House Of Payne: Scout (4 page)

“I’m sure you had some kind of nickname when you were a kid.”

“No.”

“Really?” Briefly she remembered Frank Bournival, her benefactor, remarking that her nickname was a good sign; it meant someone had cared enough about her to give her one. “You’ve never been called anything but Ivar?”

A hint of something—was it bitterness?—flashed through his eyes before the mask reappeared. “Nothing that could be repeated in public.”

Interesting. “I’d say Frenchie, but that makes me think of a character in the movie
Grease
, and she was kind of a bimbo. And also, you’re Canadian, so that won’t fly. What’s your favorite junk food?”

He thought for a moment. “Poutine.”

She stared at him. “I don’t even know what that is.”

The last vestiges of the mask vanished with his grin, and the real Ivar shining through was so breathtaking she thought she might need CPR. “I think you would like it.”

“I’m not even sure I could spell it. How do you like the sound of Canuck?”

“Completely awful.”

When the man was right, he was right. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“Flirt with beautiful women.” To prove it, he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. In an instant, Scout’s heart knocked against the wall of her chest in an apparent search for weak spots. Normally she would have enjoyed the rush—he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever fantasized about, after all—but she was far from the enjoyment zone. This was the second time he’d inspired this crazy, toe-curling reaction. Not a good thing when he was also the guy who tripped every single one of her internal alarms.

His mouth brushed along her knuckles.

Her toes curled so much her foot began to cramp.

Oh, man. This was
seriously
not good.

“I know you regularly keep company with the most beautiful women in the world, so crap like that is seriously not going to work with me, pal.” Firmly, so that neither one of them could doubt her, she yanked her hand free while flexing her toes to fight off the cramp. “Unless, of course, you want to be tagged with the name Romeo.”

“Would that make you my Juliet?”

“Call me Juliet, and I’ll give you another bloody nose.”

His head snapped back in surprise. Too late, she realized the swan-like women inhabiting his elegant world probably didn’t threaten to throw down. “Why? I thought Juliet was a tragic heroine whom everyone adored.”

“Ugh, are you kidding me? Juliet was a weak-willed sap who offed herself rather than sucking it up and moving on. Life is way different in South Deering, know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“You freaking
celebrate
every day you wake up with a heartbeat, because that means you’ve lived through yet another night without getting shot, knifed or burned up in your own bed. To someone like me, life is all about survival, get it? That moron Juliet didn’t even
try
. That makes her weak, and that’s why you’ll get a bloody nose if you even think about calling me by that name.”

“An interesting viewpoint.” Those arctic eyes glittered over her as if he’d never seen her before. “But I was thinking more along the lines of romance, rather than life or death. It is said that every woman is a romantic.”

“I repeat, South Deering, from the neighborhood of Slag Valley. Romance isn’t spoken there.”

“But you are still, most definitely, a woman.” Her hand was once again confiscated, this time to be molded into the cup of his palm while his fingers curled around hers. “What is it that makes you weak in the knees, Scout? Every woman has something they cannot resist.”

She looked straight into those jewel-like eyes and knew that if she stared into them for much longer, she wouldn’t be able to resist
him
.

What a terrifying thought.

When she didn’t answer, his hand squeezed hers. “Do you not have an answer for me?”

“Why would anyone share a weakness?” It took a monumental effort, but she managed to tear her gaze away from him while Leo approached with a laden tray. “Besides, crap like that doesn’t really exist in my world. Yours maybe, but not mine. I prefer the ugly truth of reality to all that rosy-hued mumbo-jumbo like romance.”

“I would believe this, except your fingers are now holding onto mine. Quite tightly, I might add.”

She jolted just as Leo slid the tray onto their table. She would have snatched her hand out of his to make a point, but Ivar denied her the satisfaction by letting her go as he looked up at Leo.

“Coffee for the hero, another tea for Miss I’m-Too-Cool-To-Drink-Coffee, and homemade blueberry muffins for you both, on the house.”

Still flustered, Scout glanced up. “Thanks, Leo. You didn’t have to do that.”

“When one of my nicest customers gets mugged on my doorstep, I gotta do something. For four years, she comes in and orders the same thing,” he added to Ivar in a confidential tone. “Extra-hot English breakfast tea with room for milk. Nothing else, but she tips like she ordered the whole freakin’ menu. Now I get a chance to cram some real food into her, show her what my kitchen can produce, so I’m going for it.”

Scout rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing personal. I’m usually too busy to eat when I come in here.”

