Chapter 94 ELLIOT

Chapter 94 ELLIOT
ELLIOT’S POV
The suit Maeve picked out for me was a deep brown material that felt like silk in my hands.
I’d stepped into the guest room and found it spread on the giant bed, and had immediately felt intimidated. It was easily the most expensive piece of clothing I’d ever touched. I almost didn’t want to wear it.
I sunk down to the edge of the mattress and fished out my phone. On the other side of this bedroom wall was Weston’s.
He’d disappeared through the doors as soon as he’d gotten me to mine without so much as a backwards glance.
Something about this house was making him kind of bitchy. And I honestly couldn’t blame him. The place was huge and suffocating, tense like a haunted hospital. If I lost a sibling and my parents basically turned our home into a shrine for them, I’d probably be bitchy too.
But I’d seen him in the study earlier, his head bowed and shoulders trembling like he was on the verge of a panic attack. The last time I’d seen him that bad was when he’d lost it in my kitchen back in Arizona.
I chewed absently on my bottom lip as I stared at the opposite wall and questioned why I was here in the first place. Andrew Pierce hadn’t even so much as offered me a glimpse of why I’d been invited before he’d been whisked away by Maeve.
And then the whole thing with his Mom.
I huffed a low breath and flopped on to the bed. I’d only been here a couple hours and I was already exhausted. I couldn’t imagine living like this for years. No wonder he was such a self-hating, emotionally repressed closet case, I mean, who wouldn’t be.
Maeve said the dinner would start at six. A glance at the clock told me I had about four hours to spare, give or take. Which meant I needed something to do in the meantime, but my host was absent, and Weston was not good company right now.
I didn’t want to go snooping for fear of getting lost again, or worse, running into Madison again. I sighed again, and turned to my side, after a moment of staring out the glass balcony doors, I fell into a restless nap.
At about thirty minutes to six, I found myself standing in front of Weston’s bedroom door with my heart in my throat, and a bowtie in my hand.
I sucked in a steadying breath and knocked twice. There was a low murmur from the other side and then the heavy wooden doors were swinging open and there he was, half dressed in an unbuttoned dark shirt.
He seemed surprised to find me there, and I forced my gaze to stay on his.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, voice gruffer than usual.
“Yeah,” I squeaked, then cleared my throat, “Uh I can’t do a bowtie.”
He cocked a brow, dropping his gaze to take me in from head to toe. His expression was unreadable when it returned to mine. “You can’t do a bowtie.”
“I don’t think I stuttered the first time.”
I expected a huff of reluctant laughter, or an eye roll, but all I got was a blank look, and then he stepped back without a word, letting me into the room. A room I was sure was twice the size of mine
He had the door to his walk-in closet open and I could see rows and rows of shelves as I walked past, with more clothes and shoes than I would know what to do with. His room was much different than I was expecting; bare and almost clinical.
Everything was in shades of beige and grey, asides from the giant chandelier in the middle of the room, there was barely any personality in the large space, and as I followed him to the large mirror in a corner, I noticed the bed looked untouched.
“Go on,” he said, pointing to a step stool by the mirror.
I pinned him with a dry look. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes.” He seemed unimpressed. “There’s a significant height difference here, so get on.”
“I can’t help but feel like you’re messing with me.” I grumbled, but I stepped on anyway, my shoes clacking loudly against the wood.
“You’re the one who can’t do a bow tie.” He said softly, stepping close. We were at equal height like this, I was slightly taller even. It was odd not having to look up at him. He met my gaze and they seemed bluer than usual.
He pursed his lips, holding my gaze as he looped the tie around my neck, his fingers warm as they flicked up my collar. My breath stuttered out of me shakily and I shifted on my feet.
“Stay still.” He snapped softly under his breath, fingers against my pulse point.
I could feel his breath against my chin, could smell his cologne and shower gel. The entire room smelled like him, and my gaze drifted to his pristine sheets in a bid to not have to look at him.
After what felt like forever, the bow tie was done, but he didn’t step back.
I returned my gaze to him and found him already watching me.
“It’s scary how accurate she got your size.” He muttered almost absently, fingers rubbing at a seam on my jacket. “It’s a nice suit.”
Was that a compliment?
“It looks really expensive.” I croaked, “I’m scared I’m gonna yak all over it, or spill soup on it without knowing.”
He rolled his eyes at that, taking a step back. “You don’t have to be nervous
A muscle twitched in Weston’s jaw and he took a step back. “It's just dinner with an old man. Stop overthinking it.”
He turned around then, buttoning up his shirt as he headed to his bed. I stepped down from the stool and stared at the width of his back.
“You said he's going to offer to sponser me.” My voice rang out in the silence, “Do you want me to tell him yes?”
He froze briefly, and I would've given anything to see his face. But all he did was shrug one shoulder.
“I don't care what you do, Elliot.” He shrugged on his jacket. “I just want to be left the fuck alone.”
He swiped a watch from a table and left the room without another word, leaving me standing in the middle of his bedroom, staring after him.