The CEO's Doll ✔

Chapter 22

"Elliot, do you want to come to my place and take a nap?"

A few seconds later, he stares at me blankly.

"Come to my place, take a nap," I repeat.

"No... you don't have to," he nervously swallows. "I didn't mean to ask you to accompany me for sleep. I didn't want..."

"I know," I nod. "Just sleep, nothing else."

"Or maybe you want to go to a nearby hotel? It might be more convenient."

"No... no," Elliot shakes his head. "Home... will be fine.

After having dinner at Charles de Gaulle Airport and then a one hour and forty-minute flight to Florence, plus a twenty-minute drive, we arrive at my place at 10 PM.

Elliot stands at the door, looking a bit uneasy. "You moved?"

I nod and open the door.

I just moved in, and haven't had time to prepare household items. There are no spare slippers at home, so I tell him to come in with his shoes on.

However, he takes off his shoes and socks and walks barefoot towards the living room.

The living room is not big, and the decoration is simple. Beige wallpaper, warm-toned sofa, and a light green floor lamp. Elliot stands in front of the floor lamp for a while, then turns his head as if remembering something:

"Is Oliver not here?"

"I'm on a business trip today, and he's sleeping at Prof. Enzo's place."

"Oh," his response is unusually calm.

Silence for a few seconds, then he licks his lips and says, "Last time... I saw him go into your house... I'm sorry, I was wrong. I later found out that he had nothing to do with you."

I just hand him a clean towel and point in the direction of the bathroom. "Go take a shower."

After that, I lead him into my bedroom.

There's a double bed in the bedroom, and the air conditioning is on. The bedside lamp emits a dim, warm yellow light, creating a drowsy feeling.

But Elliot stands by the bed, hesitantly looking at me.

He just showered, with a droplet of water not wiped off, flowing down his jaw and neck, then disappearing into the towel wrapped around his upper body.

I avert my gaze. "What's wrong?"

Elliot's expression freezes. "Can I take off my pants?"

"Up to you."

I turn around, hearing the sound of Elliot's zipper opening behind me and the metallic clash of the belt buckle. Then the pants fall on the carpet.

Just like many times before.

My body trembles slightly. By the time I come to my senses, I've already pushed the door and escaped again.

Ten minutes later, I peek through the door crack, and Elliot is already asleep under a thin blanket. He lies on his side, taking up half of the bed, half of his face buried in the pillow. His breathing is steady, and his tightly closed eyelashes tremble restlessly out of habit.

I walk into the garden and call Noah.

The phone is immediately answered.

"He's asleep?" Noah asks directly.

"Yeah," I look down at my feet. "How many hours does he sleep every day?"

Noah is silent for a few seconds, then says, "Maybe you should ask how many hours he sleeps in a week."