“Yeah, but you’re not too busy to eat now, so shaddup and get to it.” He nodded at the muffin, looking like he was going to stand there until she sucked up every last crumb. “Tell me how wonderful it is. Go on, already.”

“For crying out loud.” But to make him happy, she pinched off a chunk of muffin covered in sugar and browned to perfection. The tartness of the berries and the sweetness of the muffin melted in her mouth, and she had to close her eyes to savor it all the more. “Wow. Okay, you win. I’m a good cook, but these muffins are the
bomb
.”

“I knew it.” Leo beamed. “I’m just sorry I don’t have a camera to record this for posterity.”

“Do not worry about it.” Ivar shifted beside her and as she took another bite she heard the faint sound effect of a camera shutter clicking. Surprised, she jerked around to find him pointing his smartphone at her. “If you want, I can send it to you.”

Leo popped a thumbs-up. “Yeah? Thanks, pal. Hey, I like this guy, Scout. He’s okay. Keep him around, yeah?”

“It’s just business between us, Leo,” she hastened to say, mortified. Mainly because the thought of keeping Ivar Fournier around was all too appealing, and it was definitely something she shouldn’t want. On the surface he seemed to be the picture of Mr. Perfect, but he was also the guy who hid behind a mask. If that wasn’t a major danger sign, she didn’t know what was. Thanks to Vishous, she’d learned long ago not to ignore the signs, especially when they came from someone as obviously out of her league as Ivar was.

Then again…

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, she thought, pinching off more blueberry muffin. Maybe keeping Ivar close was a good idea. Just to be certain he wasn’t a threat to the House.

And for no reason other than that.

Chapter Four

“Bar none, vanilla imported from Mexico is the best. For real.” Scout watched her friend and former foster sister Sass pop a piece of sugar cookie into her mouth, her dark eyes closing as she savored the goodness. “And the Greek yogurt addition changes the texture for the better. Damn, this is good. I’m going to have to limit myself to this one cookie, or I won’t be able to fit into my leather spank-me pants tonight.”

“If anything, you need a couple cookies to put some meat on your bones.” Scout snagged up a pair of oven mitts and retrieved the last tray of cookies. The sweet scent of baked deliciousness perfumed Sass’s tiny kitchen, a scent that never failed to fill her with the warm fuzzies. “And you’re not actually wearing spank-me pants to Mama Coco and Papa Bolo’s anniversary party, are you?”

“Hell yeah, I’m wearing them.”

“Mama Coco’s gonna crap a kitten.”

“Yeah, but not for long. And my latest thinks my ass looks fine in all that tight, shiny leather.” Glancing over her shoulder, Sage Ambrosia Stone, or Sass, checked out her booty, currently covered in a worn pair of velour track pants. The matching zip-up hoodie was form-fitting and showed off a spritely body that would have done a ballerina proud. “I did make him promise to keep his hands to himself while Mama Coco’s around. If he’s good, he’ll be rewarded later.”

“And if he’s not?”

“I’ll kick him to the curb faster than you can say buh-bye.”

“Thought as much.” Unsurprised, Scout slid cookie after cookie onto a cooling rack. That was classic Sass. From the time Scout had met her in what wound up being their last foster home—the home of Coco and Sergio “Bolo” Panuzzi—that was how Sass rolled. She was the epitome of  love-‘em-and-leave-‘em, with a restlessness in her eyes that gave the impression that even when she wasn’t moving, she still somehow had one foot out the door.

“The relationship’s going flat anyway, so we’ll be going our separate ways soon.” She lifted a disinterested shoulder and broke off another piece of cookie. “But I’ve decided to keep him around long enough to get through the party. Do you think that’s bad?”

“Honey, he’s going to get fed prime rib and champagne, and have one last chance to grope you in your spank-me pants on the dance floor. He should send you a thank-you card.”

“Good point. What about you? Who’s your plus-one this year now that Payne’s got himself a lady?”

“Nobody.”

Sass waited a beat. “Haha. Very funny, babe.”

“I’m serious.”

“You can’t be. I mean… that
has
to be a joke.”

“Nope.” Scout glanced over at the other woman, only to find Sass’s eyes rounded in horror. “What the hell, Sass? Why are you looking at me like I just cussed out Mother Teresa?”

“Holy shit, you
are
serious. Okay, don’t panic. I know plenty of guys, let me set you up—”

“It’s not the end of the world to go stag to an event.” She turned and hung up the mitts next to the oven. “I’ve been so busy planning this bash that I didn’t have time to think about scrounging up a date.”

