Steele Read online

  Then there was her, Estella Santiago. Baby sister of House Of Payne’s edgy Goth tattooist, Twist. The costume designer who dressed in shapeless layers of clothes that she thought of as her protective cocoon. The one whom Angel described as “quiet,” and clearly the only one of the three remaining contestants who was insecure enough to wonder what the hell she was doing there.

  If this was an episode of “Survivor,” it was obvious she’d be the first one voted off the show.

  There were a surprising number of people in the room aside from Dizzy Izz and Olivier. Scout was at a chrome and glass credenza that matched the office’s executive desk, messing around with a bunch of black folders. Sebastian Payne spoke in a low voice to the videographer, the ginger-bearded, beanie-wearing college kid who had recorded every step of this circus Essie had somehow landed herself in, and posted it all online.

  Trying not to think about how accurate the circus analogy was, she took a moment to study Payne. He was a handsome man, with casually mussed brown hair and hazel eyes, dressed in gray pants, a crimson dress shirt and of all things, white suspenders. She’d never been a fan of suspenders, but with his mussed hair and tattoos displayed by his rolled-back sleeves, his nonconformist appearance held together. If she’d created such a costume for a character onstage, that costume’s statement would have told the audience to expect the unexpected.

  Since he was the man behind House Of Payne, she figured his appearance fit him to a T.

  The last remaining man in the room was more of a mystery. He stood near the double doors in a pose she thought of as parade-rest—feet slightly apart, hands behind his back, head up and alert. Hired muscle, she decided, then wavered when she saw the fine quality of his lace-up leather Brogue boots, along with the dark blue trousers that molded to his long legs that appeared tailor-made for him, and a light blue Oxford shirt that he wore tucked in under a Versace belt.

  A Versace belt for hired muscle, she thought, frowning. Somehow she doubted a rent-a-cop would spend an entire paycheck on a matching pair of shoes and belt. Obviously this guy didn’t do cheap. From top to bottom, he had an eye for quality and had the money to indulge in it. So, unless security guards made a mint, that was out.

  But there was something about him that screamed security, even if the costuming was all wrong. As she tried to put her finger on what it was, her attention wandered up to study the man himself.

  His black hair was almost as long as her brother’s, and while it wasn’t as curly, it definitely had a wave to it. A wicked looking scar cut like a checkmark through his right eyebrow, the point of which ended a fraction over the eyelid itself. Another, thinner scar continued on below the eye, a part of it branching one way to touch his lip, curling that corner of his mouth in a sardonic sneer, while another part curled around the outer edge of the cheekbone to disappear into the fall of his dark hair. One look at that scar and it was clear he’d come to within a breath of losing an eye.

  What a loss that would have been.

  She’d always thought the color of her eyes was unusual. But the mirror-like flash of this dude’s eyes put hers to shame. As dark as his hair was, she’d assumed his eyes would match. Instead, she almost couldn’t see them, they were so light gray.

  Wow.

  Her heart did a giddy double-bump against the interior wall of her chest. Damn, he was really something. Simply locking onto those eyes made her forget she needed to breathe. That was odd. Odder still was that just looking at him made the crazy side of her yearn to edge closer to where he stood.

  That was crazy, at least for her. Until that moment, she hadn’t known she had a crazy side. Usually the thought of getting close to anyone—especially an overwhelmingly masculine man like this guy—made her blood run cold. But cold was the last thing she felt as she took him in.

  Then she realized those eyes were trained on her.

  Whoops.

  Mortified, she looked away. Holy crud. He’d been watching her ogle him like she’d never seen a man before. Talk about awkward. But even more than that, she didn’t like getting caught looking at any man over the age of eighteen and under the age of eighty. Usually men believed that kind of eye contact was a come-on, or an invitation, or even plain, healthy interest.

  But it wasn’t any of that for her.

  It would never be any of that for her.

  “Okay, now that we’re all here, let’s light this candle.” Coming to where she and the others were gathered, Sebastian Payne rubbed his hands together in clear anticipation. “The three of you—Essie, Dizzy and Olivier—are all that remains of the design challenge I set up so many weeks ago. Your designs for what could become the official House Of Payne T-shirt got you and seventeen others into the semifinals. The next challenge that was set up—creating a unisex accessory that embodied a feel of what House Of Payne is all about—cut down that field of twenty to just you three. Today, you’ll learn what your final challenge is all about, and when it needs to be completed.”

  In her mind, Essie heard an absurd swell of melodramatic music.

  Dun dun dun!

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  Oh shit. Now she was hysterical.

  “But before we get to that,” Scout said, coming around to hand each of them a folder, “we’ve got some legal stuff to get through.”

  “I sign nothing until my lawyer looks at it.” Olivier’s sparse brows went up and his sour slit of a mouth pinched tighter as he examined the closed folder. He looked like he’d been handed a rag that smelled of ass.

  Another bubble of hysterical laughter tried to break free.

  Man, she was losing it.

