Elliot, Song of the Soulmate (Love Austen 5)

“I’m not happy about it. After I wrap up here, I’m taking a few months off to travel.”

“When . . . when do you wrap up here?”

“End of next week.”

Wentworth froze.

“Surprised?”

“I thought I’d have . . .”

“You thought you’d have, what?”

“I thought I’d have to put up with you longer.”

Elliot palmed his heart. “You offend me, Wentworth.” And though he overemphasised to make the words seem trivial, the feelings were true.

Wentworth stilled, and his voice dropped. Like he saw through Elliot. He had always been able to do that. Until the last time. “It cuts both ways. You won’t have to put up with me much longer either.”

“You, I don’t mind so much. The angry music, on the other hand . . .”

A sigh gentled the tension in Wentworth’s spine. “I’m upset, Elliot. Your mother . . . You . . .” His jaw tightened. “I’m fuckin’ upset.”

Wentworth swivelled off his stool and strode back to his desk.

Elliot pushed his chair around the pot plant and pulled himself to Wentworth’s desk, opposite him. “I’m a strong man, Wentworth. You can yell it all out at me if you need to.”

“And you’d fuckin’ take it,” Wentworth said bitterly. “You can handle everything on your own. You’d never lean on anyone.”

Elliot stared at him, feeling the pulse of frustration under his skin. Wentworth wasn’t wrong, though. “I hadn’t wanted to lean on anyone.”

Wentworth’s head shot up, gaze clashing with his. Still dark, still uncertain.

He opened his mouth and Elliot leaned forward, so desperate to hear—

A knock at their door. Cameron. “Staff meeting in the lunchroom, guys.”

Never had Elliot witnessed someone move so fast. Wentworth’s desk chair was left spinning as he disappeared.

Elliot hobbled after him into the crowded lunchroom. Wentworth took up a spot on the opposite side of the door to Elliot, arms folded, one boot resting against the wall. He looked simultaneously at ease, comfortable, and ready to hoof off in a moment.

His gaze seemed to be trained on Cameron moving toward his brother. Though the prickle at Elliot’s neck . . .

Elliot swallowed and focused on the Ask Austen founders.

There were definite similarities between Brandon and Cameron—the dark thick hair, the kind warm eyes—but Brandon was taller and much broader, his jaw heavier. Very attractive and everyone at Ask Austen knew it. Only Brandon never seemed to be aware how he made heads turn, how he made the guys on set sigh.

One thing Elliot knew for sure, whoever Brandon ended up falling in love with? They’d be doted on and loved forever.

“About half of you will be on location in Cubworthy next Tuesday and through the week.” Brandon ticked off those who would come and those who would come after.

Elliot was one of the former, due there Tuesday, and he was excited about it. Travelling and working on external sets was the part of his contract he’d been most looking forward to. Jesus, he was grinning like a kid simply being given the details.

He shifted, and caught Wentworth’s eyes on him. Wentworth swiftly redirected his focus.

“Also. Monday most of the team will start the morning at the beach, you know who you are. Pray the weather holds. Afternoon we start shooting the love-making scenes in the Lime studio.”

When the meeting was over, Brandon excused himself, due for another meeting. Louisa wedged through the crowd and latched on to Wentworth.

“You’re not at the beach on Monday are you?” she asked him.

“Nope. I’ll be here.”

So would Elliot.

“Great!” Louisa said. “I won’t be entirely alone.”

“Ahem. Excuse me, quick announcement.”

Elliot shifted his focus. He’d glimpsed the gorgeous guy now standing atop a chair a few times before, but they hadn’t been introduced. To Wentworth, Louisa said, “That’s Lake, editing department. Fun guy, but don’t ever tell him you’re single. Matchmaker.”

“Thank you for that, Louisa,” Lake said, popping dimples.

Louisa called out, “You’re welcome.”

“Anyway,” Lake said. “Bad news about our quarterly studio barbecue. A sewerage pipe broke in our street, and trust me, not coming to our house is doing you all favours.”

This was met with winces and disappointment.

“It sucks, I know. But no one feels this as much as my Knight in shining armour. Half his precious garden needs to be dug up. I will be consoling him—in a hotel—all weekend. But . . . maybe someone else can host?”

Elliot startled when Wentworth spoke. “How many guests are we talking? My boat can hold up to thirty.”

Lake gestured ecstatically to Wentworth. “Guys, your saviour. And it’s on a boat.”

“When was the gathering planned for?”

“Saturday afternoon-evening.”

Wentworth nodded and spoke to the room. “The Frederick. At the docks. Potluck. Looking forward to seeing you Saturday.”

The room emptied in a procession of thanking or waving or grinning at Wentworth. Louisa turned through the door last, her grin the most eager of all.

Wentworth started to duck after her and paused, glancing at Elliot. “Why are you frowning?”