House of Payne: Rude (20 page)

“Branding,” came the flat reply. “Sass, would you say we’re a pretty well-known company?”

She blinked. “Um, yeah.”

“Famous, even?”

“Of course.”

“Internationally?”

“I can’t think of another tat studio in the world like the House.” Baffled, Sass frowned at Scout. “Do you have a point, or do you just need to have your ego stroked? I mean, I can stroke you, no prob. I just need to know how hard you like it.”

To her surprise, Scout didn’t crack a smile. “What are we known for, Sass?”

For crying out loud. “House Of Payne is known for being the best tattoo studio in the world. Everyone knows this.”

“Exactly. We’re known for tattoos.
Just
tattoos. That’s it.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“We could be so much more, because tattoos aren’t
just
tattoos. They’re
art
. Beautiful, significant, soul-stirring, wearable art, and we’re always trying to find new ways to present that art to the world. When it comes to tattoos, we’re good at that—the best. We’re the studio that everyone in the tattooing industry watches. But that’s a small world, Sass. If we expanded in the same way that Ed Hardy and Sailor Jerry have done, we’d be able to reach
everyone
, not just people who are ink fans.”

“Retail.” Sass’s brows drew together in confusion. “You’re talking about merchandise.”

“Exactly.”

“But I thought you already did that, both downstairs in the gift shop and online.”

Scout groaned and looked for a moment like she wanted to claw her eyes out. “We
do
, but it’s nothing special. We were hoping to get something special this past Fashion Week, and while the unveiling of Angel’s new ombre-watercolor tattoos was tremendous—seriously, her new tattooing technique and designs have gone over like s’mores at a campout—no one liked our new line of clothes. Do you know what that means?”

“You’re going to have a half-off sale?” She was
so
in, if that was the case.

“Sass, it means that for the first time
ever
, the House has had a flop. A very public flop. Critics in trade magazines the world over are sneering at House Of Payne’s attempt to broaden its market reach. Which… is kind of my fault.”

“Whoa, stop. How could that possibly be your fault?”

“Because
I’m
the one who came up with this idea to branch out. I’m also the one who chose the designer who came up with our latest line, but I didn’t really pay that much attention to it when it finally became a reality, because I had a wedding to plan and a honeymoon to go on when it all went down.”

“Oh.” Well aware that she wouldn’t convince Scout that there was enough blame to spread around, primarily to the designer, Sass shifted her focus. “That doesn’t explain why Payne seemed so pissed at that security guard who was in here now.”

“In a way it does, and it also leads to another thing we haven’t been able to get right around here—security.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Apparently last Friday was the day that Payne snapped, and by that I mean he called the designer in and terminated business relations with him. This dude was given the same contract that all the other artists are given here at the House—create what you want on your own time and premises, and whatever you’ve created belongs to
you
. But what you make for the House is copyrighted and owned by the House. Pretty clear, right?”

“Yeah. Crystal.”

“Well, it wasn’t clear to this designer dude, who threw a major hissy at being fired, and was heard to be screaming at Payne that he wanted all of ‘his’ creations back. That’s when Payne told him that he couldn’t have it back, because Payne was going to do a public burning of that merchandise and make a big media day out of it, complete with the roasting of marshmallows over the flaming carcass of this dude’s work.”

Sass winced. “Ouch.”

“First and foremost, Payne’s a temperamental artist. When his buttons are pushed in just the right way, he’s capable of acting as bad as this designer dude, who acted seriously,
seriously
bad.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did he do besides try to go against his contract?”

“The next day, Saturday, Payne was called in because our now-former designer had come into the House with a couple of friends, told the security guys that he was there to collect his belongings after being fired, and to please open the shop.”

Sass saw what was coming. “Oh my God, no.”

“Yep,” Scout nodded, mouth grim. “That asshole wiped out the entire fucking gift store. And the security team that Payne hired held the fucking door open for him.”

“That explains the ‘hold the door open’ comment Payne made when I came in.” Sass grimaced, shaking her head. “Hard to believe your security company helped in what sounds like grand theft.”

“They’ve been horrible, but we had to do something. One of our tattooists got attacked five feet from the door in the fucking parking lot just a few weeks ago.”

Sass whistled. “I’m almost beginning to think you guys need to hire Rude’s security firm in order to keep the peace around here.”

Scout’s eyes went huge. “Shit. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Whoa.” Sass held up a restraining hand. “I was kind of kidding. I don’t even know if they do little jobs like a private business.”

“
Little
? House Of Payne isn’t
little
.”

Good grief
. “Let me put it another way. PSI is currently flying their commandos in and out of Canada to prepare for some international science symposium. It’s a high-risk target for terroristic-minded zealots of every religion on the planet who dispute all things of a scientific nature.”

