. Daniels.” To her surprise, Sage stepped forward and offered his hand and kept it out even when her father didn’t immediately move to take it. “You don’t mind if I call you Fletch, do you? Might as well get comfortable with each other since I’m the man in your daughter’s life. Feel free to call me Sage.”
The man in your daughter’s life.
The man in your daughter’s life.
Mads’s heart chose to do that crazy skipping thing once again, and all she could do was stare up at his strong profile and revel in the strangely comforting feeling moving through her. Even if he’d just said that to break the ice with her father, the feeling that she now had a place of belonging in Sage’s life wrapped around her like a blanket and warmed her from the inside out.
As if moving in slow motion, her father accepted Sage’s hand, then quickly dropped it. “You’re a tattooist?” he said, speaking at last. Even with his tone cold and borderline-petulant, she was relieved to the point of crying that he’d at last abandoned the mortifying silent treatment.
“That’s right. Started out in Vegas, where I was born, before landing here in Chicago. Mads tells me you used to sling some ink as well. Do you still?”
“I’ve got a little workshop out back behind my house,” her father said gruffly, the words all but dragging out of him. “Nothing fancy like what you’re used to over at the great and wonderful House Of Payne.”
The way he spat out the name polluted the already tense atmosphere, and Mads frantically cast around for something, anything, else to talk about. “Uh, is anyone thirsty? Why don’t I play bartender and get everyone a before-dinner drink—”
“House Of Payne is definitely wonderful, no two ways about it,” Sage said easily, clearly unable to read a damn room. Without looking her way, he reached out and laced his fingers with hers, keeping her where she was and giving her the surprisingly effective comfort of his touch. “It’s like fucking tattoo heaven over there, or maybe what Willy Wonka would’ve built if he’d been into tats instead of candy. I’ll never forget when they came around to recruit me. I didn’t ask for it and didn’t expect it, but when it happened I jumped right on that crazy train. Same story with your daughter. Before she came along, nobody had ever even seen work like hers before. But thanks to the House’s international reach, the whole damn world is now falling in love with her layering designs. She’s incredibly talented.”
His words hit the tension raging inside her and smoothed it over like magic, and she couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You think?”
He returned that smile in spades. “Yeah, Skittish. No one’s better than you.”
Her father made a grunting noise that could have meant anything before he turned toward the fire and away from them, shutting them out.
If he’d had a door handy, he would have slammed it in their faces.
Great.
“All right, everyone.” Thankfully Serena chose that moment to appear from the kitchen, a glass salad bowl in hand. “Time to eat.”
Not sure if she’d be able to choke a thing down, Mads gamely headed for the table and smiled at Sage as he pulled her chair out for her, then sat next to her before pouring her a seriously generous glass of wine.
Bless him.
The food Serena had prepared was nothing short of phenomenal, from the savory rice pilaf, spring greens tossed with a tangy wine vinaigrette and freshly baked popovers, to the main dish of creamy, parmesan-laden chicken Florentine. Ordinarily Mads would have been thrilled to sit down to such a feast, and she wished she could do it justice. Unfortunately, her father was doing his silent damnedest to poison the atmosphere and ruin all the hard work her sister had put into the meal.
Jerk.
Why the hell did he always have to make everything focus on him? Why?
Maybe it was time to stop feeding that beast and focus on something else.
“Next time, dinner at my place.” Mads heard the words pop out of her mouth without even being aware that she wanted to say anything. But when she saw Serena’s relief that the terrible silence had been broken at last, she didn’t regret it a bit. “There’s no way I could ever pull off such a gorgeously laid table with fresh flowers and cloth napkins, and nothing can compete with your cooking, Rena. But I can pull off a pretty mean beef enchilada and taco plate, so next Sunday let’s go for some awesome homemade Mexican food. I’ll even serve tequila shots.”
“I’m down for that.” Seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air, Sage grabbed up a couple popovers and tucked into his meal with gusto. “If your cookies are anything to go by, that meal’s going to be friggin’ lit.”
All at once, the whole world seemed lighter at the prospect of cooking for Sage. “Can you cook?” she asked, picking up her own fork and digging in. Mm. Delicious.
He seesawed his hand. “Kinda-sorta. I think I’m like most bachelors—living off takeout and frozen dinners. But if I’m pushed, I can follow a recipe without burning the house down.”
That made her grin. “I can’t say the same, at least when it comes to burning things down. Rena, do you remember when we were kids and I put a frozen pizza into the oven, box and all?”
“That was the day we found out that the smoke alarm worked like a champ.” Serena snorted, clearly relaxing enough to enjoy the memory. “That was almost as bad as my first attempt at baking brownies.”
“We had to throw away the entire pan and the spatula we’d used trying to get the brownies out,” Mads explained to Sage on a chuckle. “It actually got stuck in the brownies, like literally stuck. It was like she’d used fast-drying concrete instead of flour.”
“We’re lucky no one died eating whatever it was I’d made,” Rena laughed. “Not that anyone had a chance to eat it. We couldn’t even get it cut up into pieces.”
