Gilded Desires

Chapter 8: Fortune Inn - Provocation

Several days later, Clara Hayes made good on her promise and took Elliot Vance for drinks at The Rusty Anchor. Perhaps it was their shared Northvale roots that made him feel strangely familiar—like an old friend she’d known for years rather than a guest at her inn.

They laughed easily, trading stories about Northvale’s landscapes and cuisine, both carefully avoiding any mention of the Shaw family.

Romantic atmospheres had a way of loosening tongues and blurring lines. Watching the man across from her exhale a slow stream of smoke, fingers lazily curled around his cigarette, Clara took a sip of her drink and grinned. "You’re not actually bankrupt, are you? That news was fake?"

Elliot smirked. "Ever heard the saying?"

"…What saying?"

"A starved lion is still a lion."

"You’re hilarious."

He’d been meaning to bring this up for days. "Drop the ‘Mr. Vance.’ Every time you say it, I feel like I’m back in a boardroom."

"You are a guest at Fortune Inn."

"And the customer is always right. So?"

She couldn’t help but laugh. God, she liked this about him—how a man who’d once commanded boardrooms could be so utterly without pretense.

A few drinks in, warmth blooming in her veins, she leaned forward. "Elliot Vance, how long are you planning to stay at Fortune Inn?"

The moment his name left her lips, the distance between them collapsed.

"Three months. Maybe six." He plucked a cigarette from his pack but didn’t light it, rolling it between his fingers instead. "How much longer will you be playing innkeeper?"

"Not long." The lie came easily. "Leaving after the new year. My mother’s handling my immigration paperwork."

"Where to?"

"Canada." She propped her chin on her hand, her gaze already hazy. "Family’s there. Easier that way."

"Five years at Fortune Inn?"

Clara counted on her fingers. "October 2012, October 2013…" She blinked. "Damn. Almost five years."

"All to avoid Daniel Shaw?"

"You’re awfully curious about my love life." The alcohol made her bold. "Elliot Vance, are you into me?"

His response was a slow, infuriating smile. "Guess."

Then he stood and headed for the restroom.

When he returned, Clara spotted a woman with cascading curls slipping something into his pocket. Too far, too dim—but she could guess.

The moment Elliot sat back down, she reached into his coat and pulled out the condom.

"Only one?" She arched a brow. "That’s optimistic."

"How many would you suggest?" His gaze darkened as he took a sip of his drink. "I can always buy more."

"Why ask me?" Her grin turned wicked. "Go find your brunette. Ask her how many she thinks you’ll need."

"You’re the one who said one wasn’t enough."

"So if I said seven, you’d deliver?"

"Depends how many you want."

"…" The conversation was veering into dangerous territory.

Clara pivoted. "Elliot Vance, have you ever even been in love?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard.

From the moment he’d won his first college scholarship, Elliot had been building an empire. Four years of balancing academia and startups left no room for romance. While his peers agonized over Valentine’s gifts and girlfriend dramas, he’d found the whole concept tedious—nothing compared to the thrill of a deal well struck.

By the time his company went public, his life was a blur of investor meetings and overseas expansions. The media dubbed him "Federal Cross’s Titan", splashing his name across tabloids alongside starlets he’d barely spoken to at charity galas.

In his world, love was a luxury. Marriage? A merger.

So no, no one had ever asked him this.

"Never falling in love is a good thing for men like you." Clara’s voice was light, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. "For tycoons, love is just another variable in the profit equation. Marriage? A business transaction. Any woman stupid enough to fall for you would be signing up for a lifetime of regret."

Elliot studied her—the black brace on her wrist, the five years spent hiding in Willowbrook, the cynicism that didn’t match her age. What had the Shaws done to her?

"It’s late." She stood too fast, swaying.

His hands steadied her.

The scent of sandalwood enveloped her, warm and grounding. "You smell incredible," she murmured, fingers clutching his coat. Then, emboldened by liquor: "Bet I’d sleep like a baby if you held me tonight."

Drunkenness was a convenient excuse—for truths masquerading as jokes, for flirting without consequence. A simple "I was wasted" could erase any awkwardness.

But Elliot Vance wasn’t easily fooled.

"Those cocktails weren’t strong enough for ‘drunk talk.’" His breath ghosted over her ear. "Keep going, and I will take you up on it."

Clara’s pulse spiked. "Then do it. It’s not like we’re dating. No lifelong bad luck for me."

For a full minute, Elliot just looked at her. In the dim light, her cheeks were flushed, her smile razor-sharp.

No—not sharp. Provocative.

This wasn’t about winning some verbal sparring match. Tonight, Clara Hayes wasn’t just flirting.

She was hunting.