Scout rolled her eyes. “Okay, I get it. But we’re still not small potatoes. Would you at least talk to him about it? Like, immediately? We’ve got a lesser member of the Kuwaiti royal family slated to come in next week, and this place is about as secure as a leaky tub.”

“What I can do is head over to PSI and talk to the people who would know if they could do the House’s security, and that’s Mary Jane and her dad, the dude who started the company. The worst they can do is say is no and maybe send me in the direction of someone reputable who can do it,” she shrugged when Scout looked doubtful. “I’m not going to twist Rude’s arm into doing something the company doesn’t normally handle.”

The tension in Scout face melted into a wicked grin. “My, my, aren’t we protective of our darling new treasure?”

“Whatever.”

“Just tell Rude that if he can help me out here, I’ll do everything I can to help him finish up whatever planning he wants done on Mama Coco and Papa Bolo’s anniversary party. That should make your man happy.”

Maybe she was a bit protective of Rude, Sass thought as she stepped out of House Of Payne and made her way to her purple Mini. His work was important to him, and she didn’t want to come off as an interfering, pain-in-the-neck girlfriend when all she wanted was his happiness. If she could avoid putting pressure on him in any way, she would do—

“Hey, yo. Hold up a sec.”

Sass had seen the man out of the corner of her eye as she headed toward her car, and all her survival instincts went on high alert at his fluid, stalking gait. Too late she recalled that currently there was no security at the House; it was just her and this stranger heading toward her in an urban parking lot, where an employee of the House had been attacked mere weeks ago.

Shit
.

Not that the dude looked like the average petty criminal. He was dressed in a gray suit that looked to be a silk blend, with a sharp-eyed cut that marked it as Italian, tailored, and in her humble opinion, a wearable masterpiece. His overcoat was just as meticulously cut, probably cashmere, and matched the black of his shoes and the swank pair of bare-knuckle driving gloves he wore. A charcoal gray plaid scarf hung loosely around his neck, but it wasn’t enough to completely hide some kind of marking on the right side of his neck. His hair was dark and slicked back into a small ponytail at his nape, emphasizing the sculpted perfection of a clean-shaven face covered in sexy, reflective aviator-style shades.

But looks meant nothing when he‘d put himself on a collision course with her, and he seemed determined to make that collision happen.

Probably nothing more than a pamphlet-pusher, she thought to soothe her suddenly jangling nerves as she clicked the locks on her car ten feet away. An insanely well-dressed pamphlet-pusher. Who wanted to talk to her. While she was alone in a parking lot with no security.

Okay, nope.

“Wait.” Out of the corner of her eye she watched Mr. Hot Italian Suit reach inside his coat, a practiced, oddly alarming move. “Stop right there, Sass, I need to talk to you—”

Sass.

Lips pressed tightly together, she dived into her car and locked the door, roared the engine to life and got the hell out of there.

Chapter Nineteen

She wouldn’t overreact, Sass thought, jaw knotted as she hurried past the concrete planters fronting PSI. Nothing alarming had happened, after all. Weird, but not alarming. A total stranger who gave off bad vibes approaching her in a deserted parking lot and calling her by name was definitely weird.

But not alarming.

Maybe she should have talked to him. Maybe she should have gone against her instincts telling her that he was bad news, and listened to what he had to say. He knew her name, after all. He could have been friendly, or maybe just an ordinary process server.

Though, in all honesty, she doubted process servers could afford designer cashmere coats. And her instincts for danger would forever be highly attuned, thanks to her background. Sensing danger would always be a part of her survival makeup.

Even more to the point, Mr. Hot Italian Suit hadn’t called her by
name
.

No.

Her pen name on her cookbook, blog and nutrition columns was S.A. Stone. Her legal name was Sage Ambrosia Stone. If anyone was serving papers on her—though she couldn’t imagine why, unless a shared recipe had somehow wound up murdering someone—they wouldn’t know that she didn’t go by her legal name or her pen name.

Mr. Hot Italian Suit had addressed her by the nickname that only the people closest to her knew—Sass.

What the hell did that mean?

Mary Jane’s face lit up the moment Sass came into view. “There she is, my tiramisu goddess. Will you think badly of me if I confess that I ate the tiramisu first and the carbonara second?”

Sass felt her mouth stretch into a smile, just like she told it to, while her heart continued to thud like a fist against her ribs. “You’re not going to get any judgment from me. Life is too short to wait for dessert.”

“Exactly! See, I knew I liked you.” Mary Jane smiled up at her, her hand paused on the phone. “Should I try calling Rudy to the front, or did he forget his phone again?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to talk to Rude. I was wondering if PSI did security for private businesses like, for instance, House Of Payne in The Loop? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it…?”