“If this is about Payne getting a new squeeze—”

“Oh my God, you did
not
just say that.” Scout turned to stare at her. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Well, you guys have been together almost from the time I’ve known you.”

“Not like
that
.” Then she reconsidered. “Okay, we were really awkward fuck-buddies around the time his mom died and I felt bad for him, and he was in a weird place. But seriously,
no
. Just no.” The very thought brought on a full-blown ick-face, because Payne was like family. They got along great, just as long as she didn’t have to put up with his impulsive, not-completely-rooted-in-reality artistic side twenty-four hours a day. He was the grand visionary while she was the grounded pragmatist, and that was why their relationship worked. She didn’t have an artistic bone in her body, no doubt because she preferred to look at the world through the eyes of a hardcore realist. Dreams were what happened when she was asleep. Everything else became reality because she chased it down and beat the crap out of it until the goal was achieved.

The way she saw it, that was the only way to live.

Sass gave her a worried look. “I can’t believe you’re actually going to do it. You’re really going to go stag to the party this year.”

“So what? It’s no big deal.”

“Girl, have you forgotten how Mama Coco and Papa Bolo are? Whenever one of us shows up without a significant other, they freak out like it’s their fault you haven’t happily paired off like you’re one of the Ark animals. They take it as a personal rejection of the Panuzzi family lifestyle.”

Realization washed over Scout in a slow, icy wave of horror. “Oh. Fuck.”

Sass rolled her eyes upward. “Finally, she sees the light.”

“I can’t believe I forgot about that.”

“How could you possibly forget about that nuclear-family garbage they’re so convinced is the thing that’ll make all of us strays happy? Everyone knows we’ve all got to put on a show of
normal
at these get-togethers.”

“Shit shit shit
shit
.” She’d been so wrapped up in piecing together the perfect anniversary party that she forgot to take care of the most fundamental rule of at least appearing happy with a plus-one in tow. With a growl, she began slinging cookies that had already cooled into a plastic container. “I’m
doomed
. Maybe I can call in sick at the last minute.”

“It’s your turn to throw their anniversary party this year. You can’t call in sick.”

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” Snapping the lid shut on the cookies, she just stopped herself from dragging her hands through her hair. It was up in twin victory rolls, so messing it up wasn’t an option. “I’m so screwed, girl. Oh, my God.”

“No. Well...kind of, yeah.” Sass did some hair-pulling of her own by tucking long dark strands of straight hair behind her ears, making her look like a twelve-year-old. “There’s got to be someone you can call.”

“There isn’t.”

“What about the psycho guy at work? Doesn’t he owe you?”

“Twist?” Scout shuddered delicately. “Yeah, he owes me, but I’d rather go stag than go with him.”

“Yikes. That bad?”

“Only when he’s conscious. Or not concentrating on his work,” she added fairly. “The man’s a genius when it comes to Goth body art. Not my personal taste, the whole darker-is-better thing, but he’s got a huge following and he’s arguably the best at what he does. Which probably explains why Payne hasn’t fired his ass after all the shit he’s pulled.”

Her former foster sister scrunched her nose in irritation. “Okay, so no Payne and no Twist. Anyone else? How about someone with a regular name, like Bob or Mike?”

“Why would I know anyone like that?”

“Right. What was I thinking?”

“Who do I know who could be my plus-one at a moment’s notice?” For a full second her brain helpfully coughed up the image of Ivar. But that came just a little too close to playing with fire, considering what her instincts told her about him. “This is pointless. The only people I know have weird names and are unavailable. Feel free to call me pathetic.”

“Pathetic,” Sass said, obedient for the first and only time in her life. Then she shook her head. “Let’s look through my phone and go guy-shopping, what do you say? I have pics on most of them and some are hot enough to make you want to strip down until you’re wearing nothing but a smile.”

“Sounds great, but I’m not that desperate.”

“The party starts in three hours.”

Oh, man
. “Okay, I
am
desperate, but I’ll figure it out.”

But by the time Scout made it back to her place, showered and changed into a white wiggle dress with cherries all over it, the answer to her predicament hadn’t miraculously appeared. The real problem was that every time she tried to figure out who she could bribe, coerce or otherwise trick into being her date for the evening, Ivar and his exquisitely chiseled face popped into her head.

No. Just no.

