Breaking Out (32 page)

“I don't want that money. I won't touch money earned on my back. I'm talking about an actual loan with interest and penalties and—”

He winced then rolled his eyes. “Watch it, Evelyn. Tell me what you need. I'll give it to you. There's no need for this formal bullshit.”

“I need my dignity back,” she said succinctly, causing him to come up short. That “bullshit” that made this an official business deal was the only way she'd be able to stomach his help. It was just business. Taking those penalties away made it a favor and she was done depending on favors from him.

“I see. And how much does one's dignity cost?”

“I'd like thirty-five thousand dollars.”

His jaw ticked. “For?”

She met his challenging stare and tightened her lips. That was her business.

He sighed. “Evelyn, when an establishment finances another's endeavors, they're foolish not to question the investment.”

“A second ago you were prepared to offer me anything I wanted. I don't see why my intentions should suddenly be an issue. This is just you being nosey. I'm not falling for it. Thirty-five thousand dollars is nothing to you. It's a new beginning for someone like me. Give me the satisfaction of at least believing you know I am capable of taking care of myself. I'm practical and I'm not stupid. Trust me to have a plan and I'll trust you to treat me fairly like you would any other person asking you to invest in their future.”

Those intimidating onyx eyes narrowed. “You're not any other person. Look at it as legal extortion. I have what you want. I'll trade you thirty-five thousand dollars for a bit of information.”

Anger bloomed inside of her. Extortion indeed. She would
not
let him run her life. “I'll just go to a bank then,” she bluffed.

“With what? You have no social security number, no identification, no birth certificate.”

The molars in the back of her mouth clicked together. “I know you have those things. You're trying to manipulate me and, by doing so, only losing more of my respect.”

He'd looked into getting her legal documents months ago. For him to be able to place a bank account in her name he'd had to have obtained some form of identification for her. Likely, he'd been holding it, too cowardly to hand over the documents before the big trade with Parker. If she'd had ID she could've fled a lot faster. Always the thinker and the planner, was Lucian.

“I do,” he agreed shamelessly.

“It wouldn't take long for me to go to a federal building and report them stolen. The numbers are on record, Lucian. Hard part's over. All you're doing is wasting my time. To be honest, your pettiness reeks of desperation.”

His desk drawer slid open and snapped shut. Papers fluttered to the surface of his desk. He glared at her. “There.”

Scout gazed at the documents. A neatly printed card with blue scroll trim filled her vision. Evelyn Scottlynn Keats. Nine digits formed her social security number below the neatly typed name. She was real!

Emotion had her chin trembling. So long she'd waited for such validation of her existence. So many obstacles could be overcome with those simple pieces of paper.

With unsteady fingers, she reached for the documents and stilled when Lucian's firm hand caught her wrist. Her gaze jerked to his.

He tempted the loss of her remaining respect, but pulled through at the last second. She was gambling with his affections, asking for these things. If he didn't give them to her, he would annihilate any remaining faith she had in his goodness. She hated him for what he did, but deep down believed there was good behind the man. If he was so desperate to help her it would have to be on
her
terms
.

Don't deny me, Lucian. Please.
She waited him out.

“I'll help you. But our other issues are far from concluded. Eventually we need to talk about what happened.”

She glared at him and shook off his hold. “I'll ask that you keep your hands to yourself.”

“And I'll ask that you drop the haughty performance you've been affecting since you got here.”

Fingers snatching up the papers, Scout quickly removed her body from within his reach. Her brow tightened and her voice was dangerously close to cracking with emotion. “It's not an act. These are
my
papers and I deserve them. You have no right to keep them from me.”

“And what of my money? Do you deserve that as well?”

“All I asked for was a loan. You can afford it. Either you help me or I go somewhere else.”

“With what credit, Ms. Keats? No bank will sign over that amount of money without a co-signer.”

He was likely right. He was also being mean and spiteful on purpose. Two could play that game. “I could always find another wealthy man willing to help me. After all, it was you who taught me
everything
is for sale.”

He growled. “Watch yourself, Ms. Keats. I'm in no frame of mind to be pushed.”

“Lucian,” she took a deep breath. “I'm not forfeiting my morals for money. Even
you
can't afford them. You either agree to my terms and help me with a loan, or I'll figure out another way.”

“Another way for what?” he snapped.

She wouldn't give him more information than necessary. She needed to do this for herself and if he knew her plan he'd try to take over. Lucian was a leader—a very successful one—but she was sick and tired of following the tide. She needed to prove she could do this on her own. “For my future. I have nothing! I want to invest in
me
since no one else gives a shit and I need thirty-five thousand dollars to do that.”

