Falling In (5 page)

His words made her incredibly uncomfortable. Her brain ran out of things to say. Lucian Patras was a man of great determination and she found his presence exhaustingly challenging. He was breaking her down, but she wasn't sure why. Her hunger had become more than the unending nagging ache it always was, and she was suddenly very weary.

He narrowed his eyes at her then reached for the phone. She stood silently as he dialed.

“Ms. Jones, Lucian Patras. Evelyn Keats is finished for the day. She'll be back in the morning. Please make sure she's paid for the rest of the afternoon.” He waited a moment. “Very good.” The phone returned to the cradle with a light click.

Chapter 4

In Good Company

“Sit down, Evelyn. We're going to eat and then we're going to talk.”

Her body slowly lowered to the settee. Lucian pulled her plate closer to him and made quick work of slicing her meat. Once the white meat was stacked in neat little bite-size pieces, he slid it closer to her and handed her a fork.

“Eat.”

The silverware was cool and heavy. She slowly stabbed a piece of food and placed it in her mouth. She wanted to say she was too shocked to process the flavor, but that would be a lie. It was perhaps the most divine thing she'd ever tasted.

They ate in silence. The beans were so fresh and flavorful Scout could've cried. The potatoes were unlike anything she'd ever tasted before, crisp yet fluffy, nothing like the bulbous, mushy spuds they served at the shelter. She wanted to bring some back for Parker to taste, but that would be impossible.

As her mouth closed over the last bit of food, embarrassment had her blood rising. Lucian still had quite a bit of food on his plate. With a trembling hand she placed her fork on the edge of her plate like he had done. The touch of heavy silver to the delicate china seemed all too loud and uncultured to her ears.

“Thank you. That was amazing.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it. Do you like working at Patras Hotel, Evelyn?”

Her limbs trembled, knowing what was coming. He'd lied. He did plan on firing her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did you work before you took this job?”

Her fingers nervously wrung her napkin in her hands and she looked at her lap. “I was a waitress for a while.”

“And before that?”

“I worked at a car wash and answered phones for a mechanic.”

He nodded and eased his body back against the back of the settee. “A jack of all trades.”

“And a master of none,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. It was deep and rumbled from within his chest. “Not everyone is intended to be a master, Ms. Keats. Why did you leave your previous jobs?”

“I lost my waitressing job when my register came up short.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How short?”

“Three hundred seventy-six dollars.”

“Did you take the money?”

“No. I don't steal.”

“Good. And the job at the mechanic's?”

“I was young. It was me working with three men. I didn't like going there after a while.”

“Why?”

She glared up at him. He only met her challenge with endless patience in his stare. Her shoulders lowered.

“The youngest mechanic was the owner's nephew. He used to wait for me outside of the bathroom and try to make me . . . pay a toll before he'd let me go back to the front office.”

His jaw ticked and she sympathized with anyone who came face-to-face with Mr. Patras in business. He had a menacing presence when he wanted to show one.

“Did you pay the toll?”

“No,” she said clearly. “I broke his nose.”

He laughed long and hard and she found herself laughing too, perhaps a bit out of nervousness.

“I like you, Evelyn. You're a lot feistier than you first come off.”

His compliment made her oddly proud. Their laughter faded and her lips twitched, wanting to keep the moment going, but she had no more to add.

“I have a proposition for you, Ms. Keats.”

Scout stilled, all merriment gone. While Lucian Patras was acting the perfect gentleman, she was not fool enough to underestimate him. He was a man with determination in spades, who did not easily accept being told no. While she wasn't necessarily what people would consider book smart, she was street smart and worldly enough when it came to men. They all thought along the same lines no matter what social position they held.

She swallowed apprehensively. “A proposition?”

“Yes, a business deal, if you will.”

Scout wasn't equipped to make business deals with a man like Mr. Patras. She remained silent and he continued.

“I find you . . . appealing. I want to know you better. I'm a very busy man, Ms. Keats, and while my social schedule is not lacking, I find myself . . . bored with the selection. How would you feel about attending some parties with me?”

“Parties?”

