Part 4 (1/2)
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.