by Stacy Gail
“You’re fucking lucky someone gives a shit enough about your skinny little ass to do the thinking for you when that rainbow-filled, fluff-brained head of yours refuses to do it,” came the growled response, and Scout’s temper ratcheted up into the red zone. Twist pushed the boundaries of professionalism, and they all swore like sailors—it was part of who they were.
But personal attacks crossed the line.
“Enough.”
Both occupants of the room snapped around at Scout’s voice, but she took no pleasure in their widened eyes. And she sure as hell didn’t enjoy how Twist was the first to step forward, looking pissed off and unapologetic for calling a colleague fluff-brained
“Scout, something has got to be done about the way Angel does her shit.”
“Twist—”
“Did you know she’s offering to go to peoples’ homes to do their ink? Do you get how fucking dangerous that is? Obviously she thinks the world is populated by Care Bears and eunuchs, but that’s not reality.”
“You’re not even supposed to be in this room, so just shut it.” That revelation shook Scout more than she wanted to admit, but she kept her gaze laser-locked on him. “Get out of my office, now. Angel was invited to be here, not you.”
His dark eyes bulged. “You shut it.”
Boom.
Forget the red zone. Her temper shot straight into psychotic.
“You obviously can’t allow Angel to—”
“I said, get out!” Scout flung the door open, then when he didn’t make a move, she made one for him by snatching up his burly arm and hauling him toward the door.
“What the hell, Scout, I’m an employee, you can’t lay your hands on—”
“Oh, so now you want to talk about rules?” So furious she wouldn’t have been surprised if she suddenly turned green and grew ten times her size, she tossed him out the door. “Try these rules on for size, you whiny little crybaby. I don’t give a shit that you’re an employee here, because right now I’m not working. I’m on fucking vacation. Can’t you fucking tell I’m on fucking vacation by how fucking happy I am?”
Granite-faced Twist, who’d done hard time and was the meanest bastard in House Of Payne, backed up an alarmed step as her voice rose to a glass-breaking screech. “Uh, hey—”
“But even though I’m off enjoying myself on my hard-earned vacation, this particular room is still my office, my private space. Yet for some reason you feel that you’re such a special snowflake, you get to waltz in here and take up residence whenever you goddamn feel like it. Do you want me to tell you how fucking wrong you are about that?”
His swallow was audible. “No. Uh…Scout—”
“Good.” And with that last word that was a high-pitched scream, she slammed the office door so hard a framed picture fell off the wall and shattered.
Shit.
“Um.”
Scout whirled around.
“Please don’t kill me.” Doll eyes so wide they seemed to take up her whole face, Angel held up both hands and retreated as best she could behind a ficus tree by the wall. “I’ll do whatever you want, okay? Just please don’t kill me.”
Scout’s listened to her breath whistle in and out between her teeth. She wasn’t sure she could promise her anything at this point. “I. Am. Upset.”
“I’m sorry.” Angel tried to bury herself deeper behind the tree. “Seriously, Scout. I’m so sorry. You can go back to your vacation now, ‘kay? Please?”
She kept breathing. Breathing was good. Slowly she unclenched her fists. “I’m here now, so let’s get this shit squared away.”
“No, really, it’s—”
“Angel.” Scout enjoyed the deadly silence that followed, before nodding at a guest chair in front of her desk. “Sit.”
“Right. Sitting’s good.”
As Scout took her own chair behind the desk, she didn’t miss how the other woman watched her as if she suspected Scout had a chainsaw hidden up her sleeve. “Before we begin, I want to know what the hell Twist was talking about. Going to peoples’ houses to do their ink in private? What the fuck, Angel?”
Angel rolled her eyes. “Twist overheard a conversation I was having with a client who’s a concierge doctor—someone who does house calls.”
“I know what a concierge doctor is. I’ve just never heard of a concierge tattooist.”
“That’s because I don’t think there is such a thing. What’s more, I don’t plan on being a concierge tattooist, mainly because I don’t own any equipment, and it’d be a crazy thing for a woman on her own to do.”
A relieved breath drained the rest of the tension out of Scout’s shoulders. “Then why does Twist believe you’re going to do it?”
“I may have… implied I was going to after he barged his way into that private conversation. It was totally unprofessional,” she went on angrily while Scout rubbed a hand over her face. “My client and I were simply chatting about the concierge business in general at the reception desk, and how it could be applied to many other businesses, including tattooing. Then out of nowhere, Twist was all up in my client’s face, and mine, and called me an idiot right there in front of everyone. It was so humiliating.”
“I’m sure it was.” Like that, her temper began to boil all over again.
“Twist is in my business all the time, Scout,” Angel added, and her violent expression was almost laughable on her cute, small-featured face. She looked ready to punch a Kewpie doll. “Remember when I texted you that he was out to get me?”
“Yeah.”
“That was the day I found him in my tattoo booth, going over my schedule for that day. He said he felt the need to ‘approve it.’”
Scout’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Yeah. He was looking for creepers who’d booked me to ink them in ‘private’ places.”