  “Of course.” Unperturbed, Scout gave Essie a quick wink as she handed her a file, as if the other woman knew she was about to burst. “You must look out for your own interests, just as we have to look out for ours. For instance, Olivier, only after you had been chosen as a finalist did we discover that your skeleton-hands biker gloves were actually nothing new from you. You took an earlier jewelry design of your own making—the only saving grace that didn’t get you disqualified—added a glove to it and turned it in as your project. Because of that, we now have no plans to use that design, as we’re determined to brand all House Of Payne merchandise as original.”

  Olivier’s haughty expression melted and became something more along the lines of a deer caught in the headlights.

  “Had I been smart enough to foresee that one of our potential designers would be so lazy as to use his older work in an attempt to pass it off as original, I would have put that into the last stage’s agreement. If I had, you would have been disqualified as soon as I discovered what you’d done. As it is, what you pulled this last round was, technically speaking, legal, so we can’t scrape you off as a cheater. But thanks to you, we’ve now closed that loophole. There’s a new stipulation in the terms for this final round that requires each of you to turn in original designs of your own making.”

  “Cheater?” Olivier swelled up like an overblown balloon, something that brought him to the edge of the couch. Like magic, the man with the awesome boots and light eyes appeared between her chair and the couch. The videographer, meanwhile, snuck behind Scout while still shooting from around her. “I’m no cheater! I used my own work!”

  “Yeah, from two years ago.” Payne offered the same kind of smile a shark made before it chomped down on a nice juicy seal. She almost felt sorry for Olivier. “My teachers nailed my ass to the wall when I tried turning in book reports from the year before, so I don’t see why I should be any different. Try it again, and I’ll see how fast I can kick you out the door.”

  “Dizzy Izz would never dream of duplicating herself, so there’s no problem with this new agreement.” Snatching up a pen from the coffee table, Dizzy flipped the file open and signed with a flourish. “The eternal fountain of creativity never stops flowing for Dizzy Izz, so there’s no reason to fall back on yesterday’s glories. That goes against everything Dizzy I
zz stands for. I’m sure it goes against everything the great Payne stands for as well.”

  Now Payne was referred to in the third person. And he’d just become great. Where would the madness end?

  Essie ducked behind her sketchbook as a giggle escaped her, something she tried desperately to turn into a cough. The man beside her shifted, and for a moment she thought she might be in trouble. But when she glanced up at him, she found that his back was to her as he stood between her and the couch, blocking her view of the others.

  Better yet, his new position now blocked their view of her.

  Thanks, dude. Much appreciated.

  “I don’t know if that was a smart thing to do, Dizzy Izz.” Payne’s tone was mild while Essie struggled to pull herself together. “There are a few other items that are new to the agreement that you just signed, items that you might find restrictive, and I’m not just talking about the usual nondisclosure kind of stuff.”

  Olivier shifted in his seat. “Why all the new changes?”

  “The contest is now down to just you three. That means one of you is a future employee of the House. Our last designer didn’t work out because we didn’t evaluate his background closely enough. That’s a mistake we won’t make again.”

  “My fault entirely.” Scout raised her hand, looking mournful. “If I hadn’t been putting a wedding together, I’d like to think I would’ve noticed he was an antisocial, twitchy-eyed crackpot who’d been fired from every job he’d ever had because he was incapable of playing nicely with others.”

  “Which leads to the agreement you’re all holding now.” Crossing his sleeved-out arms in front of his chest, Payne nodded at the folder Dizzy held. “From this point on, we’re looking at you as potential employees, since that’s what one of you will be. Because of that, we’re asking all of you to submit to the usual stuff that any other employer would ask of you—a criminal background check, a drug test, that sort of thing. You all have probably been through that type of screening before.”

  Essie nodded, unsurprised. The University of Texas had the same mandatory checks in place for its employees, so it was no biggie.

  Payne’s next words, however, froze her in place.

  “But we’re also asking you to submit to a more personal background check, which will be conducted by an independent contractor for security purposes.”

  “What?” Olivier was back to looking like everything smelled bad, while Dizzy Izz did an impressive pearl-clutch. Essie only vaguely noted their reactions. She was too busy fighting against a tidal wave of icy, all-too familiar dismay.

  The past.

  Damn it, the past.

  Since she was sixteen, everyone had assured her that eventually she’d heal to the point where she’d be free of the past. And she had healed—at least physically. But when it came to the past, it kept proving itself to be a lot more resilient than anyone had led her to believe. It never stayed in the past where it belonged. No matter how hard she tried to be strong and positive and look to the future, the past was always right in her face.

  Trying to bury her spirit.

  Trying to kill her hope.

  She seriously hated the damn past.

  “We’re doing it for another reason as well,” Payne went on, while Essie struggled to even out her breathing. “I’ve thrown a shit-ton of promo behind this fashion contest, so just about everyone on the planet with an internet connection knows about it. Whoever wins this coveted spot at House Of Payne is going to be in a spotlight to end all spotlights. If you’ve got something unsavory in your background—” She might have snorted at that, though inside she was screaming in frustration, “—I’m not about to allow your tawdry shit to reflect badly on the House. So if your background’s a hot mess and you know it, you might as well get up and walk out that door right now.”

  Well.

  That was that, then.

  Without a word, Essie got to her feet.

