The Surrender: Falling In Part 5

"She's getting so thin. As I bathed her I could count her ribs. She doesn't even have b.r.e.a.s.t.s anymore. I'm so afraid of the day I'll go there and she . . ." A shaky breath cut off her fears.

"Shh, don't talk like that. You're a good daughter and your mother loves you. You're doing everything you can to help her."

Although Pearl was adamant about staying out of the shelters, with a little bit of money, Scout could maybe find a small place for her and Pearl alone. Her mother had been raped when she was in her thirties at a shelter, and since then had never entered another. If she could just get her away from the mill, away from the tracks and those a.s.sholes down there, maybe she could get a little better. Some days Scout saw signs of the old Pearl, but most days she was a realist enough to know her brain was too far damaged from drugs and hard living to ever return her mother to her.

Her mind switched to Lucian Patras and his offer. If she helped him, maybe he'd help her get help for Pearl. Maybe if she could afford a good doctor and could put her mother on some sort of medicine, she could get better. Pearl had to be less than ninety pounds at this point.

At the rate her mother was withering away, she didn't have much time left. She was going to do what she was going to do. Every decision she made had a direct correlation to how she'd obtain her next fix. She'd sell herself to anyone to score a hit, and every time she did it brought her a little closer to death. Scout could sell herself just the same, but without the risks Pearl tempted with such dealings. Mr. Patras was worlds away from the men her mother dealt with.

Breathing in the last bit of Parker's strength and familiar scent, Scout straightened her shoulders and pulled away. Enough self-pity.

"Thanks, buddy. I needed that. Don't tell the others or I'll have to retaliate just to prove I'm still a hard-a.s.s."

He smiled sadly and wiped away a tear her cold fingers had missed. "No one doubts your toughness, Scout. You're one of the toughest girls I know." He reached into his pocket. "Here, I saved you my roll from supper."

Her heart swelled. Parker was an awesome friend. "Thank you, but you keep it. I already ate my fill today."

There was no need to tell him. As much as she wanted to tell him about the amazing feast earlier, in the light of their existence it now only seemed cruel.

"You sure?"

His hunger was evident in the way he held the stale bread. She smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure."

By the time they made it into the gymnasium, it was already lights out. Scout said good night to Parker and went to the ladies' room. Sometimes it was nice to be the last one standing. She needed a good wash and having the restroom to herself made that a little more possible.

The following morning Scout arrived extra early at Patras. She hadn't slept much the night before. The moment sleep found her, her dreams were restless. Horrible visions of her mother's skeletal form filled her nightmares. By the end of her last dream she realized it was not Pearl she was seeing, but her own reflection. As her body jerked awake her mind gave up on sleep, and Scout decided to dress for work.

The shelter didn't offer breakfast, and residents had to be out by eight. She often wondered where Parker spent his days. He never went far and most of the time he could be found at the Folsom library. Some days he'd take her there, and they'd find a quiet corner and he'd read to her. Other days he'd pick a children's book and guide her as she struggled through. She loved those days.

She decided not to mention Lucian Patras to Parker. He wouldn't understand, and she didn't feel like being judged. It wasn't that Parker was overly judgmental. He was just protective of her and worried like a mother hen at times. He also thought she had an unhealthy obsession with money, but from her impoverished perspective, money ruled the world.

After stuffing her belongings in her locker and taking inventory of her cart, she waited for Tamara outside of her office. Pulling an emery board out of her pushcart, Scout tidied up her fingernails as she waited.

Her mind of course wandered to Lucian Patras. If his offer still stood, she was pretty certain she was going to take it, with some conditions of her own. He was right, everything did have a price, and her morals seemed on sale at the moment. While the idea of visiting a salon and actually having her hair cut professionally for the first time in her life was appealing, it was also worthless. Clothing, however, could be sold and jewelry could be p.a.w.ned.

It was wisest to think in matters of moving on. Mr. Patras was, in some odd way, attracted to her, but once he figured out how inexperienced she was with men he'd likely send her packing. She needed to go into this with a plan. Even if it only lasted a day, there was no way she was leaving empty-handed.

For a moment Scout allowed herself to fantasize about the bathtubs in the hotel. He'd said he'd arrange for her to have a room. One time she sat on the edge of a hotel bed after suffering a dizzy spell from not eating enough, and she was amazed at how soft and plush the mattress was.

If Mr. Patras actually did as he said and put her up in a room for a night, chances were she'd never want to leave. Scout wanted to know what it felt like to bathe in one of those grand tubs with the jets and use those fancy bath salts housekeeping left on the vanities for guests.

"You're here early."

She jumped as Tamara headed in her direction. Stowing her file in the pocket of her ap.r.o.n, she stood. "I couldn't sleep so I came in early."

