The Surrender: Falling In Part 4

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, soirees, the typical high-society bulls.h.i.+t."

"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 a.s.sociation 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 prost.i.tute."

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 s.e.xual 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 a.s.sure you, what I intend to offer will pay for itself. You'll take as much pleasure from our a.s.sociation 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 s.e.x and found it undesirable, to say the least. She was very territorial of her own s.p.a.ce 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 s.e.x 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 p.r.i.c.kled 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 pa.s.s to the top. Her mind segmented as she rationalized the situation. Flashes of bodies rapidly flickered through her mind, colliding flesh and ticking clocks. s.e.x 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 s.e.x 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-cla.s.s 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 circ.u.mstances outside of the hotel. Scout was intelligent enough to know, if he a.s.sumed 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 a.s.sets in the process. She could use, p.a.w.n, 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 s.h.i.+ning, 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 s.h.i.+ft 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."

She stood and picked up her supply bag. He stood as well, engulfing her and the surrounding s.p.a.ce with his size. At her cart she stowed the bag on the bottom shelf.

"Your flowers," she said, picking up the large arrangement and turning. Scout stopped abruptly, nearly smas.h.i.+ng the flowers into his chest. He was right behind her.

His hand reached out and Scout's breathing stilled as he ran his thumb over her lower lip. "I can't seem to decide," he said softly, "if your eyes are blue or silver. They remind me of the sky, blue at first glance, but really some unnamable color made purely of reflections. They remind me of diamonds."

Mumbling a thank-you for the compliment, which he, in turn, thanked her for, her lashes lowered, breaking the spell, and he stepped away. She placed the arrangement on the sideboard and removed the wilting centerpiece from the week before. Scout was very aware of him watching her as she moved the bowl of fresh citrus to the bar.

He held the door as she backed the cart to the elevator, and he obligingly pressed the b.u.t.ton. She couldn't bring herself to look at him again until the split second before the gilded gla.s.s doors closed between them. His expression was blank, but his eyes held a glint of promise. She knew in that moment she'd never leave this man's presence unscathed.

Chapter 5.

Second Thoughts By the time Scout's feet dragged through the door of St. Christopher's that night, her head was still out of sorts. Pearl had been stoned out of her mind and was barely able to speak when she arrived. Her mother rested naked on her makes.h.i.+ft pallet, not thinking clearly. After Scout had settled her a bit, she bathed her as best she could with the bottle of rainwater she'd collected, and cried.

Tracks from shooting up had disfigured her mother's flesh permanently. Her eyes were unfocused and as Scout tended to her needs, her mother told her about her beautiful daughter, Evelyn, who hadn't come to visit in a while. Some days she wondered why she didn't just let her go and save herself the torture of watching her mother slowly kill herself.

By curfew Scout was nothing more than a rundown body needing a long night's rest. Parker wasn't waiting for her tonight. No, he'd already be inside eating. She'd missed supper. Luckily her belly was still full from the lunch Mr. Patras provided. Lucian Patras was an entire other issue her mind was too exhausted to think about.

Wearily, her feet trudged the church steps. When she reached the bas.e.m.e.nt, the dining hall was empty. Sighing, she turned and headed back outside to the school.

"Hey."

Scout started as Parker suddenly jumped in step beside her. "Hey," she replied wearily.

"I thought you were coming here after work so we could visit Pearl together."

s.h.i.+t. She'd totally forgotten he'd said he'd go with her. Made no difference anyway. If Pearl couldn't recognize her, her own daughter, she certainly wouldn't have recognized Parker.

"I'm sorry, Parker. I totally forgot."

"Hey." He frowned and pulled her to the side of the hall. "What's up? You look upset."

Scout hadn't realized how close to tears she was. "It's nothing. She was just really bad today. She didn't recognize me, and she was covered in her own filth. Probably some of someone else's too. I couldn't leave her that way."

A jerky gasp filled her lungs and she pressed her lips tight, refusing to cry in front of him.

Parker looked at her, not with pity, but the true understanding of a friend. Without promising something he couldn't guarantee, he did the only thing he could do to help. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight.

Scout leaned into his strong form and shut her eyes. Besides Pearl, Parker was the only person she ever let touch her, and even that was a rare occurrence. His arms wrapped around her and he whispered, "I'm sorry, Scout."

Swiping at her insistent tears, glad no one else was around at the moment, she said, "It's okay. It is what it is."

His large, firm palm rubbed over her back. He smelled nice. Her nose breathed in the traces of soap clinging to his sweater. He must've washed it recently.