“Fundraisers, soirées, the typical high-society bullshit.”

“I don't have the means for such things,” she admitted, figuring he couldn't argue with the truth.

“I'd make arrangements for everything you would need. You wouldn't be required to spend a penny of your own money. I'd arrange for you to have a line of credit at the best boutiques, which my driver would take you to. You'd have the use of the hotel's salon whenever you needed and I'd arrange for you to have your own penthouse.”

Her unblinking eyes stared at him dumbly. Was this a joke? Slowly, she pinched her arm and his fingers smoothly settled over hers.

“Don't do that, Evelyn,” he gently reprimanded, and she stopped.

She thought of Pearl, memories of men coming and going throughout her childhood while she was told to wait outside the door. He couldn't mean that.

“What would you get in return?” she asked.

“Your company.”

“Define company.” Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast and her delicious lunch had become a heavy weight in her stomach.

“I find such things can't be determined until the time comes. I could tell you my expectations, but who's to say what they'll be tomorrow? I'd much rather our association develop over a natural course of time before we try to pigeonhole it with labels.”

“I'm not stupid,” she whispered defensively, unable to meet his gaze.

“Of course not. I have no interest in surrounding myself with stupid people.”

“I know what you're asking.”

“Good. I'd hate to think I wasn't clear.”

The calm manner in which he danced around her questions was infuriating. “I'm not a prostitute.”

The word didn't slow him. “Also good. I hate involving myself with legal situations. I much prefer to keep things on the up-and-up. We'd merely be two consenting adults sharing each other's company.”

Her fists tightened on the linen napkin.

“Mr. Patras, no matter how you pretty it up, my sexual favors are
not
for sale.”

“Everything's for sale, Ms. Keats,” he replied silkily. “The currency simply varies in order to meet social standards.”

“I'm not.”

“While your paychecks may read Patras, Evelyn, they are only in exchange for housekeeping. I assure you, what I intend to offer will pay for itself. You'll take as much pleasure from our association as I plan to.”

His black eyes gazed into hers. She looked at this man, finding herself marginally more settled in his presence than the day before, but still ill at ease. His fingernails were clean. His thickly muscled arms were dusted with dark hair. He was so different than the malnourished men at the shelter or even Parker, who was surprisingly fit. Mr. Patras was undeniably an attractive man.

Her gaze scanned the penthouse, still clean from her visit the day before. Mr. Patras was a fairly tidy person. His desk was messy, but she'd never concern herself with that again.

As tempting as the offer of fine clothing and salon beauty treatments were, she was more concerned with proper-fitting shoes she could take with her when Mr. Patras no longer required her “company.” Her situation in life had never, not once, allowed for any sort of indulgence. Scout's brain simply wasn't wired in a way that permitted such fantasies.

Her dreams consisted of warm clothing, shelter, and food to stave of her hunger. Mr. Patras could certainly provide that, but at what price? Indignity had her pride bristling. She'd witnessed sex and found it undesirable, to say the least. She was very territorial of her own space and didn't favor anyone coming too close. Yet, the thought of a man like Lucian Patras finding her attractive did things to her. Her body warmed in places she wasn't normally aware of. There was certainly a level of temptation hidden within her to experience these unknowns with him.

If sacrificing her body and attending parties could bridge the gap between her and the ordinary women of society, she probably shouldn't dismiss the opportunity. Would she be able to abide a man like Mr. Patras touching her, kissing her? The idea of such acts appealed, but actually having the guts to follow through was something else entirely. She had a stubborn side she couldn't always control. As her mind imagined what it would be like to have sex with him, her stomach tightened in an unfamiliar way she found disarming. She quickly generated a mental list of pros and cons.

Scout wouldn't have to sleep at the shelter, at least for a short length of time. There would be no more guarding her belongings and cold, restless nights of sleeping with one eye open. This could be that chance to finally rest peacefully.

She'd have an actual bed, complete with clean linens and plush pillows. Her skin prickled with longing for such luxuries. She'd be warm. Winter was coming and she didn't savor the idea of coughing through another bitter season, chilled to the bone and unable to thaw until the arrival of spring.

