“You’re a jerk, Parker Hughes. He didn’t buy me. He earned me. Unlike you, he knows I’m not for sale.” She wished she had something better to say, but her shock made her dense.
“He doesn’t love you.”
“I don’t want him to!”
Eyes searching, he looked at her. “Money isn’t everything, Scout. You think it’s power and what runs the world, but you’re wrong. It owns a person. Don’t let it own you.”
Her jaw locked. Impatiently she stomped her foot. “Money is freedom, Parker. I’ve been homeless for twenty-two years. I won’t make it twenty more. I refuse to be another Jane Doe.”
“And does he see you as something more? Does he get the real you that I know or just some dressed-up imitation of what he wants you to be? How could you . . . how could you give yourself to someone who knows nothing about you? Don’t do it, Scout.”
Too late. Her fingers twitched with the urge to slap him. She was not a violent person, but fuck him. The quietly fierce whisper that slipped out was inconsistent with the rage building inside of her.
“Screw you, Parker Hughes. You don’t know me any better than he does.” Her throat constricted and her shoulders jerked with chills. There was such extreme judgment in his stare, she felt naked and resented him for pressing such shame upon her. He could accuse Lucian of buying her favors all he wanted, but Parker was the one claiming she came with a price tag, and by the way he was looking at her, it was a cheap one at that.
“Evelyn.” Lucian, no longer across the street, now stood a few feet away. His expression was unreadable. “Dugan’s going to take your friend home. His meal’s waiting for him in the limo.”
Scout glanced back at Parker, who scornfully watched Lucian. She couldn’t do this. She turned and Lucian wrapped his suit jacket over her shoulders and escorted her back into Patras.
Chapter 21
Coward
When they returned to the penthouse, their meal had been delivered there. They ate in silence. Well, Lucian ate. She picked.
“You need to eat, Evelyn.”
“How could he say those things about me? I am not a whore!” she whispered to herself.
Lucian’s knife clanked to the table. “Friend or not, if I ever hear Mr. Hughes speak such words to you, he’ll find himself without a tongue.”
Scout looked up at Lucian, who was gazing back at her, his eyes intense pools of unfathomable black. She realized this was not a topic to discuss with him. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them saying a word, but understanding that certain truths of their association were too painful to hear.
Finally, needing to break the solemn spell blanketing the suite, she said, “Let’s play chess.”
Once deep in the match, Lucian was distracted. Either that or her skill was improving. She highly doubted the latter.
The match was quiet and lacking the usual cheer that accompanied their games. They had each removed their shoes, jackets, accessories, and Lucian had sacrificed his tie. She frowned over the board, recognizing several moves he could make that would rapidly end the game. If she was noticing these opportunities that meant Lucian had definitely spotted them and purposefully avoided them.
Scout didn’t like playing with mock ambition. His moves felt charitable and she bristled at the sense of being pitied or coddled. Deliberately, she moved her queen before his rook, sacrificing her most powerful player. He looked at her.
“Evelyn . . .”
“What? I thought we were trying to see who could make the stupidest move. Go ahead. Take her.”
“What’re you doing?” he grumbled as she began to unbutton her pants. “Evelyn, stop. We don’t have to play by those rules anymore.”
She slid her pants over her legs. “Why not? Good company and competition, right?” She tossed her pants on the floor and knocked her queen off the board since he refused to take it. “Your turn.”
He made an imbecilic move that left his king incredibly vulnerable. It was too rare an opportunity to ignore. She took his knight. He moved his bishop and exposed his queen. She took her. The game moved like this for several plays, leaving Lucian in only his pants, but looking no less in control. Then she finally saw what he was doing.
Checkmate.
One move left and she’d put his king in check. The only option he’d have to escape would lead her to capture his other bishop, her move inevitably ending the game, her calling checkmate.
He was sabotaging them. Why? She looked at him, hurt clogging her throat. How could he do that?
He stared back at her with, not challenge, but quiet defeat.
“Make the move, Evelyn.”
With shaky hands she took his bishop and put him in check.
“Say it,” he gritted, gaze focused on the board.
Her chin quivered as she stared back into his hard face. He was doing it again, pushing her into corners and pulling away. It always hurt. She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want to say those words. He was offering her mercy in his mind, but to her it only felt like rejection. She swept her hand across the board angrily, the heavy pieces clattering to the floor, and stood.