Gilded Desires

Chapter 15: Fortune Inn - Backseat Grind

On the way to the city, Elliot Vance drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely, his gaze occasionally drifting to the half-healed bite mark on his wrist—a scabbed crescent of dried blood.

As he thought back to the smug look on Clara Hayes’s face when she sank her teeth into him—and the unflinching sincerity with which she lied through her teeth—his lips curled into an involuntary smile.

Back at the hotel, when Shawn Rayne and Abu couldn’t find him, they thought he had forgotten his suitcase in the parking lot. They searched around and finally returned, only to see him coming down the stairs. They assumed he’d been buried in work upstairs, too focused to hear them calling.

He had even changed into a new set of outdoor gear, black gloves on his hands matching the sleek, dark jacket. Neither of them noticed anything unusual about him.

Especially not Clara Hayes, who strolled up from the direction of The Rusty Anchor, wearing an air of confusion so convincing it could win awards.

“Mr. Vance,” she said, her tone sweet and puzzled, “are you heading back to Federal Cross?”

Playing along with her performance, Elliot had to hand her the room key again, right in front of Shawn.

“Going into the city. I’ll be back next week. Keep the room for me.”

She pressed, all helpful smiles. “Where in the city? Do you need Abu to show you around?”

“No need.”

Remembering it now, Elliot couldn’t help but think he had lost his mind. Completely. Why else would he willingly get dragged into a bizarre little act with Clara Hayes, of all people?

“Split-personality” was a term often used to describe people like her—those who could switch personas at will, adopting different faces to suit different moments. Seamless. Effortless. Almost terrifying.

In the past ten days, Clara had been the elegant intellectual, the sultry alpha, the fragile ingenue with tears that twisted guilt into your gut. When she seduced or retaliated, she was maddeningly bratty, an infuriating mix of provocative and playful. And when her desire took over, she didn’t hide it—her hungry gaze and sultry lips made her need feel like a physical force.

How many more versions of Clara Hayes were still waiting to surface? Elliot genuinely wondered.

———

An hour and some change later, Elliot pulled up to the Banyan Palace Hotel in Frostvale. As a platinum member, a row of suited staff stood in wait. He hated this kind of fanfare.

Accepting the room key and refusing help with the luggage, he rolled his suitcase straight toward the elevator.

“Mr. Vance, please wait.”

The front desk manager trotted after him. “Before your arrival, Vice President Weston instructed us not to charge you for the stay. The amount you just paid will be refunded back to your account.”

Elliot’s smile was dry, sardonic.

Gabriel Weston couldn’t have made it more obvious—he wanted the entire world to know that Elliot Vance was broke.

Inside the room, Elliot opened his suitcase and pulled out his laptop. Just as he powered it on, his phone buzzed.

A w******p notification popped up.

**Fortune Hayes**: *“Did you get there safely?”*

Hadn’t she deleted his number?

He opened the chat. She had re-added him.

Since she had been the one to remove him, and he hadn’t deleted her in return, she had the privilege to undo the block. Just like that, they were friends again.

**Fortune Hayes**: *“Are you busy?”*

Elliot didn’t plan to respond. He connected to the Wi-Fi, logged into the company’s internal group chat app for regional heads, and started preparing for a video conference.

Still, when the chat showed *“typing…”*, his eyes kept darting back to the screen.

The app showed participants logging in, one after another. In twenty minutes, the meeting would start.

No new message came through. Finally, he picked up his phone and typed:

**Elliot Vance**: *“I’ve got a video meeting soon.”*

She replied almost instantly.

**Fortune Hayes**: *“Then I won’t bother you. Talk later.”*

He asked, *“Something on your mind?”*

**Fortune Hayes**: *“Not really. Just wondering if your hand still hurts.”*

He knew this side of her—the thoughtful, gentle version—could be summoned like a switch.

And the fact that she’d likely treated other men with this exact concern made him irrationally irritated.

So he called her. Video chat.

She picked up immediately.

No filters. No hesitation.

She was wearing a thin camisole. The bite mark on her collarbone was still there, bruised and raw. Looked like she’d applied iodine.

“Don’t forget to disinfect it regularly,” she murmured, dipping a cotton swab into the iodine and applying it to her wound under his gaze. “Where are you staying? Does the hotel have a clinic?”

Her eyes narrowed as she examined the background—traditional decor, very likely Banyan Palace in Frostvale.

“You’re in Frostvale?” she asked. “At Banyan?”

He glanced at his watch. Didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. His silence confirmed it.

“There’s an in-house medic there,” she reminded him. “Ask the front desk to bring you a bottle of iodine.”

“Meeting’s about to start.”

He was already switching modes. Placing the phone down, the camera angle now only caught the ceiling.

“I’ll let you go, then.”

The call ended.

Clara let out a breath, recalling the annoyed look on his face during the call.

