House of Payne: Styx

by Stacy Gail

  “Yeah,” Sydney said softly. “I guess it is.”

  “In fact, in an otherwise craptastic day, I’d say the two of you hooking up is ah-may-zing. Like it was meant to be.”

  At that, Sydney made a face. “Meant to be what, exactly? A punishment for ogling a total stranger, only to have it thrown back in my face? I had to cop to basically stalking him like a perv at the grocery store,” she went on when Zemi raised her brows questioningly. “Seriously, I wanted to die. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life.”

  “Why? Because he’s such an attractive man you chose to grace him with your attention?” As calm as still waters, Zemi wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Unless he’s an idiot, he’ll see your attention as the gift it is and be grateful for it.”

  Zemi was such a sweetheart. “Well, he’s no idiot. An idiot could never land a job at House Of Payne as a tattooist.”

  Her friend’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. He’s something called a cover-up artist. The best cover-up artist, according to him.”

  “He’d have to be, if he’s working at House Of Payne.” Her friend stared at her while putting a hand to her chest. “How’s that for good luck? Your crush is hot, awesomely dependable in an emergency, and he’s got a killer J-O-B. You sure know how to pick ‘em, girl.”

  That was one way of putting it. “Of all the things that went haywire today, meeting Styx Hardwick was by far the most haywire-y.”

  “More haywire-y than the Brisket Bandit’s posse trying to make you extinct at eighty miles per hour?”

  “That was horrible and a god-awful nightmare, but it’s over now. The problem with Styx is ongoing, like a slow-moving natural disaster.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’ve agreed to be his pretend girlfriend for the next six weeks.”

  Zemi couldn’t have looked any more shocked than if Sydney had told her she was running away to join the circus. “What the hell?”

  “I know.”

  “But… that…”

  “I know, Zem.”

  “That makes no sense.” Finally her friend seemed to remember how to make complete sentences. “Why in the world would a super-hot, brilliantly gifted, successful man like that even need a pretend girlfriend?”

  That was the million-dollar question. “My guess? He doesn't want the hassle of a real one.”

  “So he has commitment issues.”

  All too clearly she recalled his reaction to the wedding invitation. “It’s a strong possibility.”

  “Could he be gay and closeted? I had a friend who was a gay man’s beard for nearly a year before he finally came out. A year of her life, down the tubes.”

  Sydney gave it some thought before shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

  “Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person yet.”

  “Zemi—”

  “Or,” she went on, dark eyes sparking with a surge of excitement, “maybe he did find the right woman in you, and he’s just a socially awkward penguin who doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the woman of his dreams.”

  “Styx might be a lot of things, but socially awkward isn’t one of them. I’m the socially awkward one, painfully so, so I know what I’m talking about. And that’s the problem,” she went on before her friend could get a word in edgewise. “I am socially awkward. I don’t work at a famous place. I don’t have any super-killer skills. I’m surprisingly good at my new job and I enjoy it, but it’s not House Of Payne. It’s a freaking grocery store, the place where Styx has never noticed me in all the weeks that I’ve been drooling over him. Knowing all that, how in the world am I going to convince his family that Styx and I are a lovey-dovey couple?”

  “You’re starting to piss me off, and considering how slow I am to anger, that’s saying something.” Setting her napkin aside, Zemi leaned forward, eyes fierce. “Are you actually sitting there telling me you don’t think you’re good enough for this man?”

  “I’m telling you that as a couple, we don’t make sense. We may have just met, but as far as I can tell he’s spectacular in just about every conceivable way.”

  “So?”

