Chapter 7 #2
Hair falling down my back again, I flattened it against my head in one (useless) gesture and moved on to my shirt. We passed the sixth floor.
I undid the top buttons, trying to make it look less business and more casual, noticing how Elliot’s eyes zeroed in on that too. He cleared his throat before his attention snapped to the opening doors of the elevator. “No one will care what you’re wearing, Maeve. You’re with me.”
A fact spoken by a man whose every move had been dissected by the media since he was old enough to walk. For years, every word of his turned into a twisted headline for more clicks.
Seeing as I was about to use that to my advantage, I tried not to feel bad for him as I stepped out of the elevator. Easy enough.
My eyes drew away from his shoes. “You’re not necessarily dressed to perfection either.” But the dig fell a little flat. I barely whispered it into the space around us, too focused on everything else.
Towering shelves carved into concrete walls displaying bottles as if they were luxury items in a store.
Each one was backlit with golden light and separated by columns that blended into the wall.
The chandelier, at least my size, hung high and caught the dim light, sparkling just right.
The bar beneath it curved along one side of the room like a river, polished surface reflecting the light.
Black leather stools were neatly lined up below.
Definitely the kind of place you wore a long, tight dress to—or, at least, more than pants and a shirt straight from work. My hair should’ve been in an updo of some sort, not just falling down my back.
In my head, Mom was disapprovingly shaking her head. Your outfit will always be the first thing people notice.
Luckily, the first thing people noticed tonight was the Ashwood next to me.
I was still blinking away my awe when he led me to a high table in a corner, with seats made of the same black leather and a table of the same polished stone as the bar.
He grabbed a stool while I slid into the bench opposite him.
There was only one thing more captivating than the atmosphere, and that was watching him.
The way he carried himself with such confidence, knowing that just by holding two fingers up toward the bar, he could get the exact drink he wanted in record time.
Elliot Ashwood understood the power he held, and he wasn’t modest enough to avoid using it.
Eventually, I remembered, he’d use that advantage for more than just ordering drinks or getting us into fancy places. He’d steal my job.
“You’re impressed,” he noted, and my eyes snapped from the bar back to him. “So you really haven’t been on many dates, then.”
I pretended to give up with a roll of my eyes. For this plan to work, I had to let my guard down so that he would do the same. Admitting I hadn’t dated much was just vulnerable enough to get the job done.
“No, I haven’t.” Leveling him with a look, I added, “Thanks for asking—or, well, assuming.” I raised my hands like I was guilty as charged. “Single for the past twenty-two years.”
Low whistle as he looked almost impressed. “I should feel honored, then.”
“For hanging out with a girl who doesn’t want you?” This time, it didn’t matter how hard I tried to suppress my smile; I failed. Because I needed to appear like I was opening up.
“Yes, that,” he said. “I guess I’m just another one of those guys you’re not letting yourself get taken out by.”
“What makes you think there’s lots of those?” Our drinks appeared between us, and we both thanked the waiter simultaneously. Pinkish liquid in a coupe glass, perfect sugar rim and a cherry on top.
“Come on, Maeve.” He snickered, eyes back on me. “This isn’t the place for false modesty, and I’m not the man for it either.”
“I mean, sure. People asked me out. But they weren’t, like, lining up outside my house. It wasn’t that many.”
Leaning back to take a sip of his drink, he must’ve deemed my explanation honest enough. All Elliot said was “College kids aren’t known to be the brightest.”
“You’re a college kid.” I raised my brows as I brought the glass to my lips. “You graduated a few weeks ago—oh my God.”
The plan had been to avoid giving him the satisfaction of admitting his great taste. But the surprised moan that slipped out between the first sip and the second probably gave me away.
Proud grin, I-told-you-so look on his face. “Good, right?”
And there was no point in denying it. I nodded too vehemently, judging by the way that grin deepened, dimples making an annoyingly cute entrance.
“Nobody liked me in my college years until I came up with that recipe, and it’s still the bestselling drink at all our locations.” He shrugged, words laced with pride. “One of those fun facts you won’t find googling me, by the way.”
“Oh, there’s definitely enough about the whole alcohol thing.” It slipped out. Kind of. Not really.