He stilled, his eyes narrowing, and she saw him weighing her words. Again, he reached into his drawer, only this time he removed a heavy, blue ledger. Long fingers flipped it open and reached for a pen. His hand swiftly moved over the check, the ballpoint scratching across the dense paper. The tear along each tiny perforation mesmerized her with its slow intent, but at last the slip fell free. He dropped the check in front of her with flourish. “There you go.”

Scout stared at the check. The numbers read $35,000.00, but she couldn't read the script. She had trouble with anything that wasn't printed in capital letters.

Eyeing him suspiciously, she blinked as he arched a brow. “Take it. It's yours.”

Her fingers hesitantly reached for the check. Once closing over the thick paper she pulled her hands back to her lap. “I'll . . . I'll pay you back.”

“I don't care about the money, Evelyn.”

“Well, I do. I'll pay you back. Every cent. I'll make payments whenever possible. Once I've paid off the principle, we'll figure out what I owe in interest.”

He rolled his eyes. “All right, but here are my conditions.”

Her mouth opened. She shook her head, trying to scramble up the right words. “But you already gave it to me.”

“I gave you a voucher. A check of that amount has to be cleared through me. What you have is trash unless I approve it when the bank calls.”

“Fine,” she gritted. “What are your terms?”

“Your payments will be made in
person
. I also require an address of where you're staying. These are simple requests and any bank would demand a hell of a lot more from you. Be grateful that's all I'm stipulating at the moment.”

Her jaw locked against what she wanted to say. He was trying to intimidate her. It wasn't happening. “Fine.” He'd have to wait on the address.

“Good.”

Several beats passed where neither of them said a word. She glared challengingly back at him, refusing to be bulldozed or bullied. She read Lucian's intentions in his eyes just as he likely read hers. She stood.

“I should be going.”

All the intensity left Lucian's face. He shot to his feet. “Can I offer you a ride?”

She laughed. “Do I look stupid?” His expression was wounded. She sighed. “Lucian, I have no doubt the second I walk through that door you'll be on the phone with Dugan or some other underling, insisting they follow me. Can we skip the stalking for a change? I've been through hell and back over the past month. I think I'm entitled to my privacy.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I worry.”

She shook her head. “How would you feel if someone followed you everywhere?”

“People follow me every day. I'm in the tabloids. I'm on the news. There aren't many places I can hide, Evelyn. You know that.”

“And I know you hate it, so how could you intrude on my privacy in the same manner?”

“Because it's
not
the same. You're on your own and I'm only trying to keep an eye out.” He suddenly frowned. “Why are you dressed like that?”

She glanced down at her Clemons uniform. Her hand quickly snapped off her nametag and his eyes narrowed.

“You got a job,” he guessed.

“I told you I plan to pay you back. I need money to do that.”

“Where are you working? I would've given you your old job back.”

“I don't want any ties, beyond this loan, to you or your companies.”

His head slowly drew back and she saw how her words wounded him. “Did what we have mean so little to you?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Perhaps you should ask yourself that question.” She picked up her bag and folded the check, slipping it safely inside the zippered pocket. “I have to go. Please don't have anyone follow me.”

She turned and he called her name. “Evelyn.”

Her resolve was waning and she had to get out of there. It was so hard seeing him and not touching him. Her heart wanted to run to him, feel his arms around her as she cried about the injustice done to her, but he was the culprit behind all of her heartache.

All she needed to do was think of how he'd betrayed her and the pain was enough to drop her to her knees, cutting off all urge to step closer.

“Will you continue to pay for Pearl to stay at the rehab?”

His eyes narrowed. “The fact that you can even ask that shows how little you think of me.”

What did he expect? He'd completely shocked her when he'd let her go and broken his promise to always protect her. She shrugged.

“Yes, I will continue to pay for your mother.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head. “I'm glad to do it.”

She remained facing the door, not wanting to look at him anymore. He stepped close, but didn't touch her. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

“So am I.” Quickly opening the door, she fled. Her finger pounded into the elevator button as if she were tapping out Morse code.

S.O.S. S.O.S. S.O.S!

Not until the doors of the elevator closed behind her did she turn and exhale. She did it.

© Jenn Erickson Photography, LLC

Lydia Michaels
writes all forms of hot romance. She presses the bounds of love and surprises readers just when they assume they have her stories figured out. From Amish vampyres, to wild Irishmen, to broken heroes, and heroines no man can match, Lydia takes readers on an emotional journey of the heart, mind, and soul with every story she pens. Her books are intellectual, erotic, haunting, always centered on love.