Gilded Desires

Chapter 5: Fortune Inn - Scent

Only after Elliot Vance left did Clara Hayes realize what he’d meant by " Drop. The. Act."

As a woman who knew her way around innuendo, Clara was well aware that fire he mentioned was nothing but desire.

A man in his thirties, hearing a risqué joke and reacting physically? Normal. But a man like Elliot Vance—who didn’t bother hiding it, who didn’t feign propriety or use the moment to flirt—was rare.

And a man like him, who moved in high-powered circles, probably had women throwing themselves at him constantly. He’d grown tired of games. So when Clara had matched his banter that night, he must have assumed she was trying something.

" Drop. The. Act." was likely his way of telling her, the inn’s manager, to stop overstepping.

Glancing at the notification confirming the files had transferred successfully, Clara picked up her phone, found Elliot’s contact, and deleted it without hesitation. If he was going to be that blunt, she wasn’t about to embarrass herself further.

Besides, she hadn’t been flirting in the first place.

After that night, a full week passed without Elliot seeing much of Clara at all.

It wasn’t that she’d vanished—she’d just stopped appearing in front of him. Afternoon tea was delivered by Abe, meals were prepared by Mrs. Wilkins, and apart from the occasional guest check-in at the front desk, Clara was nowhere to be found.

At first, Elliot assumed she was busy. Then he opened her w******p, only to find her moments blank—when he’d first added her, her feed had been visible.

He sent a single [?].

The reply was instant: [Please add this user as a friend first.]

She’d deleted him.

Unbelievable.

A dry laugh escaped him.

Remembering the look on Clara’s face when she’d hurled that snowball, this petty retaliation fit her perfectly. This wasn’t some ploy for attention—she genuinely wanted nothing to do with him.

Closing his laptop, Elliot headed downstairs just in time to see Clara slip into the storage room, clearly avoiding him.

Inside, she was folding linens with exaggerated focus. The cramped space felt even smaller with his height, the low ceiling making his presence almost comically out of place.

"We need to talk," he said.

Clara, wearing earbuds, pretended not to hear.

Elliot plucked one out. "I know you can."

At 6'2" to her 5'4", the difference was stark.

Clara forced a polite smile. "How can I help you, Mr. Vance?"

Something about that rehearsed professionalism grated on him. "Why are you angry?"

"I’m not."

"Then why delete me?"

"Oh… that?" The conversation suddenly felt too intimate. Clara backpedaled. "Fortune Inn has strict policies about staff keeping guests’ private contacts. I only added you to share those files—it was a one-time exception."

A one-time exception.

Clever wording.

"Did what I said that night offend you?"

Clara blinked. Wasn’t he the one who told me to back off?

"I’ve never minded your sense of humor," Elliot continued. "I know you’re not trying to seduce anyone—you just like winning. But not every man will respect that. Sometimes, trading barbs only puts you in danger."

"I don’t do it with just anyone. I pick my battles." She flashed him a smile, tight but practiced. "Still, I appreciate the advice. I’ll try to behave."

As she turned back to the linens, Elliot caught her wrist and pulled her forward.

Clara stumbled, hands flying to his coat for balance, her body pressing flush against his. Elliot’s arm locked around her waist, steadying her.

The scent of tobacco—subtle, expensive—hit her instantly.

Daniel.

She used to bury her face in Daniel Shaw’s jacket after his business dinners, inhaling the smokiness clinging to his clothes. He’d known she loved it, sometimes lighting a cigarette just before kissing her—

The memories surged, vivid and unwelcome. Clara shoved Elliot away before they could drown her.

Air cleared her head.

"Mr. Vance," she said, voice steadier than she felt, "you should stop talking to me." No more pretending. "You smell like my ex. Being this close just… reminds me of him. And I’m pathetic enough that five years hasn’t been long enough to forget. He’s getting married next month. I need to move on."

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

Elliot had never disliked his own cologne—until now. Knowing it reminded her of another man made him want to burn the damn coat.