“Before you’re good at anything, you have to be bad at it,” Sage shrugged, making quick work of his meal. “That’s what evolution’s all about. You learn what works and what doesn’t, and the shit that doesn’t work gets left behind in the dust where it belongs.”
Her father’s fist banged the table, bringing the easy flow of conversation to stomach-jarring halt. He glared at everyone around the table before settling in on Sage. “Shit that doesn’t work gets left behind, huh?” he repeated, his gravelly voice dangerous. “Is that some sort of dig at me?”
“What the hell, Dad,” Mads blurted while her sister made a sound torn between distress and disbelief. “Where did that come from? Sage doesn’t even know you. Of course he wasn’t making any personal references. How dare you accuse him of being rude to you?”
“It’s all good, Skittish. I got this.” Sage leaned back in his chair, looking perfectly at ease, though his eyes were alert as
he watched the older man seated across from him. “Your pops obviously has a problem he wants to air, so he should be a man about it and air it, instead of sitting there pouting like a fucking baby. How about, Fletch? You gonna air that problem, or what?”
“Pouting?” The word fairly snarled out of her father. “The only fucking problem I have is that I’m surrounded by House Of Payne prima donnas who think they’re God’s gift to the world of ink, when there are plenty tattooists who are just as good, if not better.”
“No one said anything about being better or worse than anyone else,” Mads shot back, all but shaking with a sudden spike of head-exploding anger. “You can say whatever the hell you want about me—that I’m a prima donna, that I betrayed you, or that I’m dead to you unless I dig up proof that Payne stole from you. I don’t care anymore. But you have no right to sling shit at my man, you got that? Sage is brilliant and talented and has the ability to bring portraits to freaking life in ways I didn’t even know were possible. Just check out how many awards this amazing man has won throughout his career, if you don’t believe me. If anyone has the right to say they’re God’s gift to the world of ink, it’s the one and only Sage McCormick.”
“Damn, Daniels.” Far from upset, Sage leaned an arm on the back of her chair and brushed his smiling mouth against her temple. “Way to defend your man.”
She gasped at the words he murmured in her ear.
Oh, shit.
Had she said that out loud?
Mentally she replayed her words, then tried not to cringe.
Oh, shit.
“Well, isn’t it a special treat to be eating with a goddamn gift from heaven,” her father sneered, then ignored Serena’s groan of mortification as he locked in on Sage. “I tell you, son, I used to be a gift from heaven when it came to slinging ink myself back in the day. Then Sebastian Payne came along and stole everything of merit that I’d ever created and slapped his fucking name on it. You’d best watch your back, because he’ll do the same damn thing to you, if you’re really as awesome as you seem to think you are.”
“Dad, Sage never claimed to be awesome, because he’s not a dick,” Mads said just under a yell. Okay, maybe it was a full-blown, blood-boiling yell, but damn it, she had a right to do so. “I’m the one saying he’s awesome. But hey, don’t believe me, all right? Come and see for yourself just how awesome Sage is. There’s going to be a charity art auction in a few weeks at House Of Payne—the Give and Grab Fine Art Charity Auction. He’s donating some paintings and a sculpture to help the homeless. I’m donating something as well, though I know you don’t have any interest in that.”
A sound of absolute contempt hissed out of him, and he tossed his napkin aside. “Like I’d ever darken the doorway of that fucking place, even if it was to see if you’ve actually gotten any better at the techniques I tried to teach you.”
Damn it, damn it, damn it… “I’ve gotten pretty good, actually. Thanks so much for asking.”
“Sure you have. I just wonder, who do think is going to put in a bid for your work, huh? Andrea Bocelli, maybe? Stevie Wonder?”
“Dad,” Serena hissed, but that was all she got out before Sage surged to his feet so fast he upended his chair, his eyes so hot with rage it was a wonder the whole room didn’t go up in flames.
“There’s the line, asshole.” Breathing hard enough to make his chest heave, Sage balled his hands into scary-looking fists and scowled pure death at her father, who had also come to his feet, more out of alarm than anything. “I told myself to be cool with whatever petty shit you might fling Mads’s way, except when it came to tearing her down. That was the one and only line I put in place for myself. You just blew right the hell past it, so guess what? No more holding back, Fletch, because as of now the gloves are fucking off.”
Her father’s hands also curled. “What are you getting so upset about? I was just—”
“Kidding? Bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, and so do you, because deep down you resent the hell out of your own kid, don’t you? You might not have a lot of talent, but you do know just enough about art to realize she’s a goddamn genius, whereas you’re just ordinary. That’s why Payne literally bought her talent with a fucking Maserati this past summer. He saw her genius and didn’t stop until he’d collected it. You’re the one Payne chose to leave in the rearview mirror like the dud you are.”
