AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you finished?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Searching her mind for a moment in case there was anything else, she paused. Yes, she was finished. And now she was shaking. Fury blazed in his eyes, but he had no right to manhandle or boss her like that.
Adrenaline rushed her system, making her feel cornered and off balance. Lucian didn’t look like the easygoing man who took her shopping yesterday or the man who taught her to play chess last night. He looked every bit the menacing industrialist prepared and qualified to take over the world.
Shit.
“Lucian, I—”
“Not. Another. Word. It’s ten minutes to ten and I’m now running late. You have an appointment. I’ll see you tonight at six at which point you will be dressed appropriately for the evening. We will have dinner, make our rounds at the benefit, and return home, at which point I expect to hear all about where you spent your morning. Any questions?”
He didn’t leave much unexplained.
She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, hopefully making it clear that he wasn’t the only person pissed off at the moment. “No.” She just wanted to get away from him.
He turned and whistled. About fifty people, the majority of them wearing Patras uniforms, turned and stared at them. Scout wanted to crawl under a manhole cover and die.
“Philippe,” Lucian called. The man jogged over. “This is Ms. Keats. See that she gets back to her room safely. She’s in suite 3000.”
Philippe looked at her and his judgment caused her to shrink. He had to be French. She was proven correct in the next moment when he began speaking to Lucian in what she now recognized as French. Naturally, Lucian spoke back to him in Philippe’s native tongue, probably flawlessly.
Once he’d given the attendant his instructions, he turned and left, without even a good-bye. Scout was pissed, but more frustrated with herself than anything. It hurt, for some reason, watching Lucian walk away from her without even a glance back.
Ridiculous.
There shouldn’t be such confusing emotions warring inside of her. This was a simple arrangement, one where she needed to keep her head and not underestimate him or lose sight of who he really was.
She should probably feel guilty for snapping at him, but her stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. She may be younger and smaller than him, but she wasn’t anyone’s kicking post.
The limo pulled away. Let him be angry. She was angry too.
“Mademoiselle? I shall take you to your room now as Monsieur Patras instructed.”
Her shoulders drooped. Even in his absence he seemed to maintain control. “Yes, all right. Let’s go.”
Chapter 11
Female Torture Rituals
After changing into a more “appropriate” outfit for the day, Scout quickly rushed down to the spa. She wasn’t sure if she needed anything. A sweet girl about her age with beautiful teeth and a cheery smile greeted her.
“Evelyn?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I’m late.”
The girl came around the counter. “That’s no problem at all.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beth.”
“Evelyn,” she said stupidly and blushed. “But you already knew that. I might as well just tell you I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ve never been to a spa before and I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”
Beth grinned and somehow her trepidation vanished. “You’ll love it. Just be yourself. Mr. Patras arranged for you to have quite a full day. We’re going to start you off in the salon. Mr. Patras made it perfectly clear that your hair was to remain long, but we should clean up the ends for you. They have some great hot oil treatments as well. Once you get back to Isabella you guys can discuss color if that’s something you’re interested in. From there you’ll meet with Ivone for your massage, then Katelyn, who’ll help you select the right kind of makeup for your coloring. You have beautiful skin, by the way. After that, Richard will style your updo and then it’s back to Katelyn for your makeover.”
As Beth spoke she led Scout back to the salon. Various scents fought over the airy space. Everyone wore black and had perfect hair. Even the one stylist with spiky pink hair had managed to accomplish the perfect spiky pink.
Scout was ushered to a cushiony seat and introduced to Isabella, who also appeared to be quite nice. Her hair was taken out of her ponytail and fondled by several stylists. She tried not to flinch at being touched. They each commented on its thickness and how lucky she was to have such nice natural waves. An unfamiliar pride filled her with each kind word.
They each put in a suggestion of the type of cut and style she’d look best with. Scout had no opinion on the subject, so she remained silent. She was brought to a small sink where magical fingers massaged her scalp and delicious-smelling products were rubbed into her hair.