Damn it, she had to find someone,
fast
. But not Ivar. Since she didn’t know why she felt she couldn’t trust the man, bringing him into her personal world would be like inviting an animal that may or may not be rabid into the dance hall.

So, no Ivar.

No matter how many times he popped into her head.

“Darius, I don’t suppose your wife would mind if I borrowed you for an evening, would she? I need to drag someone along to a family get-together in the worst way.” She stopped at the security desk in her building’s lobby and handed over her valet ticket to Zed, who looked happy to bail once she popped her question. Usually she parked her own car, but with her hands full of cookies and party decorations, she needed curb service and a helping hand.

Darius, one of her favorite doormen, bugged his eyes out at her. “I don’t even go to my
own
family get-togethers. Why would you want to torture me with yours? What did I ever do to you?”

“I’m so screwed.” With a groan, she dropped her forehead to the high counter. “I need a warm body as a plus-one, like,
immediately
. I’m thinking I’m going to have to either call an escort service or kidnap someone off the street.”

Darius tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. “Do they have guys at escort services?”

“No idea, but at this point I’d be happy to rent anyone with a pulse.”

“Renting a person. Is that legal?”

“Since I’m also open to kidnapping, I think it’s pretty obvious that at this point, I’m not too picky about legalities.”

She heard Darius snort without a shred of sympathy. The jerk. “Wait. What about your nosebleed guy?”

Her head came up as if it worked on a spring. Ivar again. “No.”

“If you’re really that desperate, you might want to rethink that.”

“Why?”

“Because he just walked through the front door.”

Her attention snapped around to the building’s entrance. Sure enough, Ivar was making a beeline right for her, looking coolly polished in tailored dove gray pants and a matching slim-fit vest, a blue long-sleeved button-down shirt with a starchy white collar and a casually knotted navy silk tie. With gleaming leather boots and gold watch strapped to his wrist, he looked like he was ready to hit the runway.

Or a party.

“Kidnapping it is,” she muttered.

Ivar had attended far too many family gatherings to be happy about going to another one. The only good thing about finding himself at this particular get-together was that this family wasn’t his. The moment Scout had told him she needed a date for a family celebration, his blood had iced over and it hadn’t thawed out yet. From his experience, hell’s cruelty was usually unleashed when biologically related people were forced to meet within the confines of the same room.

That he’d agreed to go was a measure of his desperation to get what he needed from Scout.

It was odd, though. After an hour of what he’d thought would be a tension-filled hate-fest, there still hadn’t been a single cruel comment, moment of poorly veiled hate or agonized silence of unbearable tension.

The Panuzzi family was clearly very different from his.

With his social mask firmly in place, he looked around the venue that had been chosen for the anniversary party. The cavernous dance hall wasn’t much to look at from the outside—just a long, industrial-type box of a building that could have passed for a warehouse. But on the inside, two dance floors were ringed with linen-covered banquet tables and draped in lush garlands of flowers. A large stage with a hyper, micced-up DJ—currently exhorting the crowd to join in something called the Electric Slide—stood opposite a busy open bar. Overhead, a disco ball, soft lights and multi-colored spotlights assaulted the eyes without mercy. In one area off to the side of a crowded dance floor, a kitschy photo booth had been set up for the partygoers, and beyond that, tacked up on the wall was a massive piece of heavy-duty paper. On this paper someone had painted the depiction of a leafless tree at least six feet tall, its many bare branches stretching out in all directions. Beside this tree mural were three tables marked
Biological
,
Strays
and
Friends
. Each table had its own roll of paper towels, a box of wet wipes and a bowl containing what Scout had told him was water-soluble finger paint, a different color for each table. As he watched, partygoers chose whatever color described them, dipped a hand into the paint and created a “leaf” on the Panuzzi family tree with their handprint.

The mess it made was shocking. No one in his family would even dream of doing such a thing. But people here were lining up to make messes of their hands, the wall and, in some cases, smearing it on their faces like war paint.

And laughing about it.

How bizarre.

The guests of honor—an elderly couple with the improbable names of Papa Bolo and Mama Coco—were busy holding court at the head table lavishly decorated in white string lights and yards and yards of flower garlands. Again he tried to imagine his grandmother in such a setting, surrounded by family and friends who constantly streamed by to visit. He couldn’t do it. Family events at the chateau, with its intricately painted murals in the formal dining room, high chandeliers and gardens where not even a blade of grass was out of place, were icily civilized. Silent servants served seated guests at a long table designed to keep everyone at a distance from each other. Small talk was cool, calm and edged with poison.