House of Payne: Sage

by Stacy Gail

  “The next step.” When had her lungs shriveled up to the size of raisins? Getting air into them was next to impossible. “It might be the next step, but it’s hardly a baby one.”

  “That’s okay. You’re not a baby.” He raised her left hand to his lips, which he caressed over her knuckles, before kissing the classic round white diamond, with smaller diamonds in the beveled band. “You’re my woman who can look at the crap her parents went through, and understand how sacred this promise is that we’re making to each other. That disaster of a childhood you went through is also probably going to make you into an amazing someday-mom,” he added as an afterthought, while the floor of her stomach dropped away at the thought. “In fact, I’d be willing to bet having a shitty upbringing can be used as a guide on how not to parent. If that’s anywhere close to the truth, you and I are going to slay at parenthood.”

  “Oh my God.” First the sacrifice he was determined to make by putting Darkness, Vanquished up on the auction block, then an engagement ring, and now parenthood. It was a wonder she hadn’t fainted dead away. “Do me a favor and wait for me to catch up to where you are before you start picking out baby names, okay?”

  “I’ve been waiting all my life to have you in it. I’m not taking my foot off the gas just because you’re skittish.”

  “I’m not skittish,” she said for what felt like the millionth time. “I take baby steps because I’m careful. I’ve always been careful.”

  “Because you had to be. Careful, on-guard, always prepared to be attacked. I get that. You had to be that way because you had someone in your life who didn’t give a damn if you got hurt. But your world’s not like that anymore, and it’s my job to convince you that you’re safe. Thing is, you’ve got to meet me halfway here. If I push you to take a leap of faith, it’s because I can’t wait to catch you.” He kissed her before looking deep into her eyes. “So, let me catch you. I won’t let you down, believe me.”

  “I do,” she whispered, and felt a tight knot she hadn’t even known was there loosen in her chest. When it did, the sensation was as liberating as a jail cell door swinging open. “With everything in me, I believe in you, Sage.”

  “Prove it. Take that leap of faith with me.”

  She took a deep breath, held it, then smiled up at him. “If we ever have a girl, I’ve always loved the name Juliet. Romeo, though, is the stupidest name ever, so if we ever have a boy, I’m open to anything except Romeo. Okay?”

  With a laugh, he hugged her so hard her feet left the ground. “I’m good with that.”

  Epilogue

  “That concludes the bidding for Darkness, Vanquished, by Mads Daniels, with the final bid of five-thousand dollars,” Scout announced into a microphone from her place on a raised dais near the center of the gallery. “This also concludes House Of Payne’s annual Give and Grab Fine Art Charity Auction. For the lucky bidders who are inhouse, please see my associate, Sunny Eisen, at the reception desk to pay for your art, and to arrange for your art’s shipping and transportation. For those who won their online bids, once payment for your art have been received, instructions on how you will receive your art will be emailed to you.”

  “Guess that’s my cue.” Clearly pumped with all the fast and furious bidding they’d just gone through, Sage dropped a quick kiss on Mads’s lips. “Don’t go anywhere. I still have to take you out for your birthday dinner at Noodleheads.”

  “Right,” Mads said weakly. She watched him disappear into the throng of people clogging the gallery area, before turning back to watch a helper put a Sold sign on her painting, with Sage’s name clearly written into the blank space. “Oh my God. Five-grand. Five-fucking-grand. I can’t believe it.”

  “It would’ve gone for a lot more.” Payne’s voice sounded close to her ear, making her jump before she turned to find him grinning down at her. “Sage had me put a cap on it, something only he, Scout and I know about, so keep it to yourself. But you can be sure there are a couple pissed-off online bidders out there in the world, gnashing their teeth at how they missed out on getting their hands on Darkness, Vanquished. House Of Payne was lucky to have had it in the auction.”

  “Glad to hear it,” she managed while her stomach churned merrily away. “Except for one tiny problem.”

  “Problem?”

  “Sage now has to pay a crazy amount of money for a painting he already owns. I just watched it happen, and I still can’t believe what I saw.”