Mary Jane snorted. “Honey, do I look like I live under a rock? I think all our guys get their ink done there. But even if they didn’t, I’d still know about the greatest tattoo parlor in the world, and that it’s right here in our fair city.”

“Excellent.” Sass let out a short breath, relieved. Maybe the security experts at PSI would be more inclined to help a place they did business with. “The thing is, I just came from there. I was visiting Rude’s and my former foster sister who helped build the place with Sebastian Payne, and… well, they’re currently having some security issues.”

“What kind of security issues?”

“The usual, I guess.” The one thing she didn’t want to do was blab about internal problems at the House and potentially undermine any confidence the public had for it. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure that you all contracted with private businesses. Your work seems to be more involved with really big contracts, like governments and federal law enforcement agencies.”

“And small businesses,” came the quick reply. “The reason we’re lucky enough to get the bigger contracts is because so many of our guys have contacts within governments and militaries throughout the world. But we’re contracted with several small businesses as well, and House Of Payne would be something that I think everyone here would be more than interested in protecting.”

That almost made her laugh. “Protect the ink at all costs?”

“Well, yeah, but this also kind of has a whiff of family to it. You and Rudy were foster siblings with someone who helped create House Of Payne, and it’s obvious you’re still like family. That kind of thing is taken very seriously around here. Your family becomes our family, and no one messes with our family. Know what I mean?”

That touched something deep inside Sass, despite her attempts to put all her emotions in Nowhere Place-lockdown. “Thanks, Mary Jane.”

“Don’t thank me for telling the truth. Now, do you need me to contact your old foster sister, or do you want to give her our number and let her handle it?”

“Putting it in Scout’s lap and letting her go from there would probably be for the best. That’s who will be contacting you later today from House—” The sound of the door opening behind her had the words choking off even as her head snapped around.

Hm. Apparently she was still on edge. For a second she’d been convinced she was going to find Mr. Hot Italian Suit standing behind her.

A paunchy, well-dressed older man strode in like he owned the joint, flanked by chiseled, granite-faced guys who looked like they would be just the type to work for the private security company, or possibly wrestle bears. They nodded at Mary Jane without speaking; in turn, she rose from her chair. “Hang around for just a sec, Sass, and I’ll get that contact information from you. Gentlemen.” She smiled, raising her calm, clear voice. “Please follow me to the conference room, where there’s French press coffee and pastries awaiting you, and we’ll get started right away.”

Mary Jane and Scout were definitely cut from the same cloth, Sass thought, shaking her head as the party was led into the depths of PSI.

Once they were gone, the anxiety lurking at the edge of her mind oozed back in. Unable to help herself, she moved closer to the glass doors to peek out. Cars were parked here and there on both sides of the street, something she’d noted when she drove in, but she had no clue if any cars had shown up since her arrival. She tried to peer into their interiors and found herself cursing the invention of tinted windows. Sure, they kept the sun out and prevented upholstery fade, and that was awesome. But how was a person supposed to see whether or not a well-dressed and potentially dangerous man was waiting to jump out and attack?

“You’re Sass, right?”

Her muffled yelp and hop away from the deep male voice was instinctive and about half a second later, utterly mortifying. Clapping a hand over her mouth before she could make even more of a fool of herself, Sass snapped around to see she’d been joined by the man with the blue x-ray eyes and dark mahogany hair. And much to her irritation, his eyes were just as all-seeing as they had been when he’d first glanced her way.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He looked like he was about to reach out a hand to her, then checked the action when she shifted away from both him and the glass door. “Mary Jane wanted me to look after you until she got back. You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” She retrieved her cover smile and hoped it didn’t look too frayed while her heart tried to beat her to death. “Anyone ever tell you that you move like a cat? Very cool ability.”

“It comes in handy. Though I wasn’t really trying to do that now.”

“Must come naturally to you, then.” Clearing her throat, she tried to appear casual and not about to jump out of her skin. “So. I’m Sass, obviously. And you are…?”

“Lucien Keyes, though I prefer Luke.” Tucking his hands casually into the back pockets of jeans that fit him way too well to be legal, he glanced out at the street beyond the glass. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. As you can see for yourself.” Shit, she was babbling.

He took her up on the invitation and let those all-seeing eyes do their thing before he turned them back to her. “Looks like nothing to me.”

It was good to hear his professional assessment. “Yep. I guess
nothing
in your line of work is a good thing, yeah?”

“I’m a real fan of nothing. Which explains why I’m not thrilled with you and your jumpiness.”

Sass’s attention, which had drifted back to the street, returned to him. The judgmental, almost unpleasant way he regarded her shut everything down inside like a switch being thrown. She knew that look; she’d seen it in Rude’s eyes the first time they’d met. She’d seen it wherever she’d gone, her whole damned life.