  Good grief, did she have to draw her friend a damn picture? “So, I’m not. I like who I am,” she added quickly before Zemi could blast her. “I have a lot going for me. I’m a graduate of the Sorbonne. I’m fluent in French and Russian. I was a ballet dancer from age of three until the age of seventeen, when my mother killed my career. From that point on I made my own way in the world, which means I’m tougher than I look. I’m a loyal friend and a responsible daughter, even though my family treats me like shit. I might not have any talent worthy of being put in a spotlight, but I’ve got a decent brain and I know how to use it. There’s nothing wrong with being ordinary, Zemi,” she said when her friend continued to glare at her. “You know what is wrong? Trying to pair ordinary with extraordinary. That was my life in a nutshell when it came to my family. I refuse to through that again.”

  “There are so many things that are wrong with what you just said, but I need to get to the bottom of one question first,” Zemi said after a moment, looking like her head might explode at any moment. “If you think you’re such a bad match with Styx, why did you agree to be his pretend girlfriend?”

  “Because I owed him. He took care of me when I needed it the most, so the least I can do is return the favor.”

  “For six weeks?”

  “Just until his brother’s wedding.” When Zemi continued to stare at her, Sydney squirmed until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, okay. And because I couldn’t resist.”

  “I knew it.” In a blink, her friend was back to beaming her special smile full of glitter and rainbows. “Deep down you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “You know you’re more than worthy of a yummy, tattooed hottie. All you have to do now is give yourself a chance and not doubt every little thing, especially about the kickass woman you are.”

  That was just it. Sydney knew exactly the type of woman she was, but she was done debating the point. “What I'm doubting is Styx’s sanity. He's got this whole thing worked out. Apparently there's a training schedule involved in becoming his so-called girlfriend.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “His family’s a bunch of cops.” She eye-rolled, draining the last of her coffee. “We're talking sharp-eyed, trained investigators here. On top of that, there all nosey parkers, according to Styx. They’re always up in each other’s business like they think they have every right to be there, and they’re not ashamed to let you know it.”

  Zemi’s thin brows did a slow rise. “So, you’re saying they’re going to know you’re trying to pull a fast one with this phony relationship thing if you’re not careful?”

  “Exactly. As of now, I need to know everything about him. I’m even thinking of putting together a questionnaire for him.”

  “How romantic,” Zemi drawled, chuckling. “What kind of questions are you wanting to put on there?”

  “Literally everything, from what grade school he went to, to whether or not he likes breakfast for dinner.”

  “Everyone likes breakfast for dinner. If they don’t, they’re not of this earth.”

  “Point well made, but that’s kinda not what I meant.”

  “Honey, I’m just trying to keep things light. I think you need that, since you’re obviously looking at getting to know a first-rate male specimen like Styx Hardwick as a freaking chore.”

  “A chore? No. I’m looking at it as an existential crisis. What if I fall for him, Zemi?” she went on when her friend gaped at her. “You said it yourself, I’ve already been crushing on him for weeks. I’m seriously in like with this man already, and I don’t even know him yet. What if I find out he’s the most perfect man in the world, only to have him walk away at the end of this six-week arrangement like he can’t wait to forget I
exist?”

  “Then,” Zemi said after a long moment, and Sydney had never seen her more serious, “you go into this knowing that could happen. But you do go into it, Sydney. You don’t hold back because of what might happen at the end of it. You make sure you enjoy every moment of every day in those six weeks, and you count yourself lucky to have lived as fully as you possibly could with the man of your dreams. And if he can walk away from a woman who can live and love life like that, then at least you’ll know he’s not good enough for you.”

  “Take the Red Line, get off near Roosevelt. Take the Red Line, get off near Roosevelt.” Muttering the instructions to herself so she wouldn’t forget them, Sydney unplugged her phone, glancing at the time as she did. A quarter past seven in the morning. If she’d had her car—which she didn’t—she wouldn’t have taken off for work for another half hour, confident in her ease of moving from place to place. Now, with no word yet from the garage about how long she’d be without Pokey, and her insurance company’s refusal to pay for a car rental in the interim—despite the paperwork she had to prove that was part of her insurance coverage—she had no choice but to hit Chicago’s famous elevated train system.

