Falling In (10 page)

She found herself relaxing into the flow of the game and growing less intimidated. Chess wasn't that hard.

Suddenly, Lucian jumped a number of pieces with his knight and took her pawn. “Hey!”

“It was bound to happen, Evelyn. You can't expect to challenge me without retaliation. You owe me an item of clothing.”

She huffed and removed her shoe. “They were hurting me anyway,” she said snidely and moved her knight, mimicking his strategy.

His bishop slid out of nowhere and captured her knight.

“Son of a bitch!”

She bolstered her confidence with a lot of mental smack talk, but knew she was losing her shirt. Literally. It took courage she wasn't sure she possessed to actually go through with this and not forfeit. Her pride told her not to be a chicken, but her conscience told her she was about to be humiliated in more ways than one.

Would he draw back when he saw her skinny shoulders or unspectacular breasts? She wasn't used to having such personal parts of herself scrutinized. She wasn't used to having herself scrutinized period. But since meeting Lucian Patras that seemed to be what her every word and action brought about, scrutiny. How would Lucian perceive her? She didn't know why she cared, but she did. For the first time in a long time, she pretended a level of confidence she didn't possess.

He laughed and her other shoe came off. The game continued and Scout regretted her earlier cockiness. She was soon sitting across from Lucian in her panties and shirt. Each item of clothing peeled away with a bit of her dignity.

“Don't forget the power of your queen, Evelyn.”

She scowled at him. “Maybe I don't want you to take off your pants.”

“That's fine. I can quite enjoy your naked body while I'm clothed.”

He was so arrogant. She hadn't taken a single piece of his and she wanted to more than anything. Every opportunity she found to advance on his pieces put her queen at risk.

“You know,” he said contemplatively. “When the game gets too complicated, sometimes you have no choice but to sacrifice your queen.”

“Never,” she hissed vehemently.

Eventually, it didn't matter what she did. Lucian captured her queen. “Checkmate.”

She stared at him, brow puckered and pathetic. Her eyes glazed and her lip quivered. Shamelessly, she evoked his pity and hated herself for it. All she had left was her newly discovered article of clothing called a camisole, and panties, and at the moment that meant more than her pride.

He laughed. “Oh, Ms. Keats, really? Here I thought you to be a fair opponent.”

She blinked at him and he sighed.

“Very well. It's late anyway and I have a meeting downtown first thing in the morning. You played a good first game.”

She was shocked he was letting her go, but also incredibly grateful. She smiled and then his words sunk in. “What should I do tomorrow?”

“I've made you an appointment at the spa for ten.”

“What about work?”

He frowned. “Ms. Jones is expecting you Wednesday morning. You'll work five hours then and five hours on Thursday.”

The concession he was forced to make regarding her job still apparently bothered him.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, brushing off her gratitude. “Get dressed. I'll walk you to your room.”

Standing, he stretched as she quickly replaced her clothing. Glaring down at the spiked heels, she opted to walk to her room barefoot. It was after midnight and she was exhausted.

Lucian escorted her to the thirtieth floor and handed her a keycard when they reached her room. She couldn't believe she was actually going to sleep in one of the Patras suites. As the door opened, she gasped. She'd cleaned these suites several times, each one was the same, but this one was somehow different.

Beyond the numerous boxes from the boutique, stacked along the wall were beautiful arrangements of flowers. The room was filled with the soft fragrance of lilies. Scout laughed and went to admire the flowers, caressing the delicate petals and sniffing their gentle scent. Turning, she found Lucian watching her, a slight grin on his face.

“You did this?” she asked, an unfamiliar buttery sensation curling inside of her.

“I didn't know what flowers you liked. I see lilies were a good choice.”

“They're beautiful. It'll be like sleeping in a fairytale garden.”

The bed was turned down and a soft silk nightgown was laid out at the foot of it. This would be her reward, her one indulgence for trading a bit of her dignity to be here. At the moment, seeing such opulence offered to her, she suffered no form of regret.

Her fingers ran over the material, softer than a whisper. She had never slept in something like that. What if there was a fire and she had to get out of the building quickly?

Lucian cleared his throat. “I'll be in and out all morning and probably won't see you until just before our dinner tomorrow night. Everything you need you should have. It's a formal affair, so one of the gowns we bought today should do. The girls at the salon have their instructions and if you need anything else I've left you the number to my assistant, Seth. He can answer any questions you have.”