Oh, my God.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to make him so nuts. I’m not in his business, and he’s never in anyone else’s business, not even Rocket’s, and she’s the only other female tattooist here. He just targets me, because he obviously has no respect for me, and I’ve had it. At this point it’s either him or me, and I love you guys too much to make you choose.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” But if it came down to a choice between Angel or their chronic problem child, Scout sure as hell knew which way she’d vote. “Did you tell Payne any of this?”
“No.” Angel wrinkled her nose. “He’s a guy. As cool as he is, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be a woman in this business. You have to be twice as good and twice as dedicated and reliable to be seen as almost an equal, and then all that is blown to pieces when you’re called an idiot in front of everyone. It’s enough to make you want to cry, but if you do that, you’re being a weak girl in addition to being an idiot.”
“This bullshit ends today.” Well aware of how lopsided the world of ink—and the world in general—could be for an ambitious woman, Scout pushed away from the desk. “Take the rest of the day off, but please don’t quit. I’m going to hash this out with Payne, who has a talent for handling Twist.” Threats of beating the shit out of him usually worked best, though she thought it wise not to share that. “You won’t be harassed anymore. And if you are, we’ll both quit and then we’ll let the men see how far they get without us.”
Chapter Twenty
It took Scout over two hours to get everything sorted to her satisfaction. This included painting a detailed picture for Payne, who developed an eye twitch and a lethal-sounding growl. Possible solutions on how to deal with the situation were tossed around—Payne’s suggestion of skinning Twist alive notwithstanding. Ultimately it was decided that a rearranging of work schedules was in order, in addition to Payne vowing to have a long heart-to-heart with Twist. Restructuring the work schedule was a huge undertaking, considering that bookings for the tattooists were set up months in advances, but it had to be done. Both Angel and Twist were too valuable to lose.
But if that resched
uling was something that was left for her to deal with when she got back in the office next week, heads would roll, she thought grimly as she stepped off the elevator into the penthouse. The only question was whose head would be first, Payne’s or Twist’s. At the moment, it was a toss—
Her heart stuttered to a stop as the door to the storage room down the hall, standing ajar, swung all the way open. Adrenaline stabbed through her hard enough to choke her breath off, but before she could decide whether to look for a weapon or jump back into the elevator, Ivar stepped out, his attention zeroed in on her as if he’d been waiting for her to walk through the door.
“Ivar. Shit.” She pressed one hand to her chest and leaned the other one against the wall as the elevator doors clanked shut. “Bad idea to get the drop on me like that, okay? Seriously bad idea.”
“Ma fleur, did I startle you?” He was by her side in an instant, his expression both chagrined and looking like he was trying not to laugh as he pulled her into his arms. “We agreed we were going to talk later, yes? Who were you expecting?”
“I wasn’t expecting anyone. I thought you would’ve bounced out of here ages ago while I was making an enemy out of one of the most dangerous guys at the House.”
Like a switch being thrown, his smile vanished and looked startlingly dangerous himself. “What is this?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“I will not have you in danger. Who is this guy?”
Good grief, her and her big mouth. “What are you going to do, go beat him up?”
“For starters.”
Considering all those lovely muscles he had, she figured Ivar could do some serious damage. But then, so could Twist. “It’s no big deal. I handled it.”
“This fucking guy even looks at you, I will make him regret the day his mother ever spread her legs to his father.”
Yikes. “It’s cool, sweetheart. I swear.”
“We will see about that.”
That didn’t sound good. “That wasn’t even the main issue. We’re having some personnel problems that are kind of nuts right now.”
Though his eyes were still hot, he ran a comforting hand over her back. “Did that person who texted you quit?”
“No. Not today, anyway. But if one more thing happens, it’s going to be time to pull the trigger on someone.” With a shake of her head she pushed work from her mind, twined her arms around his waist and went on tiptoe to brush her mouth over his. “Were you waiting for me?”
She thought she imagined the faintest hesitation. “Yeah.”
“I’m glad, because I’ve got some awesome news for you.” She took a breath to calm the fluttery excitement in her chest. “I talked to Payne about your project.”
His head jerked back in unconcealed surprise. “My project?”
“Yep. Payne wants to choose who’ll be contacted to see if they’d be interested in being a part of your exhibit, but… basically your project’s been given a green light.” She did a little bounce, bubbling over at the accomplishment. Sure, it had sucked to endure Payne’s disapproval and concern over her relationship with Ivar—something she couldn’t blame him for, considering her shameful judgment with Vishous. But she’d pushed through and gotten the job done. That was what mattered. “Isn’t that great?”
“Scout.” He sucked in a long, low breath and looked over her head. “Putain de merde.”
She blinked, her smile fading. She didn’t know many French words, but the few she did would have made any sailor proud. “Fucking shit? That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”
“Scout.” He took another deep breath, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders in an almost-painful hold. “My magnificent Scout. There is no project. There never was.”
Her excitement dimmed.
Winked out.
Cold began to creep in.
“What?” He had to be joking. Any minute now, he’d say, “Just kidding,” and she’d hit him on the arm or something for pulling such a lame joke.
“There was never a tattoo project.”
Any minute now.
His expression remained serious. No. More than that.