Would their arrangement last that long? Even if it got her out of the unforgiving elements for a week it seemed worth it. Her narrowed perspective of life was so limited, she could barely fathom what such a life would entail, what such comfort would feel like. Something deep down in her heart, something that was frightened and indignant, told her chances like this didn't come around more than once in a lifetime.

And then there was Pearl. Her mother would tell her to do it. She'd done the same for much less.

Scout could say no and continue on her slow trek out of poverty, but Mr. Patras was offering her a speed pass to the top. Her mind segmented as she rationalized the situation. Flashes of bodies rapidly flickered through her mind, colliding flesh and ticking clocks. Sex took only a few minutes. The more she considered his offer, the more curious she grew.

He was a stunning man. Her options for experimentation had never been so promising. There was a good chance she might enjoy him touching her. If not, she would simply send her mind somewhere else and all those luxuries could be hers.

It was a business deal. Her mind and emotions didn't have to come into play, only her body. The survivor in her eagerly awaited her acceptance. Mr. Patras was a handsome man. He smelled nice and had clean hands and nice teeth.

Her practical side told her sex was a small price to pay for the easy lifestyle he could provide, but her prideful side, that part of her that demanded she was better than that, indignantly objected. Shutting her eyes, she muzzled her pride in order to think.

Obviously, he found her attractive if he was bartering to have her body. Something inside of her preened that an upper-class man like Mr. Patras would see her as desirable. She wasn't fancy. She didn't pretty herself up in any way. Yet, he wanted her. However, he didn't have a clue about her real-life circumstances outside of the hotel. Scout was intelligent enough to know, if he assumed she was homeless he'd be more likely to chase her away with the dirty end of a broom than sweep her off her feet.

At first it seemed like she'd be sacrificing a great deal to oblige him, but now she wasn't sure who would actually be taking advantage. When she walked away, she'd be leaving him with nothing more than a memory, but she might earn uncountable assets in the process. She could use, pawn, or recycle a good amount of what he'd provide. That was headway.

Money was power. She wasn't materialistic. There was an infinite divide between her desire to have enough financial stability to not freeze, starve, or die another Jane Doe and the desire to be dressed up and paraded about like some fancy aristocrat. She didn't care for superfluous wealth. She only desired stability, something she never had. Yet, no amount of rationalization let her dismiss the fact that, at the end of the day, she'd still be his loosely defined hooker.

No.

The rejection to his offer rang in her head, but temptation to take it fought hard against her will. Scout needed to get off the streets. Perhaps this was the fastest way to accomplish that. Attending parties with other rich people could lead to meeting someone who could offer her more than a minimum wage job.

Her gaze returned to the long, tapered legs beside her. He'd been waiting quietly as she considered his offer. One ankle crossed casually over his knee. His lean torso was barely camouflaged by his clothing. Her gaze caught on the shining, narrow silver buckle of his black leather belt.

“Look your fill, Evelyn. I plan to do the same.”

Her stare jerked to his and his eyes creased with laughter. “I was looking at your belt,” she informed him, offended he'd think she was looking anywhere else. As curious as she was, his quick accusation reminded her that the scales of life experience were extremely tipped in his favor. She'd have to be cautious about how much of her true self she allowed him to see.

“Of course.” He peeked at his watch and sighed. “I'd hate to eat and run, but I have a meeting I need to get to downtown. Can my driver give you a ride home?”

“No.” She couldn't let him see the shelter and she needed to visit Pearl again. “Thank you, but I prefer to walk.”

“Then I believe I've given you enough to think about until tomorrow. Monday evening I have a benefit at the Westchester Museum of Natural Art. I'd like you to be my guest. Think about my offer and have an answer for me by tomorrow.”

His dismissal was jarring. Was she still expected to finish her shift or did he expect her to clean his suite the next day?

“Would you like me to freshen your bed before I go?”

She regretted her words the moment they fully left her mouth.

“That does sound delightful,” he purred. “But unfortunately I must be going. I think I can manage until tomorrow, but I'll expect you to tend to my
needs
first thing. I don't like coming second unless the foreplay's truly worth it.”