This guy didn’t want her there.

Okay. Fine.

She’d long ago mastered the ability to not give a shit about that.

He regarded her for another handful of seconds, before he tilted his head. “Wow. That was something to watch. Never seen anything like it before.”

What the hell
. “You seem to enjoy talking in riddles. That’s nice. Everyone should have a hobby.”

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. “My riddles aren’t too difficult to figure out. I don’t like your jumpiness because it means you feel there’s something nearby to be jumpy about. And watching your shields go up was something to watch, because it was a visible wave that went over you, and now you’re nothing but a blank wall. I’ve never seen anything like that. You’re quite impressive.”

“And you’re quite the charmer, making me feel all special with that statement. Thanks for that.”

A huff that wasn’t quite a laugh escaped him while he continued to study her. Never in her life had she wanted to poke someone in the eye like she did at that moment. “And she becomes more impressive, still. Not just shields, but spiky defensive weaponry, too.”

This guy was seriously starting to work on her very last nerve. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to pick me up or piss me off. You’re saying I’m defensive?”

“I am. Question is, why? What’s there to be defensive about?”

“No, the real question is, if you think I’m being defensive, why are you standing here taking it? You have the option of walking away, so why don’t you go ahead and do that?” As nice as he was to look at, she’d be more than happy to see him walking away.

“Must’ve been something big to make you so jumpy, and now so defensive. Maybe I should call a general alarm.”

“Feel free, since I have no idea what that is.”

“It’s basically hitting a button under Mary Jane’s desk. That button activates a building-wide alarm that musters everyone to the front, including Rudy Panuzzi. I’m sure he’d want to know what has his lady so skittish.”

For a second she froze, but only a second. “How would that look to the client Mary Jane just took back to the conference room? A general alarm over a nervous girlfriend. Here’s a pro tip for you—panic isn’t a good look when you’re trying to be a badass mercenary.”

His smile was a sudden flash, like a dagger in the dark. “So you admit it. You
are
nervous about something.”

Fuck it
. “Some dude whom I’ve never seen before approached me in a parking lot, wearing about eight grand in threads and calling me by my nickname. I buzzed out of there, but I’ve been feeling like I’ve got eyes on me ever since. Now kindly go away and leave me to my so-called skittishness, because apparently I’ve managed to pick up a super-rich, super-hot stalker with, it has to be said, killer taste in men’s fashion.”

All traces of amusement vanished. He reached out to herd her away from the door while giving the street one more thorough examination. She stepped out of his reach before he made contact, which seemed fine with him, as long as she stayed away from the door. “Did you get a good look at him?”

Did he not hear that she’d calculated his wardrobe cost? Then again, he was a guy. Maybe he thought all women did that naturally. “Depends on your definition of
good
.”

“Describe him.”

“Don’t you have something else to do around here? Like, I don’t know…work?”

“Mary Jane told me to look after you, so I’m looking after you. What’d he look like?”

She sighed and resisted the urge to go back to the door to peer out. “Late twenties or early thirties. Height’s around six-two…maybe six-one, actually, just a fraction shorter than Rude. He had a long-legged stride, like a long-distance runner’s. Olive complexion, but not too dark—about a shade lighter than mine. Gray suit, custom-tailored to fit, definitely Italian, probably Brioni. Black cashmere topcoat, gray and black Burberry scarf, sexy black driving gloves with knuckle holes—I’m thinking lambskin. Dark brown or black hair, straight, pulled back into a short pony, no piercings that I could see, but a hint of something—either a birthmark or the beginnings of a tat—on the right side of his neck peeking out from under his scarf. Clean-shaven except for discreet sideburns, a chin dimple and aviator shades, probably designer. And when he called out to me and told me to hold up a sec, it sounded like pure Chicago streets. He’s a native, I’m sure of it.”

He took all of that in without blinking before his chest heaved with a closed-mouth sigh. “We might have to call a general alarm, after all.”

The sun was disappearing in the west and Rude was still so enraged he couldn’t get his fists unclenched without conscious will, a fact he discovered as he headed for the Safe Zone. This area, built within the cavernous building, was PSI’s version of a safe house, used on the rare occasions when they needed to keep someone close to home for their own protection.

Never once had he imagined it would be used to protect one of his own.

Turning down a narrow, windowless hallway, he moved to the locked door at the end of it, swiped his ID card next to a keypad by the door’s handle, then punched in the appropriate code. The green light blinked on, the lock popped, and he opened the thick, bulletproof door to be hit with the sound of a television turned to a sitcom with a laugh track going full blast. He glanced around the room he’d seen on a CCTV screen in the control room only moments ago before he’d had Weitzler and Havlik turn it off, disliking that Sass was being watched by anyone other than him.