Oh, my God. “Sage—”
“That’s why you tear Mads down whenever you get the goddamn chance, something you did even before she landed at House Of Payne, am I right? You have just enough appreciation for art that you can see she’s brilliant in a way you’ll never be. The father in you should take pride in that, but the jealous-as-hell artist in you eclipses everything, doesn’t it? The truth—the real truth—is that you can’t fucking stand how good she is.”
Her father’s face turned an alarming shade of purple. “I don’t have to take this shit from you.”
“You know where the door is, but before you use it, know this. Mads is the one who doesn’t have to take any more of this shit from you. You might not have known she was coming over tonight, but Mads knew you were going to be here. What does that tell you?”
“It tells me that you need to stay the fuck out of family business,” her father snarled.
“And it tells me that out of the goodness of her heart, your daughter was willing to show up and give one more shot at reconnecting with you before the holidays,” Sage shot back with an impressive snarl of his own. “But you? You started hating on Mads the moment she walked through that door, which should show her once and for all exactly the shitty kind of man—and shitty kind of father—you really are.”
“Enough.” Devastated that Sage was saying out loud the suspicions she’d secretly harbored when it came to her father, Mads also got to her feet and tugged him toward the door. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out the way you wanted it to, Rena. We’re going.”
Chapter Nine
Mads had heard of people being too hurt to even cry, but until that moment she hadn’t really believed such a thing could be possible. Now she knew that when hurt was mixed with shock and devastation, anything was possible.
“So.” Behind the wheel of the Jeep, Sage drove through the night-darkened streets. “That dinner turned to shit way faster than I’d expected.”
“I knew it was a mistake to agree to this family dinner.” The words spilled from numb lips. She was cold, colder than she’d ever been, with none of the heat blowing from the Jeep’s vents reaching her. “I know Rena wants us to be one big, happy family by the time my birthday and Christmas roll around, and heaven knows I’d like that, too. But the truth is, my relationship with my dad has never been the sappy kind you see on TV. There have never been warm hugs or uplifting pep talks during the bad times, or confetti-tossing enthusiasm during the moments of triumph. None of that stuff comes naturally to him.”
“Being a dick comes naturally to him. That much is pretty fucking obvious.”
She winced hard enough to make her eyes close. “Watch it, Sage. That’s my dad you’re talking about.”
“He’s also the guy who wouldn’t have shown up for dinner if he’d known you were going to be there, because maintaining the family ties you just talked about isn’t on his list of priorities.” He glanced at her as her townhome complex came into view. “When it comes to you and your old man, you do know that you were the only adult in the room tonight, yeah? You were the one who kept trying to do the big thing and mend whatever fences you could. Not him. He didn’t lift a fucking finger to help smooth things out between you.”
“I know.” The truth of his words hit her hard enough to make her eyes water. “It’s always been like that. Fletcher Daniels can hold grudges like nobody’s business. If he feels he’s been wronged—even if nobody’s actually done anything to him—he won’t be satisfied until you beg for forgiveness. And beg. And then maybe beg some more.”
“Fuck that shit. You’ve done nothing wrong, a
t least when it comes to your old man. I am kind of curious about that other business he mentioned, though.”
That made her frown. “What other business?”
“Something about digging up dirt on Payne?”
She winced again. “Don’t.”
“Come on, I want to know. Is that why you took the job Payne offered you? Because you wanted to infiltrate House Of Payne like some sneaky, yet oddly emo 007 and get the dish on the diabolical international tattoo art thief, Sebastian Payne?”
“Fuck off, McCormick.”
“Because if that’s the case, shouldn’t you be wearing a trench coat like Inspector Gadget? Or maybe all black, like a ninja?”
Seriously, how could one man make her swing from tears to Hulk-smash rage in a handful of seconds? “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Daniels, what’s ridiculous is you taking a job at the House in order to prove something that doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
“I took the job because Payne gave my old employer a brand-new Maserati as a bribe to fire my ass. What the hell else was I supposed to do, ignore the crazy amount of money Payne offered me on the spot to sign on at the House?”
“Hell, no. I just don’t get why your pops said that.”
“It’s Serena’s fault,” Mads’s upper lip curled in disgust as Sage stopped at her townhouse’s gate and punched in the number. “When I told my dad I’d been recruited by Payne, he was so livid I thought he was going to have a fucking heart attack. That’s when my sister piped up with some crazy notion that I was now in a perfect position to dig something up on Payne now that I worked at the House. At the time it seemed to be the only thing that stopped him from disowning me completely, so I didn’t contradict her.”
“So… what? Are you saying you’re not the ink world’s 007, actively looking to unmask Payne as a dastardly thief?”
“I swear to God, the way you put things.” Taking a deep breath—because that was better than hitting him—she tried to find the right words. “I’ll be honest with you, okay? From the moment Serena planted that weird little seed in my head, I’ll admit that I’ve been on the lookout for any funky shenanigans when it comes to who has legal rights to a tattooist’s original designs. But there’s nothing in my contract, or in that auction entry form for that matter, that isn’t standard industry practice. As far as I can tell, the business practices at House Of Payne are totally on the up and up.”