  She only hoped the police found her attacker before she did. Yesterday she’d been terrified and freaked out. Now, she was ready to rip her attackers apart limb from bloody limb.

  Her cell phone jangled just as she dropped it into her purse. “Damn it,” she muttered, digging it back out. But when she saw it was Styx—she still couldn’t believe he’d given her his number—her bad mood vanished as if it had never been. “Hey,” she answered, then rolled her eyes at how breathless she sounded. Geez. She could at least pretend to play hard to get. “I didn’t have you pegged for an early riser. You struck me more as a night owl.”

  “You got a good bead on me, babe. Usually I’m up this early only if I’ve got a project going on, or I’m on a personal mission.”

  Keys, she thought, digging through her purse. If she could just find her house keys, she’d be all set. “A project or a mission? Which is it today?”

  “Both. You’re my project, and it’s my mission to get you to work safely.”

  She abandoned her search, because clearly she could either look for her keys, or listen to him, but not both. “What?”

  “You're working today, right? I heard you tell Trey your weekend is Monday and Tuesday. Since it’s Friday, I figured you were working today. Am I wrong?”

  “No.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  The problem was that she was almost speechless at his thoughtfulness. “You really got up this early to give me a ride into work?”

  “Set an alarm and everything after checking out what time Market Place grocery stores opened. So? Are you headed into work, or are you going to play it smart and take a personal day after all the shit you went through? We can spend the day together and learn about each other, from how we take our coffee to whether we’re cat or dog people.”

  “Dogs, and cream and sweetener.” Sydney kept her tone upbeat to cover an odd dash of disappointment curling through her. Of course. He hadn’t been all fired up to spend every waking moment with her simply because he was into her. He’d said it himself—he was on a mission, and that mission was to make her a believable girlfriend that could even fool his cop-filled family. “What about you? Dogs or cats?”

  “Both. We can have a good old-fashioned chinwag over the rest when you get your ass down here. I’m hoping we can hit Starbucks before heading off to work.”

  Mm. Starbucks. “I’ll be right down.”

  The moment she stepped out of her building, she couldn’t help but stare at the car Styx was leaning against. She didn’t know much about cars, but even she could spot a brand-new Corvette, painted in a shocking orange that somehow was absolutely perfect for the sleek silhouette.

  “I’m glad Pokey’s not here to see me drool over another car.” She tried keeping her attention on the ‘Vette so she wouldn’t also drool over its owner, but that was tough to do when Styx insisted on looking so damn good. Well-worn jeans that hugged him in all the important places, a V-necked, slim-fit T-shirt the color of rust and his thick dark brown hair slicked back from his face was enough to make any woman stare. The extra show of tattoos at his neck and pushed-back sleeves was just an added bonus. “I wouldn’t want her to get jealous.”

  “Any news on how the repairs are going?” As he spoke, he moved around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Dear God, a modern-day Adonis, and he had manners. Why did he have to be so freaking perfect?

  “No, though I’m trying to keep my hopes up. I love that little car, and car-shopping is such a pain in the neck.”

  “You kidding? Cars are the one and only thing I’ll actually go shopping for on a voluntary basis. It took me over a month to find this car for the right price. Turns out, the dealer is a fan of ink, so we went on the barter system in the end—the upgraded package for an exclusive four-session back and hip design. Totally worth being bitched out by Payne for using my tattooing booth during business hours to pay off a personal deal.”

  She tried not to gape as she settled into the butter-soft leather passenger seat. “Payne?” she demanded once he was seated behind the wheel. “Like Sebastian Payne? The one who founded House of Payne?”

  “Yeah. He can be a dick, but then we all can, so it evens out. Seatbelt.”

  Belatedly she fumbled for it. “This is why you’re on the thirtieth floor of your building, and I’m on the second of mine. You’ve got the guts to pull that sort of stuff with your boss, all the while knowing he’d be an idiot to fire you. Me? I haven’t even told my boss Wesley that I had a near-death experience on the freeway yesterday and would love to have a day off.”

