Page 41 of Filthy Rich

“It was an accident. They happen.”

“I know.”

“As someone recently told me, it’s a stain. It’ll come out.” I pause, giving myself a second to appreciate his startled look. “And I’m sure she feels terrible about it.”

His heavy brows sink lower, giving him that familiar dark and forbidding look. “Now you’re crusading on behalf of some random server who probably thinks all Americans are assholes anyway?”

“Nope.” I spent so much time as a server at a swanky sushi restaurant near campus back when I was in school that I’m hypersensitive to all behaviors affecting people in the service industry. “I’m crusading on behalf of girls like me who work hard and do their best but sometimes make mistakes.”

I see the light bulb go off over his head. “You were a server.”

“Bingo.”

“I didn’t mean to be gruff with her, but I’m not known for my sensitivity.”

“Yeah, well, it’s never too late to turn over a new leaf.”

His jaw hardens. “Maybe it is. People are who they are. And they’re often disappointing, if not downright problematic.”

Whoa. I knew he had a dark side, but I never suspected it ran that deep.

“You think I’m disappointing and problematic?”

“Let’s just say that beautiful faces have been known to hide all sorts of things,” he says, shrugging.

“So have handsome faces.” I scoot my chair back with a scrape that draws attention from the genteel faces all around us. There I go, acting like one of the Beverly Hillbillies again. I duck my head, ears hot. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll pay the check and meet you outside,” he says as I walk off.

I find the bathroom and take my time using the facilities while my father’s warnings about rich people cycle through my mind. Does Lucien look down at people like that server—and like me? What if Dad was right? What if Lucien is one of the rich who can’t be nice or keep up the façade of kindness for longer than a few moments at a time? Will Lucien slip into Mrs. Hooper mode, stepping on the little people and doing everything he can to remind them of how little they are?

Or am I overreacting to the whole incident?

Maybe it was just a minor accident. Maybe he was just vaguely annoyed, as I would have been. Maybe his wealth and privilege have nothing to do with his attitude at all. Maybe my biases against the rich are the problem here.

I just don’t know.

Tamsyn, what are you doing with this man?

I ask myself the question repeatedly as I stare into my red-cheeked reflection in the mirror. Once again, the answer is that I just don’t know.

I finally leave the bathroom and head outside, glad the day is nearly over. It’s time to go back to the ship anyway. I glance around for him and stop cold when I see him approaching with a cup of gelato in each hand and his usual inscrutable expression firmly in place.

“Which one?” He holds each one up in turn. “Pistachio or stracciatella?”

“Pistachio. Thanks.”

“I left the server a huge tip, by the way.”

“Nice. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

“You did.”

I hesitate, then decide to just open up a little. “Part of me thinks that you secretly look down on women like that server and me.”

“Why?” he asks, looking startled.

“Because we’re not rich like you. Maybe we matter less.”

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