  “What’s not to believe?” came the shrugging reply. “It all makes perfect sense to me. There’s nothing a man won’t do when he sees his woman in trouble.”

  “I get that, and I love Sage for it. But couldn’t you have set the cap at, like, fifty bucks instead of five-thousand?”

  “Are you shitting me?” She doubted Payne could have looked any more offended than if she’d told him kittens were better stewed than fried. “Do I look like an asshole?”

  “Uh—”

  “First off, Sage was the one who set the cap, not me. Secondly, I'd never undervalue a fellow artist's work. Sage would have gutted me for even hinting at such a thing, and he'd have every right to do so.”

  “But five-thousand—”

  “I hate advice, but apparently that doesn't stop me from dishing it out, so listen up, Mads. Don't you dare insult your man by moaning over how much he spent tonight. Trust me, there's no price too great when it comes to your happiness, at least as far as he sees it, because his happiness is directly tied to yours. That's just how this works. What you need to do is be a sport and accept what he needs to do with grace. Oh, and it wouldn’t kill you to be grateful that to Sage, money is clearly no object when it comes to you finding ways to make sure you’re happy.”

  By degrees, the harsh edge of her dismay vanished, and in its place grew a sweet warm glow. “I never thought about it like that.”

  “And as for the other point, I meant what I said about your painting’s value. Your old man could never begin to even imagine a concept like Darkness, Vanquished, much less create it. Someday this painting might very well hang in a museum because you are that talented, unlike your father. A fact I was all too happy to explain when I personally returned Fletch’s shitty little painting to him earlier today.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” It was a wonder her eyes didn't pop out of their sockets. “Aren’t you the man who said my father wasn’t worth your time?”

  “Yeah,” he shrugged. “So? I changed my mind.”

  Holy shit. “Why?”

  “I didn't much like it when you mentioned how your pops claimed I had stolen artwork and called it my own. I wanted to see what the fuck that fairytale bullshit was all about, so I decided to go straight to the source.”

  “Payne, I've seen your work, so I now know my dad played fast and loose with the truth when it came to you. Both my sister and I saw you at the hospital working that artistic magic of yours. We know you’re the real deal, and our dad… well. We also know what he is. We both have a much clearer view of you, I swear.”

  “That's good to hear. And before we go any further, I just want to tell you that I'm pretty damned impressed with your courage.”

  “My courage?”

  “You chose to work here at the House, despite thinking I might be some lowlife shitheel out to steal your art.” He grimaced, as if the words left a garbage taste in his mouth. “That took some serious guts, and I want you to know I’m glad I earned your trust. But the thing is, my rep got dragged by your old man, and that’s something I do not tolerate. As they used to say back when duels were a thing, I wanted satisfaction.”

  “Oh, my God.” Her breath squeaked to a stop. “Are you saying you challenged my father to a duel?”

  “If by challenge, you mean I went over to his place to beat the dogshit out of him, then yeah. That’s exactly what I did.”

  “Oh, God.” Alarm jangled through her as she took Payne in, all six-plus feet of him, with broad shoulders and arms sculpted by muscles that didn’t come from he
fting a brush or a tattoo machine. Sure, his hair was showing silver along the hairline, but compared to her father, he was the epitome of healthy, powerful masculinity. “Is he still alive?”

  “Oh, yeah. Though it’s not because ol’ Fletch has super stamina or hidden ninja skills going on. In the end, I just took pity on him.”

  A breath she hadn’t even known she was holding whooshed out of her. “That sounds oddly worse.”

  “It probably is. I mean, after throwing him around for a while and getting a couple solid hits in, it all just became kind of pathetic. Honest to Christ, it was like hitting a bag of tapioca that may or may not split open to spew all over my nice clean shoes. In the end, he just wasn't worth it.”

  As relieved as she was, she couldn't help but shoot him a wary glance. “I wouldn't put it past my father to call the cops on you, Payne. He's a professional victim, which means his flipside has always been about petty vengeance.”

