The door opened and Scout’s mouth g

The door opened and Scout’s mouth gaped. Lucian was dressed in a sleek black tuxedo and looked incredible.
“Evelyn, my God, you look . . . words fail me.”
She smiled nervously. “Fail you in a good way or a bad way?”
“Good,” he rasped. “Definitely good.”
“Glad to hear it, because I got the shit kicked out of me at that torture chamber you’re passing off as a spa down there. Can you help me zip my dress?” She stepped in and hid a smirk. Seems she had rendered Mr. Patras, hotel tycoon, bazillionaire, entrepreneur extraordinaire, speechless.
He stepped back and shut the door. Presenting him her back, she shivered at the soft touch of his fingers as they slowly pulled the zipper up. Her back was still very exposed, but at least now the dress fit properly. She turned.
“Thank you. You look very handsome, Mr. Patras.”
“You’re stunning, Ms. Keats. I’m wondering if I should keep you here instead.”
Scout tilted her head. “Why?”
“Protect my queen.” His reflective complement was incredibly flattering. Warmth spread through her chest and she smiled at him for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. He turned briskly.
“I have something for you.”
“You do?” She followed him to the common area and he handed her a large, heavy gift box with a navy blue bow. “What is it?”
“Open it. I saw it this afternoon and thought of you.”
Grinning foolishly, she pulled the satin ribbon back. It gathered in a large loop and fell to the ground. She placed the box on the seat of the settee and shimmied the fitted lid off. When she saw something furry, she jumped. “What—what is it?”
Lucian reached into the box and pulled out a stunning white, silk-lined fur coat. “I realized we forgot to get you a dress coat for formal functions. Here, try it on.”
“Is it real?”
“Quite.” He held the coat open for her to step into.
“Don’t people hate people who wear fur?”
“They’re all hypocrites. The Americans slaughter billions of animals a year for clothing, cars, furniture, shoes, and exotic food, but protesters only seem to care about the cute fuzzy ones.”
He had a point.
She slipped into the coat, its silk lining cool against her skin. It engulfed her. The fur was heavy, but it was likely the warmest, softest thing she’d ever put on her body.
“My God, Lucian, it’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. Shall we go?”
She simply stared at him. The coat must have cost a fortune. She reached for his hand and slowed his escape.
“You’re very generous,” she whispered. “No one’s ever done so much for me in my entire life. I’m not even sure how to accept such openhandedness.”
He frowned. “It means nothing to me. It’s just a coat.”
As he presented her his back, she was shocked by how hurtful his words were. Means nothing? Perhaps purchasing a coat like this was the equivalent to purchasing a roll of toilet paper to an ordinary person. Scout found herself blinking back tears no matter how she spun his comment.
Her emotions baffled her. This was not supposed to be an emotional exchange. She was being overly sensitive and needed to knock it off.
Lucian retuned wearing his own coat. “Ready?”
She merely nodded, her voice lodged somewhere in the pit of her stomach beneath her bruised heart.
They took the limo and rode in silence. Lucian seemed preoccupied. Scout stared out the window the entire time, but also studied him in the reflection. Sometimes she saw him looking at her and wondered what he was thinking.
He was so difficult to read. At times he was charming and sweet and in the next moment he was cold and distant. She wondered if this entire arrangement had anything to do with her specifically or if she was just filling a slot. She hoped the latter wasn’t the case, which contradicted every barrier her commonsense insisted she maintain.
He was beginning to affect her on a personal level, and that was dangerous. His praise or disregard shouldn’t affect her. She needed to stop being so damn vulnerable. She mentally chastisted herself to disassociate any personal feelings. It was a job. So why did his opinion of her suddenly seem to matter?
At this point, after all the money he had spent and everything he provided for her, she was already indebted. She’d follow through with her part of the deal regardless, but it would be a much easier job if she believed Lucian Patras actually liked her.
The Museum of Natural Art was interesting. It was a cross between artifacts, plants, antiques, and quirky art, all sort of blending in with what the aristocrats called the contemporary craft movement.
Scout remembered being at some sort of office building with her mom when she was little and watching a show called Gilligan’s Island. Her mom had meetings there at the same time every week and she loved it because she got to watch TV. A character on the show was a millionaire. He used to talk with his front teeth clenched together. She realized that was how she expected Lucian’s friends to talk. They didn’t. They were all normal people.
The women, married, single, young, or old, all loved Lucian, she quickly learned. Men vied for his attention as well. She smiled politely when someone spoke in her direction, but no one really talked to her. She didn’t have much to contribute to the conversations anyway. Stocks, bonds, the economy, politics, it was all above her head.
Lucian kept a hand on her the entire night even if he didn’t speak to her much. As they moved to find their table, she panicked when she saw there was dancing. There was no way she was dancing in these shoes. She could barely dance in bare feet.
The tables were draped in glossy linens, and ridiculously large topiaries acted as centerpieces. The chair backs were made of bronze-painted branches and the silverware was heavy to hold.
Lucian entered a heated debate over the new permits needed for redevelopment in lower Folsom with the gentleman to his right.
“These things really are silly, aren’t they?”
Scout turned at the soft comment coming from the older woman sitting next to her. “Pardon?”
“These events. I mean really. Five thousand dollars a plate to support art. What ever happened to supporting a real cause?”
Scout choked. “Fi-five thousand dollars, did you say?”
“Ridiculous. I know,” the woman went on. “I mean, I don’t even know how half of the knickknacks out there are considered art. My grandmother used to make crocheted plunger covers. Perhaps I can find a spot to display her work here,” the little woman said sarcastically.
Scout stifled a laugh. She had to be almost eighty. Scout introduced herself and the woman replied, “Lovely to meet you, dear. Yvette Constance Whitfield hyphen Baldwin. My husband’s running this event.”
Scout snorted. The woman was a riot. Her laughter attracted Lucian’s attention. He greeted Mrs. Whitfield-Baldwin. “Thank you for inviting us, Yvette.”
“I was just chatting with your lovely date, Lucian. About time you found yourself a respectable woman. She’s quite exquisite.”
Scout didn’t appreciate being appraised as if she were made of stone and incapable of hearing. Lucian nodded his concurrence. “I quite agree, Yvette.”
Scout gritted her teeth but held her smile.
The dinner was nice, but the extravagance of it all was baffling. From the clothes to the cost of the tickets, to the amount of news coverage, it was all obscene. Mrs. Whitfield-Baldwin was right. How about supporting a real cause, like stamping out hunger or solving the job crisis or finding a cure for AIDS?
As they drove home, they again were quiet. Lucian’s introspective mood seemed to turn brooding. Scout was already nervous about the remainder of the night, so she figured she’d better try to lighten the mood.
“Lucian?”
He turned to her.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did this morning.” She wouldn’t apologize, but she would let him know her behavior hadn’t ranked as one of her proudest moments. She was usually much more in control of her emotions than that.