Grim.
Not again. Please, not again.
She couldn’t have been wrong again. This time around she wasn’t unwanted, like she had been her whole life. She was making a place where she could belong, and she was doing it with Ivar. He wanted to be with her.
This could not possibly be happening again.
“But… yes, there was, Ivar. For your tattoo project, you wanted—”
“What I wanted in the beginning was a cover story that would cross my path with yours. I came up with the idea of a photographic project.”
Oh, no. No, no, no…
“I needed to see if you were the sort of woman who would sleep with Frank Bournival in order to get this penthouse and financial backing for House Of Payne. I know now that you are not,” he went on, his tone growing fierce as her arms dropped from him like lead weights and she backed out from under his hold. “Before we became lovers, I knew this. I could see it in your eyes.”
She couldn’t take it in. Nothing he said made sense.
Nothing, except that once again she’d been duped by a man she loved.
And once again she no longer belonged anywhere.
Except alone.
Like always.
She couldn’t breathe.
“Frank. Bournival?” The last syllable ended on a feeble squeak.
“I had been led to believe that he might be my biological father, but this now seems to be a long shot.”
“Frank Bournival.” She felt winded, like she’d landed flat on her back and had the breath knocked out of her. But it was so much worse than that. Life had been knocked out of her. Now she was just waiting to die. “Frank didn’t have a son.”
“You know what my life was like—”
“I know the stories you’ve told me.”
His eyelids flickered in an almost imperceptible flinch. “Every personal thing I have told you about myself is the truth,” he said, his tone so rock-solid calm it only made the chaos of hurt, disbelief and betrayal burning inside her worse. “I know I deserve your anger. I get that and I accept it, because I have more than earned it. Just know that I will be waiting here for you once you have worked your way through it, and you will see that only one lie was told—the photo project. Everything else, everything that has to do with us, is real.”
She just stared at him, too shattered to find her voice. How could he dismiss the pretense that brought him into her life so cavalierly?
“You once asked why my grandmother hated me so,” he went on, when she didn’t answer, and through her haze of shock she noted a hint of desperation now edging his tone. “I told you that I had ruined her daughter. Remember?”
“You said your conception wasn’t wanted.” Her lips were numb, barely moving. It was a strange thing, to be so cold and numb yet still feel so much agony it made her want to curl into a ball and disappear. “Your mom didn’t want a kid.”
“It was never that simple. I am the unwanted result of a violent rape of an innocent teenage girl. This is why I have never met my mother face-to-face. This is why, for years, I was beaten and starved and locked in a closet and made to answer to the name Monster. All of this happened because of what I am. I am the spawn of a true monster that ruined Eliane Fournier’s life.”
Sick horror washed over her, momentarily blotting out the hurt. “Oh, God.”
“From the moment I left my nanny’s care until I was able to be free of my grandmother, I lived a nightmare. I was made to believe there was nothing redeeming about me, that I was a bad seed.” He paused, as if the rest of what he wanted to say didn’t want to come out. “Part of me… part of me still believes that.”
Oh, no. He’s so broken.
The thought crystallized in her mind as she stared into his eyes, clearly seeing the torment that had been heaped on him yea
r after year, decade after decade. All that horrific abuse had broken him, and she didn’t know how to fix him.
Worst yet, in that moment she didn’t even know if she wanted to try.
That alone destroyed her heart.
“Frank Bournival would have never raped anyone.” At last she dug her voice out of the pit of despair trying to bury it, and she hardly recognized the thin, fragile sound. “He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body.”
“I have learned this as well, and in recent months I had begun to allow myself the hope that no rape took place at all—that my conception might not have been the horrible event I was told it was. The reason I began to doubt my origin was because I was approached by a man by the name of Marcel Dubois.”
“Marcel…” A faint frown flickered as the name cut through the layers of suffocating shock. “Wait. There was a greedy little cockroach by that name who worked for Frank near the end. I discovered that Dubois was fleecing money from Frank with every check he wrote on the company account.”
He nodded, his mouth flattening into a grim line. “A couple months ago, Dubois came to me out of the blue. He said he had information about how I should have been in Frank Bournival’s will to receive an inheritance worthy of a son receiving something from his father. He further went on to claim that you had managed to influence Bournival’s decision as to where this inheritance should go. But Dubois has since altered the story by saying that Frank was the godfather to my mother, but still intimated that Bournival could be my biological father.”
“Ew.” She then bit her lip, regretting the comment. But he nodded in what appeared to be total understanding.
“As sordid as that may seem, I still prefer that to being the product of a rape.”
She could understand that. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”
“Dubois said that his employer spoke of me while finalizing his will. Bournival reportedly made many notes that ultimately explain why he chose to leave me nothing in favor of giving both you and House Of Payne what I should have inherited. Dubois suspected these notes would still be in existence somewhere in your possession, since you inherited the penthouse and all its belongings. When I originally approached you, all I wanted to do was find out if you were the type of person who would willingly allow me to look for any leads on who my biological father might be. But you were so cagey and suspicious when we first met that I could not get a decent read on you. It seemed like you had something to hide.”