  “Then I'm glad I gave him the warning that if he ever dares to fuck with me or mine here at the House—that includes you—I’d have no choice but to tell the authorities about the art theft he perpetrated against you and House Of Payne.”

  She blinked. “What did he steal from House Of Payne?”

  “You promised a specific piece of art to the House’s annual Give and Grab charity auction, and we got a certificate of authenticity ready for it. I have several witnesses who’d be only too happy to testify how we received his shit painting, complete with his name on it, instead of the painting you tried to donate. That’s theft and fraud.”

  Eek. “Technically speaking, he destroyed my painting. His intention wasn’t to steal it.”

  “I don’t think the police would give a fuck what his intentions were when the bottom line is he stole your painting and tried to pass off his shit as yours. That’s fraud, and that equals a lot of years behind bars. So unless that’s where he wants to end up, he’ll steer well clear of me, and you.” Payne’s attention slid to a point over her shoulder, causing her to glance back to find Sage heading toward them. “Remember what I said, Mads. It’s a man’s greatest privilege to protect the woman he loves. Yelling at him for it won’t stop him from doing it, but it just might make him wonder why he’s doing it. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

  She shook her head. “In my own way I’m just as determined to protect him.”

  “Then you two have a solid lock on forever,” he said a moment before he stuck out a hand toward Sage. “That’s one helluva painting you bought, man. One of the best to have ever graced these walls.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Looking pretty damn smug, Sage shook Payne’s hand before tucking her close to his side. “We’re about to head out so we can get started on Mads’s birthday celebration. You need anything else from us before we bounce?”

  Payne shook his head. “You might want to check on your own entries for the auction. I hear your sculpture went for some big bucks, so congratulations on that.”

  “Thanks—”

  “Payne, we’ve got a situation.” Scout swooped in, Bluetooth in place and tablet in hand. “Talon’s threatening to throw that mouthy pop-culture critic, Zenni Greer, out the nearest window. Sunny says she needs either a dart gun or for you to handle the situation. Oh, happy birthday, Mads,” she added distractedly. “Your cake’s up in the breakroom, so don’t forget to get a slice, okay?”

  “As wonderful as birthday cake is, I think I’d rather go and see your sculpture,” Mads said once Payne had gone off with Scout. “Whoever snapped up Smoke obviously has magnificent taste in art. Fair warning, though—I can already tell I won’t ever want you to put your latest sculpture, Mads, up for sale. Unless it’s to me, of course.”

  “I’ve already decided it’s going to be my wedding present for you.” As Sage spoke, he led her deeper into the gallery area, his arm warm and solid on her shoulders. “If you want it, you’re going to have to marry me.”

  The happy explosions going on inside her were so fierce it was a wonder the room didn’t shake with them. “Deal.”

  “I have to admit, I’m kind of sorry to see this one go.” Sage came to a stop at the plinth where his smoke-like sculpture sat, and his brows shot up when he checked out the Sold tag’s details. “Damn, this did go for some bucks, didn’t it? Maybe I’ll find the time to make some more sculptures as a side… hustle…”

  “Sage?” A jolt of alarm went through her when his words trickled to a halt and he seemed to lose color. “What is it?”

  “C. Woodbridge.” He ripped the tag off the sculpture’s base and stared at it. “C. Fucking. Woodbridge.”

  The name rang a faint bell. “Who is C. Woodbridge?”

  “Charlie Woodbridge is my biological father.” He stared at the tag, ignoring one of the auction people, who had rushed over to stop him from molesting their precious Sold tag. “The person who bought my sculpture… I think it might be my old man.”

  She caught her breath and searched his dumbfounded expression. “It’s a definite possibility.”

  “Then again, it might not be. There might be plenty of C. Woodbridges out there in the world.”

  “True. But how many C. Woodbridges are out there in the world who genuinely love your work? Love it so much it gets displayed at the front door, right next to the lube and oil specials so that everyone walking in has the opportunity to see it?”