  Scout’s intake of breath was audible. “You have twenty-four hours to decide.”

  Essie didn’t look her way. There was nothing to decide.

  She was out.

  Chapter Two

  Essie pushed through the double doors, numbness seeping into every crack in her soul. But the numbness was flawed. She wasn’t really numb, because it didn’t silence the echoes of horror from a long-ago nightmare that she’d been promised would one day end.

  That was bullshit. Her nightmare never ended.

  And damn it, that wasn’t fair.

  Thankfully, Twist and Angel weren’t waiting outside of Payne’s office, so she headed straight for the stairs. She dug for her car keys and momentarily panicked when she didn’t find them in her skirt’s pocket. She didn’t carry a purse; her self-defense instructors advised against it to minimize the risk of looking like an attractive target to human predators. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her heart thudding before her sweaty fingers closed around the key.

  Yes. Freedom.

  “Essie.”

  Crap.

  Warily she turned at Scout’s voice, then almost jumped out of her skin when she found that the man with awesome boots and light eyes was only a few steps away from her. How the hell had he been in her area without showing up on her stranger-danger radar?

  “Don’t go.” Scout flew down the last of the steps on her four-inch stilettos with a grace Essie could only envy. “I know that surprise threw you for a loop, but it won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “I’m done, Scout.” Essie tried not to wince at the rasp of her voice. She had an embarrassing tendency to sound like a rusty gate when she tensed up and her throat muscles had to work to make the correct sounds. Considering all the nerve damage she had, it was a miracle she could make any sound at all. “I should have been done when this job morphed into some kind of whacked-out competition. I’m bouncing back to Texas to see if I can get my old job back.”

  “Please don’t.” Distress stormed in the other woman’s eyes done up with perfect cat-eye eyeliner, a retro look that went great with her rockabilly neon pink hair. “Not only will you be condemning us to deal with Dizzy Izz of the third person and Olivier who seems to hate everyone, but what about your brother? Your family? They’re so happy to have you back. Don’t let this run you out of town.”

  That hit her like a punch to the gut. There was no denying how happy her parents had been when she’d finally found the strength to return to her hometown. But as far as she was concerned, this was a sign that it wasn’t the right time for her to come back.

  Maybe the time would never be right.

  “I’m sorry, Scout, but my brother was right. This crazy rollercoaster ride wasn’t what I signed up for when I left Texas. When people try to get a job, the world usually doesn’t know or care that it’s happening, and the results sure as hell aren’t splashed all over the internet for everyone to see.”

  “Your background won’t be splashed anywhere. You have my word on that.”

  “You don’t know that.” Essie tried to conjure up a breezy smile even as she took a step back toward the exit. “To be honest, I’m surprised I lasted this long. This just isn’t for me.”

  “He wins if you leave now.”

  She froze again, and her smile slid from her face. She didn’t have to guess what Scout was referring to, and that meant only one thing. Scout knew. Essie darted a feverish glance at the handsome, light-eyed man to see if he had any sort of reaction, but unlike her, he seemed supremely unmoved. She wasn’t even sure the dude knew how to blink.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but it’s true.” Another flash of distress crossed Scout’s expression. “You can take that win away from him by living your life to the fullest. With your talent, you can choose—”

  “I am choosing. I’m out.” Before Scout could say another word, Essie made her way across the lobby and out the door. Blistering summer heat enveloped her, making her itch to take off every suffocating layer of clothing in which she’d hidden herself. Instead, she
focused on getting to her dusty, sun-baked car, but after only a few steps she whirled to face the man who was no more than four steps behind her. “What?”

  “I’m following you to your car, ma’am.”

  Ma’am. Criminy, she just got ma’amed, and in a faint Southern drawl, no less. “Why?”

  “It’s standard security policy for House Of Payne. All unaccompanied females receive an escort to their car.”

  “So I was right about you. You are security.” She took a step back, keeping an eye on him. It bothered her that he could move so silently she hadn’t even been aware of his presence. In her world, that wasn’t allowed. “Thanks, but it’s unnecessary.” When he didn’t move at the dismissal, she tried again. “Have a nice day.”

  He still didn’t move. Apparently he’d turned into a statue. “It’s policy, ma’am.”

  “I can protect myself.” Now, anyway.

  “That’s nice, ma’am. Though somewhat hard to believe.”

  That pulled her up short when she would have continued on to her car. “Whoa. What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean you don’t seem to be the smartest person I’ve ever run into, so I’m not convinced you know what the hell you’re doing. Ma’am.”

  Essie’s eyes widened. What in the world…? “Excuse me?”

  “Over three hundred people tried out for the spot you just walked away from. I know that for a fact because I was the one in charge of verifying the correct legal names of every person who entered this contest. It’s a chance of a lifetime that you’re sitting on, and anyone in the world would gladly switch places with you. Knowing that, and knowing you’re bailing on it now when the finish line’s in sight, I can only conclude that you must be a special kind of stupid who can’t be trusted to get to her car without assistance.”

  “Holy freaking crap.” She couldn’t seem to get her jaw re-hinged, she was so flabbergasted. “Who the hell are you to talk to me that way?”