Chapter 8
When I didn’t spot Elliot in his office on Tuesday morning (after inconspicuously walking past it three times), I was giddy. When he still wasn’t in by noon, I was over the moon. And when that NYG article hit two hours later, I couldn’t believe I’d actually pulled it off.
My eyes were still flickering across the words when a head popped into our studio, almost making me throw my phone across the room to convince Camila that No, I wasn’t on it. I’m working!
Just in time, I noticed that it wasn’t Camila. Thank God—I couldn’t really afford a new phone right now. Rachel’s assistant, Hana, smiled at me brightly. One of the names on Elliot’s list of women he just worked with.
“Sorry to rip you out of your focus work.” She grinned. “Emergency meeting in Rachel’s office. Now.”
Despite the sheepish smile on my lips, my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. It didn’t even help that Elliot still wasn’t with us. I think that made it worse.
His nonchalance, attempted jokes, and teasing comments would’ve probably helped me avoid spiraling.
Because emergency meetings were never good.
Maybe someone had seen us together? Maybe someone had figured out who tipped off the paparazzi?
Maybe my plan had backfired in less than twenty-four hours and they’d decided they didn’t need any interns this year at all because one of them was getting blackout drunk on a Monday night and the other was the reason half the world knew about it?
Congrats, Elliot is fired! But so are you.
By the office, my stomach dropped a second time.
Camila, Rachel, Oliver, all in there. Still no Elliot, though.
Things immediately went from bad to worse to horrible.
Their expressions didn’t help. Camila worried on her bottom lip; Rachel and Oliver were discussing something in hushed voices, not looking particularly thrilled either.
What could this be if not . . .
The door shut behind us, startling me and cutting their conversation short.
Rachel announced, without preamble or time to prepare, “There’s been a change of plans.
” The last change of plans had put my future at risk and Elliot in the way, so I wasn’t exactly thrilled.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines and the rumors and the clusterfuck Elliot keeps causing—” Rachel cut herself off, took a deep breath.
Both Camila’s and Oliver’s eyes were bigger than usual, so they probably hadn’t expected that outburst either.
Her hands washed over her face and a muffled groan escaped before Rachel shook whatever bothered her so much off.
Rolling out her shoulders, she cleared her throat and went on like nothing had happened.
“I know you’ve probably just gotten the hang of things, maybe even a routine.
So, I hate to do this . . .” But you’re fired.
We’ll have to let you go. Despite his continuous fuckups, Elliot’s grandfather decided to let him win.
No need to drag this out for another ten painful weeks.
“Every Ashwood Annual has celebrities and politicians and investors, of course. But we always have a few guests who take priority.” The ambassadors.
My brows furrowed. “You were supposed to help Camila with Daphne Martin this year, while Elliot and Oliver tackle her fiancé, Ryan Quinn.” Deep breath, this time Rachel’s again.
Like she hated having to say what she was about to.
“But Elliot met them last night, and apparently, they got along splendidly. So splendidly that . . . you don’t get to help Camila and Oliver. ”
I’m not fired was my first thought. I get to keep my job, the second.
The third was Big fat disappointment, though.
I still preferred it to the gut-wrenching pain losing this internship would’ve brought, but I’d been excited to assist Camila with Daphne’s look. It would’ve been an honor.
“Instead,” Rachel continued, and the forced smile on her lips looked painful. “Elliot made sure you get to do it all. The narrative behind their look, the story Daphne’s dress is supposed to tell. Wardrobe and accessories, closely coordinated with their stylist.”
I blinked at her. All I could say was “What?”
Rachel just continued her monologue like I hadn’t said anything at all. “This is a lot of responsibility, so we’re not going to pretend otherwise. If you survive the pressure of it, you might actually be equipped for the job lined up at the end. But it’s a long road to get there that starts today.”
“Today?”
I felt useless only giving one-word responses, but I wasn’t capable of more right now.
Rachel didn’t care. “They’re engaged, so their looks will have to complement each other, which means you will have to work closely with him.”
“Him?” She couldn’t possibly mean—
“Elliot.”
Okay, she did.
“Agree on a message and how to execute it. Whether you dress them in looks from the archives or design something new is up to you. Your mentors just have to sign off on it.”
I was still stuck on Daphne and Ryan. The latter had won his first Oscar three months ago, and Daphne’s dystopian romance still managed to be on the New York Times’ bestseller list, months after its release. What the fuck could Elliot have done to get an opportunity like this?
The pounding in my chest was a different kind once her words settled. Nerves and excitement at the prospect, I just wasn’t sure which emotion won yet. “Holy shit.”
“Language, Maeve,” Rachel tutted, but her eyes said, Holy shit indeed.
“The Annual is in two months, right before the end of your internship. I’ve said it to Elliot and I’ll say it to you: There’s a lot at stake here.
Gala prep and execution will be one of the few things we can tangibly measure your performance on in this setup.
How you work with the ambassadors, with Elliot, and on your own. It’s all being considered.”
“How did he—?” I swallowed thickly. “Where is he?”
I know, I shouldn’t be focused on his absence, but I couldn’t help noticing it. Not my fault that she kept bringing him up.
I didn’t like the way she cringed at the question. I liked her answer even less. “He’s picking Daphne and Ryan up,” she said. “You can ask him the rest yourself. They’re on their way here right now.”
Elliot be damned. Last night was supposed to show Adeline Ashwood, the board, and his grandfather that he wasn’t fit for the position they’d put him in.
That he was reckless and irresponsible and would rather continue partying than work for his family’s business.
He was supposed to have a fun night out with Allegra, not scheme business plans with Annual ambassadors.