After the intimate way they had spent their evening, his instructions struck her as awfully businesslike, jolting her conscience back to awareness of their arrangement. She nodded and stepped back, taking on what she hoped signified a more professional and refined position. Her expression sobered.

“Thank you for everything.” She wondered if she should address him as Mr. Patras now that they were being formal again.

“I'll see you tomorrow. I expect you at my suite, ready to go, by six. Latch the door behind me.”

Remaining a safe distance behind, she followed him to the door. He stepped into the hall and hesitated as if he wished to say something. “Good night, Evelyn.”

“Good night.”

He turned away and Scout shut the door. Gently closing the latch, she exhaled for probably the first time since that morning. Had it really only been one day since she agreed to this? It had been the longest day of her life. And the strangest. And, if she was honest, the headiest.

She went to the bathroom and washed up. There was a basket of toiletries. She brushed her teeth and even flossed with the fancy little flossers provided. Her heavy eyes stared at the Jacuzzi tub longingly. She was so tired she'd likely drown if she took a bath. Sighing, she turned and went to the bedroom.

The empty drawer slid quietly open.
Drawers!
Never had any of them before.
How bizarre her situation was.

A pang of guilt skewered her when she thought about Parker. He was likely worried sick about her. Lucian said her appointment was at ten. Scout was usually up way earlier than that. Her guilt eased as she decided she'd go see Parker in the morning and explain everything then.

She gently took off her delicately sewn, expensive clothing and laid it out in an empty drawer. Her toes tapped as she eyeballed the little nightgown on the bed. In her old bag she found her worn-in jeans, slid them over her legs and attached her money belt to her waist, then slid the nightgown over top. It was so soft it was like being nude.

Her tired body climbed into the bed and crawled under the heavy covers.

“Holy fucking shit!” she moaned. She was sleeping on a cloud.

Chapter 10

Temper

Scout woke at five, her body used to getting up for work. The first thing she did was sigh blissfully when she realized she wasn't dead and the reason her body didn't ache was simply that she'd slept on the most decadent bed in the world. Scrambling up, she rushed into the bathroom and filled the tub.

In the basket of toiletries she found bubble bath, bath salts, shower gels, soaps, some gritty stuff she couldn't read the name of, and various other potions and lotions. She hadn't a clue how to use such things or in what order they should be used, so she simply waited for the tub to fill and dumped them inside.

When she pressed the button for the jets they roared to life and everything began to churn and bubble. She hastily removed her clothes and climbed in the warm soothing bath.

Sweet mother of all that is holy!

With her body in the water, she giggled. The soaps and salts gave the water a satin feel. She simply luxuriated in it for a long while. As the water grew cold, her pruned fingers unplugged the drain and filled the tub with fresh water. The dirt washed away from her skin and it was like nothing she ever imagined. She was finally, for the first time she could ever recall, fully clean.

Her gaze found the basket on the counter, then moved down to her legs. She lifted her arms and frowned. After only a few minutes of consideration, she climbed out of the tub and dribbled over to the basket. It was cold outside of the water. She quickly found the razor and shaving cream and jumped back in the tub.

Scout examined both objects. Luckily, there was a little folded paper stuck to the shaving cream with pictures on it. Shaving couldn't be that complicated.

Popping the cap off, she squirted some of the cream in her palm. It smelled like peaches and was actually more like jelly than cream. Her finger spread it around and it turned white and fluffy.

Getting the razor out of the packaging was no easy task. It required another trip out of the tub and the use of a small set of scissors she found in a little kit with a nail file and clippers. By the time she had everything she needed her water had run cold again so she did a refill, this time foregoing all the soaps, salts, and jets.

“Okay, Scout, you can do this. Time to get girlie.”

She squeezed a big pile of peach-scented gel into her palm and spread it thickly over her leg. Swishing her hands in the water, she picked up the razor. It glided up her calf slowly like a snowplow clearing away a blizzard. The blade immediately needed to be rinsed, and she repeated the process.

Five minutes later she was sitting in hairy, peach-scented sludge and completely grossed out. No longer clean. Worse, although everything looked good at first, her skin had begun to bleed where she'd accidentally made little nicks.

“Shit.”

Growing frustrated, she abandoned her plan to also shave under her arms, and stood. Reaching blindly beneath the sludge, she felt around and released the plug. The water drained leaving a slimy film at the bottom of the once-shiny tub. Embarrassment flooded her and she suddenly wanted to cry.

