Page 140 of New Growth
Hands of a professional. Needs to stop biting those fingernails, though.My hands, holding my trimming scissors, captured in delicate, precise lines.
“Ellie, what are you doing up here?”
I jumped, slamming the book shut like I’d been caught reading his diary.
El stood in the doorway, dressed in slacks but no shirt. His pod had shifted to the right side of his lower abdomen instead of his usually preferred left, and his bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths.
“I—I was looking for you,” I stammered. “I called out when I got here, but you didn’t answer, so I figured you were up here working.”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I was in the shower. Didn’t hear you. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” I said quickly, setting the sketchbook down. “I shouldn’t have taken it upon myself to snoop through your things. I’m sorry.”
His lips twitched. “It isn’t snooping. You’re welcome to look through it as much as you like.”
I hesitated, glancing around the room again. “You draw me a lot.”
El held my gaze. “I said it before, Ellie. You are my inspiration.”
We looked at each other.
His gaze held mine. Like he wanted to say a dozen things but knew I wasn’t ready to hear even one.
My throat tightened.
“I’m gonna wait downstairs,” I said softly, already walking toward the door.
“Elliot—” he started as I past him.
I paused, one hand gripping the door frame like it might steady me. “What?”
He shook his head, a small smile ghosting his lips.
“Nothing,” he said finally. “I’ll be down in a second.”
?
The club pulsed with life, and the bass was heavy enough to feel in my bones. Neon lights flashed in streaks of red and blue, casting quick shadows over the packed dance floor. The private section I had reserved for us had black leather couches, a table littered with my half-empty glasses, and just enough distance from the chaos to breathe.
I requested somewhere in the back because while El liked the club, he liked his privacy more. He was exactly where I’d left him, lounging back, one arm draped over the couch, the same drink in hand. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he was watching me.
Always fucking watching.
Me, though? I was buzzed. Tipsy, loose, moving in place to the music, arms up, hips swaying. This section alone was a thousand, and if his ass wasn’t going to enjoy it fully, I sure as hell was.
El smirked behind the rim of his glass. “Having fun?”
I spun, let my head tilt back, eyes half-lidded. “Yes, Elliot. We are at a club. Isn’t that the whole point?”
He smiled and sipped his drink.
Then I looked at him, really looked at him. The man was undeniably handsome. That was never a suggestion; it was always a fact. The idea of him being the source of double takes and women offering up their numbers when we went out didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was that now, I was being affected. I was the one blushing when he looked my way and obsessing over whether he thought I looked pretty.
Of course, he did. He turned his home office into his own personal exhibit of Elliot Sawyer.
It was a good feeling to know a man so highly sought after found you attractive.
Not just physically but also on a deeper level. Beyond just my way of thinking or my achievements. He saw me, and from the first moment we locked eyes, he knew he had to have me.
