Falling In by Lydia Michaels

else handling her stuff. Everything she owned was in that locker.
    She explained, “I’d rather get it myself.”
    â€œFine.” His fast concession surprised her.
    Scout frowned. Maybe he wanted her to leave. She was about to ask if that was the case when he said, “I’ll have Dugan bring the car around. Meet me out front in ten minutes. Do not be late.”
    Ten minutes wasn’t a whole lot of time to make it all the way to the basement, get to her locker, change, and make it back to the front of the hotel. She needed more time, but before she could ask for it, Lucian turned and held his phone to his ear, already summoning Dugan.

Chapter 8
    Reflection
    Without attracting much attention, Scout kept her head low and speed walked through the lobby of Patras. A man dressed in pristine Patras livery held the heavy glass door as she stepped out of the softly lit hotel and squinted at the sunny street. Cabs lined the curb as finely dressed guests alighted to the gold-fringed red runner at the bottom of the grand marble stairs. Brass luggage carts were stacked with designer cases and garment bags, and she never felt more like a sore thumb in her life.
    Scout shifted her raggedy backpack over her shoulders and looked for Lucian. He wasn’t out there. Stepping as far into the shadows and out of the way as possible, she searched.
    A man with a neat brimmed hat and Patras blazer spoke in rapid French to a guest. Footmen traded keys with valets, and the line of vehicles moved on. A shiny black limousine took up a large portion of the shoulder as a chauffeur aptly stood and awaited his passengers.
    The sun was drifting behind the high skyscrapers. A blustery wind slithered over the pathways, mingling in and out of people passing by, and she shivered, fisting her hands deep within the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt. The denim of her jeans had long ago worn thin and didn’t do much to shield against the gusty November chill.
    The chauffeur twisted as the sleek black window of the limousine lowered half an inch. He listened then turned. His gaze landed on her and his bushy eyebrows jumped. His mouth remained tight beneath the handlebars of his mustache. Straightening his shoulders, he walked in her direction.
    Her back stiffened. Lucian would be furious if she wasn’t waiting for him when he got here. If this man was approaching to chase her away, he had an argument coming. She had every right to be here. She’d be interested to see what he had to say when he learned she was waiting for the owner of Patras, Lucian Patras himself.
    Squaring her shoulders Scout opened her mouth, prepared to tell him she wasn’t moving, when he surprised her by saying, “Ms. Keats?”
    She fumbled. “Y-yes?”
    â€œMr. Patras is right this way. If you’ll follow me?”
    Her lip trembled as she got hold of her bearings and followed the chauffeur. He was quite an enormous man up close. Returning to his position beside the shiny black door of the limo, he opened it with a gentle click as she stepped nearer. The interior was low and dark. Scout bent to peek inside.
    Lucian sat, a look of exasperation on his face, amber drink in his hand. He glanced at his watch dramatically and back at her and sighed. She quickly scurried into the car.
    The soft leather seats cushioned her inelegant landing and she scooted in as the door closed with a quiet snick behind her. Blue lights accented small wooden compartments and a crystal decanter held securely on a small counter.
    â€œDrink?”
    The car pulled away from the curb and she lurched back in her seat, not used to being in cars. She looked at Lucian. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
    He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more on the subject. They drove a few blocks in silence. Lucian’s gaze raked over her, scrutinizing her attire. She tried not to fidget, but failed.
    The clink of ice in his now empty glass drew her