Part 5 (2/2)
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 She'd thought he rescinded, but now the offer was back on the table again.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.
<script>