After the way I’d brought up his leaked video the other day, I didn’t expect my loose tongue to surprise him anymore. But he blinked at me, not quite sure what to retort, which felt like a small win in itself.
Challenge accepted, his head tilt said, and the air around us shifted in the same way. To make it official, he brought his glass to his lips and drained the whole thing, placing it between us with a thud. “So, what changed your mind, Maeve?” he asked, all traces of humor gone. “About this.”
My own drink went down like juice. Dangerous, when I needed myself to slow down and Elliot to speed up.
“It’s like you said. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. There shouldn’t be any animosity between us.” Lying through my teeth, of course. There was always going to be animosity between us—as long as we were both fighting for the same job. “Right?”
“Right.” He glanced across his shoulder, holding up two fingers until the bartender acknowledged his order with a nod. When his blue eyes cut back to me, I hadn’t been prepared for the intensity in his gaze. Or that unexpected eye contact could send a shiver down my spine.
“I didn’t know they’d make us work this closely,” he said. Which seemed awfully close to a confession—like he felt guilty about the fact and would love to change it.
At least he seemed to be lying through his teeth as well.
“Of course.” I didn’t try to sound very convinced, though. “Just like you didn’t know they’d make us compete for that job at the end.” I smiled sweetly, and it took everything in me to sell it. “How could you?”
The second round of drinks appeared between us, cutting the veil of tension we’d wrapped around ourselves. I immediately reached for mine, mostly to encourage him. And because uncomfortable situations always made me clutch my glass like a lifeline.
His lips had already parted for a reply, and he was playing with his own glass too. Tracing the base, finger absentmindedly trailing all the way up to the rim. “You don’t—”
A loud “Elliot!” cut him off.
Double takes. Hushed whispers. A gasp.
It wasn’t every day you saw Allegra Amato strut through a bar, so I couldn’t blame the people around us. Even the last of them must’ve recognized Elliot now and were probably wondering who the girl opposite him was.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have gone to a fancy bar in an outfit I’d picked for the office. My hand smoothed down the button-up, which did nothing to make me feel better at the sight of Allegra.
She was dressed exactly the way you’d expect at a place like this: short dress, dark tights, and heels. Her black curtain bangs perfectly framed her face, while the rest of her hair was styled in the updo of my dreams.
And, yeah, that was jealousy trickling down my back. Not for a man or because she was prettier or wealthier, but because she fit into this bar so perfectly—and I’d felt out of place since I’d set foot inside.
I would’ve loved to leave before it became any more obvious that I didn’t belong with billionaire heirs and movie star daughters at fancy bars—something any person in the room could see.
But I had a plan. And Allegra’s presence could . . . help.
She seemed like the life of the party; a constant Let’s make bad decisions together sitting on your shoulder, egging you on. Very useful.
Elliot might be the only person in here who hadn’t turned at her arrival, and before he could, a hand ruffled through his hair. Unless he’d gotten a red manicure below the table and his nails had grown by about an inch in the same time, it wasn’t his.
Allegra’s brown eyes studied me curiously, her hand slipping from his hair to his shoulder in a casual hug.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.
Elliot makes new friends like they grow on trees or something.
Allegra.” She held her hand out like I didn’t already know who she was.
Like I hadn’t read an article about their amicable split just last week.
Very amicable, judging by her other arm still around his shoulder and the fact that he wasn’t batting an eye at it. I introduced myself, and we shook hands.
“We’re not, though,” I clarified quickly. “Friends, I mean.”
Elliot’s eyes shimmered with amusement when he grabbed another high chair from the next table over and pulled it to ours so Allegra could sit. She did, brows pulled together, polite smile starting to slip. “What do you—?”
I only noticed what it sounded like then, in sync with the questioning look she sent Elliot—who didn’t feel a need to clarify. “Oh! God, no. Not like that. We just work together.”
A gasp. Wide eyes and gaze restlessly skipping between us. “You started work, Elli!” I could swear that was high-pitched relief in her tone. “That’s why you’ve been so busy. How is it?”
“Oh no. Maeve doesn’t want to talk about work,” he said, irony lacing every word. “We’ll have to find a new subject.”
And like she knew exactly what it might be like to work for a living, Allegra laughed. “That bad?”