  “Take a day now,” he said, starting the car. “Give your boss a call and tell this Wesley guy you’re not coming in because you nearly fucking died yesterday. Then we’ll go have a nice leisurely breakfast and get to know each other.”

  “I would, except I could never leave Wesley high and dry on such short notice.” She glanced at him as he pulled out into traffic and headed in the opposite direction of where she needed to go. “Have you forgotten where Market Place is?”

  “First we’re going for coffee, not negotiable, and then I’m taking you to work. Maybe.” The roar of the Corvette’s engine was like a dragon warning the world it was about to take flight, and Sydney found herself grinning in anticipation. “Tell me about this boss of yours, Wesley what’s-his-name. Is he a hard-ass?”

  “Wesley Newburg, and no, I don’t think he could pull off being a hard-ass if he tried. He’s… stressed.”

  “Stressed?”

  “He’s a skinny string bean of pure, unadulterated stress, from the top of his balding head to the soles of his squeaking orthopedic shoes, and all the monogrammed ties and sweater vests in between. You’d think the fate of the world rides on the decisions he makes. And God forbid something goes wrong. Every crisis that pops up, he acts like it’s the end times. That’s why I didn’t call in to work today. If I even mentioned that the Brisket Bandit posse—”

  “Or whoever.”

  “Or whoever,” she amended grimly. “If I’d told Wesley that someone had almost introduced me to my halo and wings, he probably would have taken to his bed, because he’d no doubt feel responsible.”

  “Why would he feel responsible?”

  “Wesley was the one who recruited me as a secret shopper. He spotted me working as a digital marketer at corporate headquarters for Market Place, and he fought to get me the job. It pays almost twice as much as what I was making, so I’m very grateful to him.” She paused as he slowed for a turn into a parking lot. “You really don’t think my getting attacked yesterday had anything to do with the Brisket Bandit?”

  “I have no idea who it was, and neither do you, so that’s how we’re going to keep it. Not having tunnel vision means our eyes are wide open for any and all possibilities. Which is
a good thing, Syd,” he added, turning the engine off and glancing over at her as she wrestled with this new facet of her reality. “Ultimately it’s about keeping you safe and breathing, yeah? That’s all I care about, and it’s all you should care about, too.”

  “Right.” She tried to nod resolutely, because what he said was bang on-target. As of now, she’d do her damnedest to keep her eyes and mind open as to who wanted her dead. For all she knew, it was some rando nut job on the freeway with a bad case of road rage. There was probably no reason for the likes of Styx Hardwick to act as her bodyguard.

  She had to be insane for that thought to bum her out, just a little.

  Chapter Five

  “Car trouble. I'll be in when I can.” Styx watched Sydney type out the text as they sat inside the coffee shop. Then he grinned when she made sure it had the right punctuation before she hit send. “There. Happy? I'm officially taking an hour of me-time before heading off to work.”

  “You should’ve taken the day,” he said, shaking his head. “But I get you. You're responsible, and you're loyal to the people who’re in your life. These are good things.”

  “And it's not like I lied. I don't even have a car right now. If that’s not car trouble, I don’t know what is.”

  He had to smile at the way she needed to justify taking even a sliver of much-needed personal time. “Didn’t you ever play hooky when you were a kid?”

  “And run the risk of getting caught and disappointing my parents? Nothing was worth that much.” With a rueful grin, she set her phone aside and wrapped both hands around her coffee. It was one of those skinny lattes, he’d noted, and she sipped at it in such a ladylike fashion he couldn’t help but grin as he watched her. “Did you ever play hooky?”

  “I think I ditched about half my junior year in high school. it was a wonder I graduated with the rest of my class. My mother was so proud when I walked that stage to get my diploma. She’d bet my uncle fifty bucks I’d never make it. Best bet she ever lost, according to her.”