146 An Evening’s Ease, A Curt Command
146 An Evening’s Ease, A Curt Command
“Well, I’m glad she’s making a comeback.”
Elara’s cheeks flushed slightly from the dancing and the drink. Her hair, usually perfectly styled, had come slightly loose, framing her face in soft waves. As she moved with increasing confidence, several patrons glanced her way, drawn by the rare sight of someone genuinely enjoying themselves rather than putting on a show.
“I need to take this,” she said apologetically. “It’s Mr. Newman.”
The soft jazz music enveloped Elara like a warm embrace as she settled into the plush lounge chair. The bar Julian had chosen was the perfect blend of sophistication and comfort–not too flashy, not too dull. Just right.
Then her phone vibrated in her clutch.
His companion nodded thoughtfully. “Thorne is either blind or a fool.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “And he expects you to just drop everything and comply?”
They made their way through the crowd to the bar’s entrance. The night air was cool against Elara’s flushed skin as she answered the call.
His companion, a tall man with sharp features, nodded. “Yes. Impressive woman. Her work in Al recognition systems is revolutionary.”
Elara looked down at her phone, then back at the bar where they’d been having such a wonderful time just minutes before. The contrast was stark–joy versus obligation, freedom versus constraint.
“I’m… not sure,” Elara admitted, lowering her phone slowly. “He said Damien needs me to pick him up tomorrow at noon.”
Julian’s expression softened. He touched her arm lightly. “Are you going to go?”
“None.” Elara’s brow furrowed. “Just a command, basically.”
Xavier couldn’t take his eyes off her. “She’s magnificent when she smiles, isn’t she?”
Elara felt awkward at first, too conscious of her movements. But as the minutes passed and the martini’s warmth spread through her system, she found herself relaxing. The
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music seemed to seep into her bones, guiding her body naturally.
“There she is,” Julian said softly. “The Elara I remember from college. The one who knew how to enjoy life.”
Elara stood frozen, phone still pressed to her ear, staring blankly ahead.
“You’re right,” she admitted quietly. “And I hate that.”
As Julian walked away, Elara took a sip of her cocktail and let herself sink deeper into the chair. When was the last time she’d done something like this? Just sat in a nice place, enjoying a drink with no expectations, no disappointments waiting around the
corner?
Before Elara could respond, Mr. Newman added, “Come pick me up tomorrow at noon,” and immediately ended the call.
“That’s it? No explanation?”
The realization made her both sad and determined. She deserved more evenings like this.
“Here you go,” Julian said, setting a vibrant cocktail in front of her. “Pomegranate martini. Strong enough to help you relax, but not so strong you’ll regret it tomorrow.”
The music shifted to something a bit more upbeat, and Julian spun Elara again, drawing a laugh from her that seemed to brighten the whole room.
“Apparently.”
“All the more reason to start now,” he insisted. “Come on. The music’s perfect.”
Julian ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “That’s not the point. The point is that even after all this time, when Thorne snaps his fingers, everyone jumps–including you.”
The way he said it made it clear he didn’t actually care if he was interrupting. Elara straightened her posture instinctively.
“Ms. Dubois is like a flame–bright, immediate, consuming. But Mrs. Thorne…” Xavier paused, choosing his words carefully. “She’s like moonlight. Subtle, but she illuminates everything around her without trying.”
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“I’m sorry,” she told Julian, stepping back. “I should check that.”
“From his office,” he replied, his tone suggesting this should have been obvious. “He will explain the rest when you arrive.”
Across the room, Julian returned to Elara’s table, extending his hand with a dramatic flourish. “May I have this dance, Ms. Vance?”
“Not at all,” she lied. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Thorne requires your assistance tomorrow,” Mr. Newman stated flatly. “Come pick him up at noon.”
Across the room, Xavier Wilson observed Elara from his position at the bar. “That’s her, isn’t it? Elara Vance?”
Julian led her to the small dance floor where a few other couples were swaying to the jazz quartet’s smooth melodies. He placed one hand respectfully at her waist, taking her hand with the other.
Julian’s smile dimmed slightly, but he nodded, “Of course.”
“Different how?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow.
His words stung because there was truth in them. Elara had been enjoying her first carefree evening in months, and one phone call from Damien’s assistant had instantly shifted her focus, her priorities.
Elara retrieved her phone from her bag. Mr. Newman’s name flashed on the screen.
“Mrs. Thorne,” came the crisp, businesslike voice of Damien’s personal assistant. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Elara laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I haven’t danced in years, Julian.”
Xavier’s gaze remained fixed on Elara. “There’s something about her that’s different from Ms, Dubois, isn’t there?”
“Just an observation,” Xavier replied, lifting his glass. “Ms. Dubois draws attention deliberately. Mrs. Thorne seems to capture it without even knowing her power.”
“I don’t know,” she said finally, and the admission felt both terrifying and liberating. “I honestly don’t know.”
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“See? Not so terrible,” he said as they began to move.
Elara hesitated, then set down her half–empty glass. “Fine. But don’t blame me when I step on your toes.”
Elara blinked in surprise. “Pick him up? From where? And for what purpose?”
She tried to ignore it, but years of conditioning made that impossible. What if it was about Cora? What if there was an emergency?
“Seven years of friendship will do that,” Julian replied with a wink. “I’m going to say hello to some colleagues at the bar. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”
Julian’s expression shifted from disappointment to concern. “Let’s step outside. It’s quieter there.”
The man chuckled. “Poetic analysis of our business associates, Xavier?”
“He didn’t know you were with me, Julian,” she pointed out gently. “And we didn’t have specific plans for tomorrow, did we?”
“Did he even acknowledge I was with you? That maybe I had plans for us tomorrow?” Julian’s voice held a note of frustration that surprised Elara.
“Julian, I’m not a child,” Elara said, rolling her eyes playfully. “Go. Mingle. I’m perfectly content right here with my drink.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, as if Mr. Newman was surprised by her questions.
“Hello, Mr. Newman.”
“She’s been hiding for a while,” Elara admitted, allowing Julian to twirl her gently.
Julian watched her face carefully. “What did he want?”
For the first time in months, Elara felt truly free–no thoughts of Damien, no worries about Cora’s affections, no shadow of Vivienne looming over her. Just music, movement, and the simple joy of being alive.
Her heart sank. The bar suddenly felt too loud, the music too jarring. She held up phone to Julian, who frowned.
Elara smiled gratefully. “You know me too well.”
the
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