  “Fuck me.” Giving the tag to the frantic auction worker, he turned away, blindly walked a few steps, then stopped and turned back to stare at the sculpture with stormy eyes. “Fuck me.”

  “You don’t have to make any decisions tonight.” Looping an arm around his waist, she waited for him to turn his gaze to her. “Just keep in mind that this is the season for miracles. My sister wanted to bring family together—a good idea when there’s love and mutual respect and admiration going on. That was never going to be the case with me and my father, but I’m not so sure about you and yours. Maybe that door is still open.”

  “Maybe.” His frown didn’t change as he stared at the sculpture. “Maybe.”

  One week later

  “I can’t get over how impossible this city is.” Much to Sage’s amusement, Mads seemed like she was trying to see everything at once as they drove down Las Vegas Boulevard, slowing so she could get a good, long look at Vegas’s version of the Eiffel Tower springing out of a building, before he reluctantly turned their rental SUV toward the freeway. “And I’m not even going to talk about the desert and how stark and beautiful it is to my eyes, because you probably don’t see it the way I do.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed, glancing out the window at the high-rises, parking garages, imported palm trees and the pancake-flat desert beyond. “Though you are kind of reminding me of myself when I first saw Lake Michigan. It’s like my brain couldn’t grasp the enormity of it.”

  “If I lived out here for any length of time I think I’d start missing the color green, but for right now I’m just enthralled.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance his way as he merged onto the freeway. “I’m proud of you, know.”

  That made his brows quirk. “What for?”

  “By extending this olive branch to your dad, you’re setting a positive tone for the New Year, which we’ll ring in in about…” she glanced at the SUV’s control panel, “eight hours from now. I’m guessing New Year’s Eve can get kind of crazy in Vegas?”

  “As crazy as any place on earth. I’m sure we’ll be wrapped up with my old man long before the clock strikes midnight, so you get to choose how we ring it in. In a gondola at the Bellagio, or taking in a show at Caesar’s or MGM, or maybe watching fireworks from the top of the Eiffel Tower while drinking French champagne. Anything you’ve ever dreamed of doing, it can probably be arranged with just a few phone calls. That’s the way this town rolls.”

  “Sounds like the only limitation is imagination. Good thing I can imagine all sorts of things.”

  “Same here.” And right now he was imagining
faking a case of amnesia, just so he could get out of seeing his old man.

  This was a bad idea. The worst. He’d been sure of that from the moment they’d touched down in his old hometown. But Mads had been totally gung-ho over his idea of reaching out to his father once he’d verified the “C. Woodbridge” had in fact been Charles Woodbridge of Las Vegas, Nevada, so he’d gone along with it. Maybe Mads had wanted him to go on this crazy adventure because of what had happened with her own pops, and she didn’t want him to feel the kind of pain he glimpsed in her eyes every now and again. Or maybe she was simply an optimistic soul.

  Whatever it was, her hope that not all bridges to his father had been burned had carried him this far.

  But this last mile was all on him,

  And he was feeling every fucking inch.

  “Well,” Mads said as they traveled through a more industrial part of Vegas, “the only thing I’m interested in imagining right now is a good outcome to this meeting.”

  “It’ll be what it’ll be.” He shrugged as his deadpan tone echoed back to him. That emotionless note had been showing up more and more since he’d decided to take her to Las Vegas for New Year’s, and he knew damn well where it came from. Putting all his feels on lockdown had been the only way he’d stopped himself from murdering anyone back when he’d been a fucked-up teen. Apparently old habits died hard. “I’m thinking this little family reunion thing will probably be over in no more than ten minutes, and then we can get on with the real purpose of our trip. Getting drunk and partying our asses off in one of those high-roller suites I’ve always dreamed of staying in. That’s the real reason I brought you to Vegas, you know. Not to meet some broken-down old grease monkey.”

  The look she gave him told him loud and clear that she wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Broken-down or not, I’m glad that old grease monkey taught you how to handle dead batteries. If you look at it that way, it’s thanks to your dad that we got together.”

  “I would’ve figured out some other way to make sure we got together.”