I pause to contemplate my answer. “I have none.”
Elle squints. “Liar.”
“Believe it or not, I have more important things to do than sit around categorizing my weaknesses.” I sip my bourbon and sink into a chair that isn’t my favorite.
“It’s your heart,” she says. “That’s your kryptonite.”
I attempt to swallow, only to choke instead. “And what makes you so sure?”
Examining me, she twists her mouth to one side before shrugging. “Gut feeling.”
Rolling my eyes, I huff. “Right. Of course.”
“My father always told me the harder you are on the outside, the softer you are on the inside,” she says. “And you, West, are the hardest person I’ve ever met.”
Elle takes a drink before rising from her chair and striding to mine.
“Get up,” she says.
“What?”
“Get. Up.” Elle motions, uncharacteristically impatient, until she finally slides her hand into mine and all but yanks me to a standing position. Without warning, her fingers glide through my hair, ruffling it into a tousled mess, before working the top button of my shirt. “There.”
“What . . . are you doing?”
“Making you a little less perfect.” She stands back to admire her work, a pleased smile painting her pretty face. “See? It’s that easy. Just take something you always do and then do it in a different way. It’s life changing. I promise.”
Lifting a hand to my hair, I attempt to finger comb it back into place, only to have my efforts thwarted.
“Stop,” she says, coming closer. Her lithe fingers circle my wrist as her soft scent invades my lungs. “Leave it.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I know.” Her eyes search mine, though for what I’m not sure, and she’s yet to let me go. My heart pounds in my ears when I calculate the narrow distance between our bodies and how satisfying it would be to punish those pillowed lips with a hard kiss. “But you need this. You need to be softened up a bit. For your own good . . . and for Scarlett.”
My thoughts turn a shade cleaner with the mention of my niece.
“Is this what you want, West?” she asks, voice breathless. “To control every aspect of your existence until you’ve suffocated the life out of it?”
I don’t respond.
“And what are you teaching Scarlett? That if something’s not perfect, it’s not worth it?” she adds.
“I’m teaching her to want more for herself.”
“More what, exactly?” she asks. “More money? More accolades?”
“More than the wasted potential she’d have if she stayed in Whitebridge.”
“Okay, so you’re doing that by micromanaging every second of her day and flying off the handle when she makes a mistake?”
“Running away is a little more than a mistake, wouldn’t you say?”
Elle releases my hand. “Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s running away because the only time she feels loved is when you chase after her . . . when you worry about her.”
My heart stops beating in my chest as the gravity of her words grab hold of it.
“Maybe if you showed her your softer side more often or you let her know how much you care about her in more meaningful ways, she wouldn’t be so quick to test you,” Elle says. “She’s always saying she wants to go home to Nebraska, right? To see her friends? Maybe that’s because in some heartbreaking sort of way, those friends were the only family she had, the only place she felt loved and wanted. And she just wants to feel those things again.”
Sinking into my chair, I let her words seep into the deepest, hardest parts of me.
It’s been a lifetime since showing someone I cared about them didn’t involve opening my wallet.
“You know, it’s probably getting late.” Elle places her drink on a coaster before flinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door. “And I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
I follow her to the elevator without objection, but never before have I longed so desperately for an excuse to make someone stay. Up until now, it’s exclusively been the opposite.
She presses the call button and turns to face me, peering up through a fringe of dark lashes.
“Thank you for the drink. And thank you for letting me in . . . I know it wasn’t easy for you.” With an exhausted yet playful glint, she reaches to flick another button on my shirt. “Just making sure there’s no S on your chest, Superman.”
The doors part, and Elle steps inside, leaving a hollow vacancy in the space she occupied mere seconds before. Gone are her warmth and candor, leaving a noticeable nothingness in their place.
“Go easy on Scarlett tomorrow,” she says. “And think about what I said, okay?”
Sliding my hands in my pockets, I offer a nod in the seconds before she disappears.
And when she’s finally gone, I retire to my room to think about what she said.