That’s exactly what he’d done, though. Now, nobody would be talking about that article anymore, and it only came out an hour ago.
Instead, whispers in the halls said, How’d he manage to score ambassadors of that caliber for himself?
What did he say to get them to agree? Are we sure he can pull this off?
At least there was some doubt among the office staff.
Meanwhile, I was pacing. Up and down the lobby, fanning my hair out and patting the sweat on my forehead away.
Suddenly, the white pencil skirt and oversized button-up tucked into it seemed like a bad idea.
Appropriate for the weather, sure, but not for meeting Hollywood’s most sought-after couple.
The skirt was too short, the shirt too casual, and the white headband way too sporty.
“It is, right?” I asked the security guard for the third time, not bothered that he hadn’t even answered me after the first.
Instead of critiquing my outfit, he said, “Are you going to be doing that much longer?” Voice as gruff as I remembered and that smile-but-not-smile on his full lips just as confusing.
I wasn’t sure if he meant my pacing or the outfit questions, so I stopped both.
Briefly, I wondered if the air-conditioning was broken; I felt like I was melting. But his cheeks weren’t even flushed, so it must’ve been me who had broken. “Sorry.” I winced. “Just waiting on someone.”
“Elliot Ashwood?”
My head snapped in his direction. “Ambassadors,” I corrected, too confused to say much else. “What—?”
His hands shot up in amused surrender. “I’m just saying,” he singsonged. “You left together the other day. Amir doesn’t just forget these things. Don’t look so surprised.”
But I was. Very. And not about the fact he’d just spoken about himself in the third person.
“Because we both wrapped things up at the same time.” My first instinct was to defend myself. Not everyone needed to know we’d gotten drinks together, or they might all start looking at me the way Amir was now. With raised brows and suuuuure written all over their face.
I was certain he would’ve elaborated on it if it weren’t for the door he had to open for . . .
My breath hitched, just a little bit.
Daphne Martin’s blond hair fell so perfectly, I couldn’t be sure whether her beachy waves were natural or styled.
She wore silk head to toe: a baby-pink skirt about the same length as mine (thankfully, not inappropriate then) and a loose, white, sleeveless top with a ribbon tied around it to keep it in place.
It seemed silly and nitpicky, but I wished her engagement ring was gold, not silver. Just to match the rest of her jewelry: a heart pendant necklace and subtle earrings barely visible through her luscious hair.
Ryan’s arm draped around her shoulder, and his brown eyes scanned the entrance.
The waiting area with its white couches and coffee table and fresh flowers in one corner, the reception in the other.
Then the security gates, the security guard, and finally me.
My heart might’ve stopped beating at the prolonged eye contact because, well, this was Ryan Quinn.
Oscar-winning, teenage-heart-stealing, upcoming Hollywood legend Ryan Quinn.
And if it weren’t for the engagement band on his finger, the fact that he was gently caressing his fiancée’s shoulder, and the realization that she was by far the prettiest person on the planet, I might’ve thought his look lingered on me for a second longer than it should’ve.
As we shook hands, I kept my polite smile from breaking into an I’m-such-a-huge-fan grin. Hard work, trust me.
“So, you must be Maeve,” Daphne figured, tugging a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “We’ve heard so much about you already.”
“Have you?” My eyes zeroed in on the third person with them. Too tall, too eye-catching, to be their assistant, manager, or security. Elliot winked at me from behind them, just to emphasize that he was back—and with another advantage.
Twenty minutes alone in a car with our ambassadors.
Daphne nodded, entirely unaware of the downward spiral she’d just caused in my head. “On the way over, yeah. Elliot couldn’t stop going on and on about how great you two work together.” With a single side-glance at him, she added, “I can see why now.”
But we’d never worked together at all.
So far, it didn’t seem like he’d used those twenty minutes with them to talk shit about me, so that was . . . good? Not bad, at least.
How great you two work together.
“We ran into each other at the hotel after you left last night. Allegra and I showed them the city before we ended up at Avenue. Shame you weren’t there.” They couldn’t know it, but Elliot was showing his hand clearly now. Flaunting and taunting the access to resources I couldn’t begin to dream of.
“He suggested taking over our Annual looks, and we just thought . . . why not? Elliot’s like a breath of fresh air, and he does dress like he knows what he’s doing.
” Daphne shrugged, then clapped her hands together in delight I couldn’t quite get myself to share.
I took a deep breath and tried regardless.
“Efficient as always, aren’t you?” My hand waved toward the elevator, cheeks starting to strain with how widely I was smiling at Elliot. “Let’s get started, then.”
Without the questions or judgmental glances I’d caught from the receptionist on my first day, she opened the gate for all four of us. “Thanks, Bella,” Elliot said in passing, knocking his knuckles against the counter in appreciation.
Another name from that list of women he just worked with. Although with the way she looked at him, I wasn’t all that sure if she belonged on it.
As we led Daphne and Ryan into one of the offices on the third floor, Elliot and I battled for the upper hand and failed.
Instead, our shoulders kept bumping; one was always trying to walk faster to be in the lead, and the other always caught back up.
We ended up walking next to each other, just looking clumsy.
At least this way, I was focused on him, and not the superstars trailing after us. I’d spent enough of the past twenty minutes freaking out about them, and I didn’t need to continue in their presence.
Instead of nerves rattling my chest, it was annoyance when Elliot was the one who managed to open the door. I half expected him to throw it in my face when I let Daphne and Ryan pass me, but he only ushered me inside with a glance that said as much as, What are you waiting for?
I wasn’t sure either.