Chapter 4: Fortune Inn - Drop the Act
586 Words
Nightfall.
Clara Hayes sat at the courtyard entrance of the inn, gazing at the ancient opera stage across the way. A cold wind whipped through, making her hug her knees and bury her face in her coat. Only at night did she welcome this numbing chill - the colder she felt, the clearer her mind became. And with clarity came freedom from thoughts of Daniel Shaw.
When her limbs grew stiff from the cold, she finally rose and returned to the lobby.
Daniel Shaw's refined features still haunted her. Clara opened her laptop, hoping writing might distract her. Whether from frozen fingers or restless thoughts, her arm jerked suddenly, sending the computer crashing to the floor.
The screen stayed black when she picked it up.
Tears welled uncontrollably. "Daniel Shaw, you're like a ghost that won't leave..."
Elliot Vance returned from the bar to find her by the window, eyes suspiciously red. Lost in thought, she hadn't noticed his entrance - a stark contrast to her usual composed self.
Seeing tear tracks glisten in the lamplight, the normally indifferent Elliot paused.
Noticing him, Clara hastily wiped her face and forced brightness into her voice. "Mr. Vance! How was The Rusty Anchor?"
The bar owned by Kyle.
Recognizing her deflection but humoring it, Elliot nodded. "Good whiskey. The live band was decent."
"Our Fortune Inn guests get 20% off there." She hugged the damaged laptop. "Did Kyle give you the discount? If not, I'll-"
"Your screen's glitching," Elliot interrupted.
"Dropped it." Her voice fell. "I'll ask Kyle to take a look."
"Let me see."
Clara blinked. "Right! The tech mogul himself."
-----
Midnight approached. Outside, streetlamps flickered off. Clara checked her watch - nearly 11 PM - as Elliot still tinkered with her laptop.
"You should rest. This can wait till morning," she offered guiltily.
"You go ahead." Elliot shone his phone flashlight on a loose connection. "Might just be the ribbon cable."
She wished she could. Last night, Lena had sent "educational videos" featuring European models to "help erase that bastard Daniel Shaw." Currently saved on her desktop. If Elliot powered it on...
"Hold this." Elliot didn't look up, passing her the phone. "Light here."
Leaning close, she caught whiffs of whiskey and tobacco. "You smoke?"
"Occasionally." He gestured for better light.
As she bent nearer, the play of tendons across his hands arrested her - those long fingers manipulating tweezers with surgical precision. Exactly like the restrained male leads in her novels.
Devastating.
She imagined those fingers holding a cigarette...
So engrossed, she missed the screen flickering to life - displaying Lena's gifts in bold titles: Fifty Shades trilogy front and center.
Impossible to overlook.
Heart hammering, Clara feigned nonchalance. "Want me to share these... resources with you?"
Elliot studied her flaming ears before replying as if discussing stock reports: "Seen those. But The Submission Diaries?" He tapped one title. "That's new."
As files transferred, Clara gulped water while Elliot lit a cigarette. Watching smoke curl around those lips, she abruptly stood.
"Kyle your boyfriend?" Elliot asked suddenly.
"What? No." She laughed. "He's 24."
"And you?"
"27."
"Prefer older men?"
"Not age. Maturity."
"Like the one you can't forget?"
"...How did you-?"
When the transfer completed, Elliot rose. "Stop performing. The harder you try, the more you slip up."
At the doorway, he turned. "And never tease a struggling man in his prime. You might get burned."
"What kind of burn?" she called after him.
His parting words lingered in the dark:
"Drop. The. Act."
- Writer
