Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(21)

But he had his reasons to be there, ones he prayed paid off, since the thief had been quiet this past week as well. But with an item so tempting laid on the table, perhaps that would change. Luke smiled to himself as the elevator doors opened, revealing the sunny penthouse hallway.

And the knockout blonde walking down it.

She was young—probably somewhere around twenty, just a few years younger than him—and she stopped short as she beheld him. Luke mastered himself enough to offer a half smile as he stepped off the elevator and kept the door open for her with an extended arm.

“New neighbor?” he asked as she resumed approaching, a small smile curling her mouth.

Yeah, knockout was an understatement. Long, lean legs not at all hidden by the workout gear she wore. And her light exercise jacket that also displayed a tapered waist. As she stopped before him, he got a look right into those green eyes, and…Wow.

“I was wondering when we’d meet,” she said, her voice low and cool. Not a trace of an accent—likely from European boarding schools. Swiss, if he were to put money on it. She extended a tanned, manicured hand to him, palm down—the same way he’d seen his mom and the other fancy ladies of Gotham City do. As if it wouldn’t be unexpected for him to kiss it. “Holly Vanderhees.”

The light calluses on her palm were unexpected, though, as he opted for a quick shake. She probably did CrossFit. Even with the long sleeves of her jacket, he could see the strong, sleek shape of her arms. “I know who you are,” he said with a hint of a smile that usually made ladies go red or start giggling.

She only angled her head, that mass of golden hair tilting with her. “I suppose you have the upper hand, then.” Not a giggle or blush in sight. A woman used to handling men—or making them blush. Interesting.

So he went for option B: the roguish grin. “Luke Fox.” The elevator started beeping, an incessant demand to get out or in.

“You can let it go,” she said, and the tone…A woman definitely used to giving orders. And having them obeyed. Definitely old money—maybe even some Old World titles to go with it.

Luke let go of the elevator doors, and they slid shut. “I’m sorry I haven’t come over to say hi.” He lifted the garment bag for emphasis. “Been a busy summer.”

Holly flicked those killer green eyes over him once. “Are you attending the museum gala tonight?”

Only for work purposes, he was tempted to say, but Luke tapped the garment bag. “Just heading in to get ready.”

She arched a brow—darker than her blond hair. “You need three hours to get dressed?”

Luke choked on a laugh. “And if I did?”

“I’d offer to bring over some face masks and make it a party.”

Luke chuckled this time. “Are you going?”

A nod. “Any tips for a newcomer?”

Many. Starting with never getting involved in the gala circuit. But she’d likely been born and bred for this sort of thing. A bit of a disappointment, if he was being honest with himself.

“Avoid the raw bar after Jaclyn Brooksfeld arrives,” Luke said. “She picks up every shrimp and then puts the rejects back.”

Holly laughed, a husky sound. “Disgusting.” She glanced over a shoulder toward his door. “You live there alone?”

“My parents are at their place out in the suburbs.”

“Your parents, hmm? Do they get you a babysitter while you’re in the city?”

He rolled his eyes. “Funny.”

Holly let out that low laugh that rippled down his body, then leaned past him to push the elevator button.

He asked, “Where do your parents live?” You look young enough to still be in college.

He knew it was the wrong question when she stiffened. “They passed away years ago.”

Luke winced. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He couldn’t imagine it. Even with all he’d gone through. That loss…He’d never recover.

Holly studied the rising elevator floor numbers. “Thank you.”

Silence fell, heavy and awkward. So he found himself asking, “You need a ride to the gala later?”

“No, thank you.” Again, that little smile returned. “I have my own ride.”

He blinked at her. Normally, they said yes. Normally, they asked him. “What brings you to Gotham?”

Holly examined her manicured nails for any flaws—a bored expression growing on her face that he’d seen a thousand times, from prep school to galas to brunches. “Europe got boring.”

Only someone with too much money and too little to do would say something like that. Someone who’d never been hungry or frightened or bothered to think how the rest of the world lived.

Or what they could do to help it.

He might have grown up with the world at his feet, but his parents hadn’t. And they’d made sure he never took any of it for granted. Working as Batwing, being in the Marines, had only reinforced that awareness and gratitude. And made Holly’s lack of it even more apparent.

Any sparkle in his blood simmered out.

“No job to entertain you?” he asked tightly, hoping she’d prove him wrong.

Again that bored look. “Why would I ever bother to work?”

He’d heard enough. Seen enough. He’d met her kind a hundred times. Had grown up with them. Why bother to work? Why bother to volunteer at a charity when money could just be handed over and bragging rights gained? Donations were more for tax purposes than kindness—how often he’d heard that notion. Holly was no different.