“So what is it you do, then?”
Loch made a rueful face. “It’s going to sound ridiculous, but I’m a baron.”
“A baron?” Rex’s thick brows drew down. “Like from England?”
“Actually I’m from Bellissime. It’s close to Monaco. Very small, tucked into the Alps.”
“So what is it that barons do?”
That was a good question. “Photo opportunities, visiting foreign dignitaries, things like that. Back home I played a lot of polo and rugby.”
He grunted and mopped his plate with a French fry. “And here?”
“Here? Not a lot.” Loch set his burger down. “I go running, and I spend time with my . . . girlfriend.” The word was strange on his tongue, but he could grow to like it. “Other than that, not much.”
“No wonder you’re bored and talking to the likes of me.” Rex grunted and polished off his burger.
“I’m talking to you because I thought you might be interesting.”
“Because I’m homeless? Didn’t see you grabbing anyone else off the streets.” The man gave Loch a shrewd look. “Bet any of those people would love to have lunch, too.”
He was ashamed to realize that Rex was right. He had been fascinated—appalled, too—by the fact that he was homeless. He said nothing.
Rex nodded at Loch’s plate. “You gonna finish that?”
Loch pushed the plate toward him. “Be my guest.”
They were both quiet as Rex ate the remains of Loch’s lunch. “So what’s your goal here?” Rex said after a while.
“Goal?”
“With being my best buddy all of a sudden? Do you know how much you’ve given me in the last three days?”
Loch paused. He never paid attention. “No.”
“Two hundred and twenty-six dollars.” Rex pointed at their plates. “You know how much this cost? This lunch?”
“No?” Why did that matter?
Rex shook his head, wiped his hands with a napkin, and then pocketed a stack of them. “You keep giving me wads of money every day, and while I appreciate it, between that and the lunches, I’m just trying to figure out your angle.”
Loch stiffened. “I’m just trying to help out. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No, I wanted money. You trying to help me or help yourself?”
That was . . . a very good question, and one Loch had no answer for.
***
The conversation with Rex was still bothering him when he returned to the hotel a short time later. Taylor waved at him and made a phone gesture with her hand, then murmured something into her headset as she typed furiously. He headed for the bathroom and took a long shower, but even after he dried off, he was still troubled.
Talking to the homeless man had been an eye-opener. Here he was, thinking he was doing some sort of great favor for the man, when Rex had totally turned it around on him. He wasn’t doing a favor for Rex, he was doing something that would make himself feel better about Rex’s situation. The realization was both astute and shameful. And when Rex had pointed out that Loch had no concept of money? It had just made him feel worse, like a spoiled child.
How was it that he didn’t know the basic values of things? Was the bubble he lived in back home greater than he’d imagined? Was that why he was so fascinated and also horrified by Rex and his situation? Because it shone a light on his own flaws?
Loch dressed in a pair of casual slacks and a polo shirt, but couldn’t find socks. He dug through his drawers of clothing, and then another when no socks turned up. Barefooted, he padded out into the living room, where Taylor was removing her headset. “Have you seen my socks?”
“No. Should I be aware of your sock location?” she teased. “Perhaps they’ve been taken by rabid sock monkeys?”
He frowned and headed for the coat closet at the front of the hotel room where his freshly laundered clothing was normally deposited. No socks. “Did anyone come by to get my socks?”
“I don’t know.” She was watching him curiously, amusement on her face. “Are they that important?”
They weren’t, but it just illustrated how much he assumed about everything in his life. That he expected something to be there, or for someone to hand him something so he wouldn’t have to tax himself. And now that he was left on his own to handle things . . . he was failing miserably.
It was a rather ugly realization to have about one’s self.
“Oh, wow. Are you okay? You look awfully upset over missing socks.” Taylor moved to his side, her hand stroking down his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just . . . frustrated.” Because I’m helpless and I’m just now starting to realize it. “Sometimes I feel like I have less of a handle on even the smallest things than I’d like to think.”
To his surprise, she gave a little unhappy sigh. “Don’t I know that feeling. Come on.” She took his hand in hers and tugged him toward the couch.
“Where are we going?”
“You are going to sit on the couch and I’m going to give you a nice relaxing foot rub, and we can talk about what’s bothering you.”
“Are you patronizing me?”
“No, if I was patronizing you, I’d probably be making baby coos right now.” She puckered her mouth and made a few kissy faces.
He laughed despite himself and let her lead him to the couch. Once there, she grabbed his leg, sat down on the ottoman, and began to rub his bare foot.
Okay, he wasn’t the type for a foot rub normally, but fuck, that felt nice. Loch’s head fell back and he groaned in pleasant surprise. “How’d you guess that I needed a foot rub?”
“Um, because everyone likes a foot rub?” Her fingers worked his arch expertly, and then she smoothed her hands up and down the length of his foot in a sensation that was both soothing and decidedly erotic. “I know whenever I get super stressed, I like to go out for a pedicure. Someone rubs my feet and makes my toes look cute. It’s a win-win situation.”
“Just promise me I won’t end up with pink toes,” he murmured, eyes still closed so he could enjoy the full sensation of her touch.
“I only use red.”
He opened an eye to glare at her and she giggled, working her hands over his foot again. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I do like to think so, yeah.” She beamed at him and then dug her fingers into a particularly sensitive spot near his heel and he almost came off the couch with how good it felt. “You wanna talk about what’s freaking you out?”