Men preferred restraint. She shouldn’t have come on so strong.

Maybe during that initial adrenaline rush, her boldness stirred desire. But once lust faded and rationality returned, she must’ve come off as cheap. Easy.

Men wanted the thrill of pursuit, the illusion of control.

All she did was ruin it.

“Clara Hayes, you i***t…”

She twisted the cap on the iodine bottle, pulled on a sweater, and glared at her reflection.

“When he comes back, play it cool. Don’t scare him off again. He’s the first one who’s actually better than Daniel Shaw.”

———

For the next five days, Elliot shuttled between Frostvale and Greenwood Valley.

His schedule was packed—video meetings by day, business visits by night, hotel lobbies and stiff handshakes blurring together.

Gabriel Weston had already prepped a list for him—CEOs vacationing nearby, those who had past ties with Vance Capital.

He visited each one, and just as he’d predicted, none would sign anything new until the liquidation was finalized and they could be sure Vance Capital carried no outstanding debt.

No one wanted to get burned by association.

Shawn Rayne had no idea Elliot was out chasing deals.

He thought he was just laying low to avoid the Lu family’s radar.

Gabriel Weston had to call Shawn personally to explain that Elliot had met several business partners in Vermont. None had agreed to the restructuring. It wasn’t going to work.

If Elliot didn’t get back to Federal Cross soon, the company might collapse, and their clients would be snatched up by competitors.

Shawn didn’t want to leave just yet.

Ever since his drunk confession to Clara, she had kept her distance—avoiding his room entirely.

He regretted rushing things.

Now she was cold, Elliot was pissed, and everything was a mess.

Better to put personal stuff on hold until they saved the company.

Besides, Clara clearly wasn’t into Elliot anyway.

Just being from the elite Lu family already disqualified Elliot in her eyes.

What was there to worry about?

———

Tuesday night, just past 9 p.m., Elliot pulled into the Willowbrook parking lot.

He’d been driving for hours. Exhausted.

He leaned back in the seat, eyes closed, hoping for a short nap.

An old electric car stopped at the entrance.

Clara stepped out, a large bag of wedding candy in hand. She waved the driver—a kindly old maid—back into the car.

“It’s okay, Grandma. I can walk from here. You don’t need to walk me in.”

It was a bit of a walk to Fortune Inn, but the bars were still open, the street lit and buzzing.

Plenty safe.

She burped lightly—tipsy from too much wedding champagne—and turned to head toward the town.

Just then, a pair of headlights hit her face.

She winced, muttering about “some i***t using high beams in town,” only to see the lights dim—and Elliot Vance sitting in the driver’s seat.

She ran up to the car and knocked on the window.

He leaned over, popped the door open.

Inside, the air reeked of smoke.

She noticed the empty cigarette pack in the center console.

“You’ve been driving since Frostvale?” she asked, frowning.

“Got to Shuanglang first. Left for Willowbrook around seven,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

“You went to Greenwood again?”

“Don’t talk,” he whispered, voice rough and thick with fatigue. “Just sit with me a while.”

Clara settled into the seat beside him, leaning back, staying silent.

In the muted glow of the streetlamp, she studied his face—drawn, worn, almost hollow.

Five minutes passed.

His coat slipped off his shoulder. She reached to pull it back up—

—but the moment her hand touched the collar, he grabbed her wrist.

Before she could react, his hand slid to the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss.

“Mm…”

His mouth was hot, tasting of smoke and tension. She clutched at his collar, caught off-guard. The angle was wrong—awkward. There was no pleasure in it.

Elliot seemed to sense that too.

With a grunt, he reclined his seat and pulled her into his lap, guiding her knees astride his thighs.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and devoured her mouth.

“Mm… mm…”

Clara’s soft whimpers escaped between their kisses. She wanted to push him away, say something, anything. But she couldn’t resist the way he kissed.

Panting between breaths, she turned her face slightly. “What’s wrong with you…?”

“Don’t speak.”

His hand pressed her down again.

His tongue plunged back into her mouth, greedy, messy.

His right hand slid down and popped open the button of her jeans.

“No—”

She grabbed his wrist, but too late.

His fingers slipped inside.

Cold fingertips brushed her c**t, and her body betrayed her—arching with a cry. “Ah…”

Elliot silenced her moans with his mouth, his fingers sliding lower, spreading her folds. She was soaking—slick, hot, dripping for him.

“Ngh…”

Clara twisted away, trying to catch her breath, trying to stop him.

But he was relentless.

One hand massaging her c**t, the other cradling her tongue like a captive.

“Mm… mm—”

It had been years since she’d been touched like this.

Her hips jerked, her slender waist writhing uncontrollably.

“Ah—ahh…”

And then it happened.

A burst of heat rushed down from her belly—wet, shattering, unstoppable.

She came.

Hard.

All over his hand.