Chapter 24

Suddenly, I felt nauseous.

“Aurora,” he called into the empty restroom, and I froze, going as still as I could manage in the hopes that he would go if I didn’t make any sudden moves.

The restroom was empty, and I would have to face him alone if it came down to us talking. The thought made me lightheaded with dread.

Elijah called my name out again, and when I didn’t reply he turned to leave, but holding myself still for so long proved harder than I’d anticipated, and as I adjusted to ease the strain on my quivering muscles my shoulder mistakenly hit the lever on the toilet, which resulted in an embarrassingly loud flush that made Elijah stop in his tracks.

A blanket of silence fell on the room when the flushing finished, and after a tense moment Elijah continued on as if nothing had happened, but just as I was about to let out a sigh of relief I heard him turn the lock before rounding back purposefully, until he stood in front of my stall.

“Come out Aurora,” he intoned, “I know you’re in there.”

“I’m sorry,” I began in a voice a couple of registers higher than my usual. “You must have me mistaken with someone else.”

Elijah huffed, but said nothing, and after a moment of indecisiveness I got up, brain going on autopilot as I stepped out of my stall, sweeping past Elijah until I stopped in front of the bathroom mirrors and busied myself with fiddling with the faucets.

“Can I help you?” I asked in a dismissive tone to dissuade him from noticing that my hands were shaking.

He said nothing, and our eyes met when mine darted up to glance at his reflection in the mirror. Slowly, almost languorously, he ambled forward, closing the distance between us until he stood directly behind me, and I straightened, taking in our joint reflections.

An instant passed in which he seemed to ask silent permission, but when I remained stubbornly resistant he took the initiative and pressed his front flush against my back, letting his large hands rest on top of my shoulders as I steadied myself over the sink.

“Yes,” he answered in reply to my earlier question, and I squirmed against halfheartedly, earning a sharply indrawn breath from him for my troubles. “Yes, you can.”

The dress I’d opted for that day was bold—a black strapless number that managed to pull off the sexy but work-ready look that I’d hoped for, and when Elijah let his hands run lazily over my bare shoulders I felt every last bit of resolve in me drain away and I started to relax.

By now my heart had gone from its little jig to a full-blown salsa, and I nursed a vague worry that if it pounded any faster Elijah would hear it.

“I’ve missed you,” he muttered, dipping his face into the crook of my neck (he’d claimed it for his own), where he dropped a small and far from innocent kiss. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Businessman that he was, Elijah knew he had me right where he wanted, and I was putty under his arms. It would’ve been so easy to give into the brief respite his voice implied, bask under the light of his affection no matter how fleeting.

But he’d spent the past couple of days neglecting me. I couldn’t pretend that that hadn’t happened, and giving myself a second to regroup, I pulled away from him, sauntering to the far side of the sink to put some distance between us.

“I’m sure Isla wouldn’t mind hearing you say that in front of her.”

In an instant he went from looking slightly befuddled to the being his usual self, an emotionless robot who let nothing slip through his crack. If he was a gambler, Elijah would’ve been marvelous at poker.

“I’ve told you how things between Isla and I are.”

“Right,” I said, laying the sarcasm on thick just in case he missed it—which I figured was bound to happen anyway.

The seconds ticked by as we remained silent, silently observing ourselves until Elijah glanced down at his watch and straightened.

“Are you coming to the gala tomorrow?” he asked, taking a hand out of his pocket to adjust his tie.

I blinked, blindsided by the sudden change in topic, and stuttered, telling him I wouldn’t be attending.

He frowned, obviously not satisfied by my reply, but then his expression smoothened out and he proceeded.

“I have something to tell you.”

I shifted, crossing my arms. “I’m all ears.”

“Not here.” Elijah took one step forward, and in response I took one backwards. “And not… like this. But I want you there.”

It was a dance that continued until finally, my back hit the wall and I had nowhere else to escape to.

I swallowed, blinking. “Are you asking as my boss?”

“No.” He was close enough now that I could’ve heard him even if he whispered. He made no move to touch me, even as he leaned slightly forward. “If you’re interested in hearing me out then come. But I won’t order you to.”

We lapsed into a stretch of silence when Elijah finished speaking—him because he’d said all he wanted to say and me because I couldn’t seem to think of what to say.

After several moments of careful contemplation I decided that mentioning I had no dress picked out for the event would be a good place to start, and I opened my mouth to mention this when a sudden noise interrupted the moment, pulling us back to reality. It was the sound of the doorknob turning, and when nothing happened, three sharp raps followed.

I cleared my throat, turning to face my reflection in the mirror. Elijah remained standing in the same position for a moment longer, but then the knocks turned insistent, and he stepped back, unruffled as ever. He turned and began to make his way to the door, before coming to a sudden stop.

“I left you a present in your suite.” He paused, straightening his jacket before continuing. “And I hope you decide to come.”

The white-haired matron at the other side of the door blinked, perplexed at the sight of Elijah when he unlocked the door and slid open. Her mouth fell, and with a small nod at he slipped wordlessly past her.

Frozen at the doorframe, the interloper’s eyes shifted from his retreating figure to me and flew open à la scandalous horror.

Her jowls quivered dangerously, and the pillbox hat on her head perfectly mirrored their movements.

Knowing what it probably looked like, I could feel my face begin to turn red and fumbled with the faucet, turning it off while looking every bit as guilty as she assumed me to be.

I was hurrying past her when she finally decided on what to say, and called after me in French, saying something that roughly translated to: Remember, God is always watching.

See? I told you I was getting better at this whole language thing.