Scout ignored the mess, needing a shower more than the tub needed one. Moving to the enclosed glass stall, she turned on the water and rinsed away the proof of her disastrous first attempt at being girlie. She felt marginally better after she shampooed her hair with a lovely, foamy wash. Her hair had never been so soft.

Once she dried herself off and attached little scraps of tissue to the nicks that refused to stop bleeding, she cleaned the tub. By the time all was said and done it was seven o'clock. If she planned on catching Parker she needed to get a move on.

Forgoing the numerous boutique packages and bags, Scout slid on her jeans, hoodie, and old sneakers, ensuring that her money belt was wrapped tightly around her waist. There was no way she was walking all the way to St. Christopher's in death shoes. She quickly made the bed, and because of her own stupid embarrassment, she placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and left.

It was cold and she regretted not waiting for her hair to dry or taking her new coat. She walked fast, taking advantage of all shortcuts, and cursing herself for not bringing Parker one of the apples from her room. Dodging into an alley, quickly pulling five dollars from her money belt, she made a detour to a bakery and bought him a huge muffin. The cost was exorbitant for what was basically bread, but she had been eating so well, Parker deserved a treat too.

Scout made it to the shelter just in time. She spotted Parker's brooding face as he came out of the school doors. He hunched into his sweater, shielding away the cold, and she ran over to him.

“Parker,” she called and he turned, relief clear on his face.

“Jesus! Scout, where the hell've you been? I've been worried sick.”

“I'm really sorry. I couldn't make it back in time. I knew you'd be worried and I felt terrible. Here.” She handed him the muffin.

“Where'd you get this?”

“It's a present. Don't worry about it.”

He frowned then leaned close and sniffed her. “Where were you? You smell different.” He bit into the muffin.

“It's a long story. Where're you going right now?” He shrugged and they made their way to a low brick wall where the old school courts used to be. “How's the muffin?”

“Incredible. Scout, what's going on? Why aren't you at work? And you better not tell me you slept at the tracks last night.”

“I didn't sleep at the tracks. I slept in a bed.”

He froze. Putting the muffin aside, he faced her, something akin to fury darkening his otherwise calm expression. “Whose bed?”

“Well, Mr. Patras's. I stayed in the hotel.”

“Is that allowed?”

This was going to be hard. She figured keeping things as honest and simple as possible would be best for now.

“Yeah, the owner of the hotel actually suggested it. They sort of changed my hours and adjusted my job description. I'm going to need to be at the hotel a lot more.”

“Well, that's great. Maybe one of these days I can come visit you at work. Do you think anyone would give me shit if I tried to get in there?”

“No. That'd be awesome if you came to visit. I want you to, but I need to sort out some things first.”

He seemed genuinely happy for her. “That's really great, Scout. You may actually make it in the real world after all. I'm glad you're getting out of this shit hole. St. Christopher's isn't any place for a girl like you. You know that new guy, the one with the eye? Well, I knew I didn't like him for a reason. He snuck into the girls' room last night and attacked Deborah.”

“Oh my God, is she okay?” Her hand went to her throat. Deborah was a little older than her and very tiny.

“Yeah. George heard her scream and got there before any real damage was done. The cops came and took him away, but you know how that goes.” He swallowed the last bite of muffin. “The sad part is Deb took off. The temperatures are going down and I hope she comes back.”

So many people over the years had died from hypothermia. December through March were the scariest months of the year for their people. She looked down at Parker's thin sweater. Holes had worn into the elbows. He still looked handsome with his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and his fingerless gloves, but being homeless wasn't about making a fashion statement. It was about survival.

“Parker, do you need anything? I can get you stuff. I have people who . . . if there's something you need, would you tell me?”

He smiled sweetly. “I don't need anything, Scout. Got everything I need right here.” He patted his bag. She understood his pride wouldn't let him take much more than a muffin from her.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything.”

She smiled. That was Parker, always willing to give her anything he could. He was the best friend she'd ever had. Her only friend.

“I'm gonna be busy in the next few weeks,” she said. “If you can manage it, do you think you can get down to the tracks to check on Pearl for me?”

He sighed. He hated the tracks. It was where his mother had died not long after losing his father. Parker's family's descent into the bowels of Folsom had been a swift and sad one. She hated asking him to go there.

“Yeah, I'll keep an eye on her so long as you promise not to go there in the dark by yourself. I know you. You won't be able to stay away. I get that you're busy with your job and all, but you can't keep going down there when it's dark, Scout. It's dangerous. You shouldn't be down there at all. Wait for me and I'll go with you, but only when it's light, okay?”