Her eyes crinkled warmly. "Give me a minute to put down my stuff and start the coffee and I'll give you your schedule."

Scout waited by her office door as Tamara stowed her bag under her desk and hung her coat on a hook behind the door. It was a nice coat. Warm-looking and thick wool in a lovely royal blue. Tamara always had nice clothing. She wore something different every time Scout saw her.

"Okay," she said as she rolled her chair closer to her desk and pulled out a stack of papers. "It looks like today you have fifteen penthouses."

She handed Scout the slip of paper.

Scout frowned. "What about the master suites?"

"Mr. Patras didn't put in for housekeeping today. He usually only requests the maid services once a week. It was odd he asked for his suites to be cleaned two days in a row, but if there's one thing I know about him it's that he's eccentric. No use trying to figure him out. Hey, are you feeling better?"

Scout's head tilted in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You left early yesterday. I a.s.sumed you weren't feeling well."

Her face flushed with embarra.s.sment. d.a.m.n meddling hotel owner.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I had an unsettling lunch." Not a lie.

"Oh, good, I'm glad it wasn't anything serious. With flu season coming up you can never be too sure. That reminds me. Here's my cell number. If you're ever sick, call there or text so I know before I get here. That way I won't be scrambling to find someone to cover your rooms."

Tamara slid her a glossy white business card, and Scout slipped it into her pocket. She didn't know how to text and didn't have a cell phone to text on, but there was a pay phone at St. Christopher's if she ever needed to reach her boss.

Leaving the GM's office, she pa.s.sed the other maids coming in. Ignoring her disappointment that Mr. Patras had had a change of heart, she focused on her work. She'd just have to stick to her original plan. Work hard, make money, eventually have the means to afford her own apartment and get Pearl off the streets.

The pinch of regret hurt more than she'd expected. She should've agreed yesterday, while the offer was still on the table. All her anxiety about being intimate with him and her stupid, stubborn pride had wound up s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her out of opportunities she'd likely never come across again in her lifetime.

Her original plan seemed to have lost a bit of its l.u.s.ter since she'd been offered a much faster solution. But that was no longer an option. She should be feeling like she'd made a lucky escape. She should have known better. Nothing was ever easy. She was a fool to a.s.sume a man like that could actually want her.

Scout pulled her cart off the elevator and onto the thirtieth floor, ignoring the unsettling feeling filling her belly as she pa.s.sed the private bank of elevators to the master suites above. Focusing on her tasks for the day, she threw herself into dusting the banisters of the common areas and polis.h.i.+ng the furniture at each sitting area until her reflection showed in the cherry finish.

By eight, guests had begun heading out for the day or simply traveling down to the restaurant for breakfast, and she started on cleaning the suites.

Just before noon someone called her name. "Scout? Are you in there?"

She turned and found a flushed Tamara looking for her. She was out of breath.

"Tamara? Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she panted and wedged her fist into the side of her nipped blazer. "Sorry. Cramp. Mr. Patras called. He expected you to tend to his suites first thing this morning. He must've forgotten to call it in. I need you to go up there right away."

Scout stood unmoving for a moment, spray bottle of disinfectant hanging in her left hand and a rag in her right. Tamara shoved a keycard in her direction. She quickly peeled off her gloves and took the card.

"What about this room? I'm not finished."

"I'll find someone else to finish it. Just go. Mr. Patras doesn't like to be kept waiting and he didn't sound happy when he called."

Well, that wasn't her fault. She quickly returned to her cart and replaced her items.

"Here, take what you need and I'll take this down for you," Tamara said quickly.

Scout had never seen her GM so fl.u.s.tered. Her stout form got behind the cart and quickly pushed it in the direction of the service elevators. Scout hastily grabbed a few necessities and cradled them in her ap.r.o.n. She pulled the door to the half-cleaned room closed and went to the private elevators.

Her heart skipped nervously in her chest as she rode to the top. It was impossible to determine if she was nervous or excited. The elevator quietly chimed, announcing her arrival. Her knuckles knocked softly on the private entrance.

"Housekeeping."

"Come in."

At Mr. Patras's sharp command, she slid her key through the lock and entered. He sat at his messy desk with a phone to his ear. His eyes drilled into hers and her steps faltered. He jabbed his finger through the air and pointed to the sitting area and mouthed sit. She didn't appreciate the way he scowled at her.

His outburst jolted her into motion and she quickly sat.

"Sell ten percent of my shares and then do your G.o.dd.a.m.n job and use your brain next time! What the h.e.l.l am I paying you for if you can't even keep an eye on the market? I don't want to hear from you again today unless you're calling to tell me good news about my net worth."

He slammed the phone into its cradle and stood. "You're late."

She flinched as he shouted.

Scout's mouth opened and her head shook at his accusation. Refusing to be bullied, she snapped, "You didn't send in a request for housekeeping."

He stood and paced with the grace of a black panther. "I thought I made myself quite clear yesterday that you were to come here first thing."

The arrogance of him! "How am I supposed to do that without a key?"

He scowled. "What happened to your key from yesterday?"

"We have to deactivate them at the end of each day and put them back in the bin."

He sighed and walked to his desk, pulled open a drawer, moved some things around and then returned to her, holding out a new keycard.

"Here, don't deactivate this one. It's mine. Next time I tell you to be somewhere I expect you there on time."

She bristled. "Mr. Patras-"

"Lucian."

"Fine, Lucian, I'm sorry you see this as my fault, but I couldn't walk up to my GM and just say, 'Oh, by the way, the owner of the hotel propositioned me yesterday and I'm to report directly to him with my answer. Please get me a key.' I would've lost my job."

"I'm your job."

"Well, I don't report to you," she snapped.

He smiled slowly and there was a dark glimmer in his black eyes. "Everyone in this hotel reports to me, Ms. Keats. Now, you said you had an answer for me."

Scout s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. Her brain tried to keep up. She'd thought he rescinded, but now the offer was back on the table again. Objections from yesterday tangled with residual disappointment from the morning. Everything was happening so fast. A bottle of Patras conditioner fell out of her ap.r.o.n and she bent to pick it up. He beat her to it.

"Are you stealing from me, Ms. Keats?" he asked jokingly, tipping back her ap.r.o.n with one long finger to see her plundered items.

She scowled at him. "I told you I don't steal. I didn't have time to get my supply basket. My GM was quite adamant I stop everything and go to you right away."

"Wise woman," he said, removing the rest of the items from her lap. He invaded her personal s.p.a.ce more and more every minute. Once each little bottle sat side by side on the table across from them, he sat back and looked at her.

"Now, your answer . . ."

Her certainty wavered. Yesterday she was reluctant, but this morning she'd been so certain her answer would've been yes when she thought the offer was no longer a possibility. Buying some time, she took a deep breath. "I need to know how you see this working out."

He grinned, apparently already tasting victory.

"If you agree to my terms, I'll arrange for you to stay here at the hotel until our arrangement is over. You'll have a house credit, which I'll pick up the tab on. That'll allow you to use Patras's restaurant, bar, spa, salon, gym, pool, room service, and the boutiques downstairs. My driver will also be available to you if you wish to go into town for shopping or lunch. I expect you to be available to me for social functions and whenever I desire your company."

"Right, company," she said dryly, never forgetting his broad understanding of the word.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. "That's right, Evelyn, company. I am a very private man and I find crowds . . . tedious. Do you play chess?"

"Chess? No."

"I'll teach you. I'll also expect you to be pleasant and agreeable." His a.s.sumed power over others' moods baffled her. "I don't tolerate lateness, so I expect you to be on time. If it takes you three hours to do your hair, arrange for it. When I ask you to be somewhere I expect you there on time."

He was barking out his demands so quickly she had trouble keeping up. "What about my job?"

"Your job's secure. I don't see you needing it when I'll be providing everything you'll need, but it's there if you choose to return to it."

Scout could never put that much trust in another person. She feared becoming indebted to a man like Mr. Patras more than anything. This was not a man you f.u.c.ked with. "I want to keep working."

"No." He didn't go into detail or offer any reason why she shouldn't work, he simply forbade it.

"Then I'm sorry, but this isn't going to work. I need this job." She prayed he wouldn't call her bluff. While his offer would provide more necessities at a faster rate, there was no stability to their agreement.

"There's no reason for you to work while our arrangement stands. If you're worried about not having a job when we end the agreement, don't; I have no intention of forcing you out of your position."

"It's not that. I need to work. I have responsibilities. I understand if you don't want to attend social functions with a recognizable employee from your hotel, and if it embarra.s.ses you I can find work somewhere else-"

"I'm not embarra.s.sed by your job, Evelyn. You come to work every day on time and put in an honest day's effort. I simply don't see the need for you to work when I'll provide everything you need. If it's a matter of paying your rent, I'll supplement it while you're staying at the hotel. I want you close for my convenience."

Her stomach cartwheeled nervously at his unspoken insinuation. "I'm sorry, I can't live with that. If it's the amount of time my job takes up, I'd be willing to ask my GM to cut back my hours temporarily, but I can't give it up all together. What if I somehow managed to only work twenty hours a week instead of forty?"

"Ten."

"Fifteen."

"Nine," he countered.

"Nine? You went the wrong way!"

His eyes narrowed challengingly. "Eight."

She huffed. "Who works eight hours a week?"

"Seven." He crossed his arms over his chest.