She nodded. Unable to voice a promise she wasn't sure she'd keep.

Something seemed so final in the way Parker hugged her good-bye. Her hand ran over his wool cap and she stared into his soft green eyes, so different from Lucian's. She wished she had some meaningful thing to say in that moment, but all she could think of was, “Stay warm.”

As she walked back to Patras she didn't have her earlier pep. Taking the longer way back, she kept her head down. Unused to walking through Folsom during this time of day, the crowds were stifling. Everyone seemed to be rushing off to one place or another. What must it be like to live such an urgent life? Scout never had anywhere to be except for where she chose to go.

Crossing into the more prominent section of the city she tried to blend in as best she could with the finely dressed population. She appreciated seeing others in sneakers and jeans, but no one else's clothes seemed quite as tattered as hers.

On Gerard, she debated taking the service entrance into the hotel. Looking up at the repeat of yesterday's rich-and-famous parade of limos, luxury cars, and guests, she decided that was exactly what she'd do.

Scout walked quickly through the crowd, careful to avoid the fancy red runner and its gold tassels. There was a lot going on, various languages being spoken, carts of luggage being wheeled, cars idling, guests checking in with the attendants.

Someone shouted. Head down, she kept walking. As she was turning the corner some brute grabbed her arm and she was nearly yanked off her feet.

Her arm jerked, wrenching her hand from the pocket of her sweatshirt and she turned ready to attack.
“What the fuck?”

Lucian, dressed in his long wool coat and a tailored black pinstripe suit, stared down at her. His jaw ticked and he wasn't blinking. “Evelyn.”

She relaxed. “Jesus, Lucian, you scared the shit out of me.”

He quickly looked around and then took her hand and pulled her toward the front of the hotel.

“What are you doing?” she hissed and dug her feet in, but he was much stronger than her. “I can't go in that way. I look like crap. People will stare.”

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped. “I spent thousands of dollars on a new wardrobe for you not twenty-four hours ago, yet here you are walking around looking like you're homeless. Where the hell's the coat I bought you?”

And that, apparently, was her limit. Scout yanked her arm free and stomped her foot. “Stop! I'm not some little kid you can just boss around. I've been taking care of myself longer than you've probably been on your own. I never had a dad and I don't need one now.”

“Are you finished?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Searching her mind for a moment in case there was anything else, she paused. Yes, she was finished. And now she was shaking. Fury blazed in his eyes, but he had no right to manhandle or boss her like that.

Adrenaline rushed her system, making her feel cornered and off balance. Lucian didn't look like the easygoing man who took her shopping yesterday or the man who taught her to play chess last night. He looked every bit the menacing industrialist prepared and qualified to take over the world.

Shit.

“Lucian, I—”

“Not. Another. Word. It's ten minutes to ten and I'm now running late. You have an appointment. I'll see you tonight at six at which point you
will
be dressed appropriately
for the evening. We will have dinner, make our rounds at the benefit, and return home, at which point I expect to hear all about where you spent your morning. Any questions?”

He didn't leave much unexplained.

She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, hopefully making it clear that he wasn't the only person pissed off at the moment. “No.” She just wanted to get away from him.

He turned and whistled. About fifty people, the majority of them wearing Patras uniforms, turned and stared at them. Scout wanted to crawl under a manhole cover and die.

“Philippe,” Lucian called. The man jogged over. “This is Ms. Keats. See that she gets back to her room safely. She's in suite 3000.”

Philippe looked at her and his judgment caused her to shrink. He had to be French. She was proven correct in the next moment when he began speaking to Lucian in what she now recognized as French. Naturally, Lucian spoke back to him in Philippe's native tongue, probably flawlessly.

Once he'd given the attendant his instructions, he turned and left, without even a good-bye. Scout was pissed, but more frustrated with herself than anything. It hurt, for some reason, watching Lucian walk away from her without even a glance back.

Ridiculous
.

There shouldn't be such confusing emotions warring inside of her. This was a simple arrangement, one where she needed to keep her head and not underestimate him or lose sight of who he really was.

She should probably feel guilty for snapping at him, but her stubborn pride wouldn't allow it. She may be younger and smaller than him, but she wasn't anyone's kicking post.

The limo pulled away. Let him be angry. She was angry too.

“Mademoiselle? I shall take you to your room now as Monsieur Patras instructed.”

Her shoulders drooped. Even in his absence he seemed to maintain control. “Yes, all right. Let's go.”