Chapter 14
There was a stark difference between on-camera Elliot and off-camera Elliot.
Last night, every word he’d said on Steven Stewart had been carefully calculated to sway public opinion on him and Adeline Ashwood.
After, his publicist nodded proudly, congratulated him with a pat on the back, and said, “Really nicely done. I almost forgot you could do that.”
I had to assume she meant manipulate the masses.
It almost worked on me, and I wasn’t even the target audience.
The whole thing was a friendly reminder that I was still keeping secrets for a guy I clearly couldn’t trust. Something I decided to change as soon as possible.
I ambushed Camila the second she stepped into her studio, back from a fashion week prep meeting I’d found in her calendar.
“He told them about the sustainability idea,” I said, very fast.
The door slowly fell shut behind her. Its thud was the only sound in the room besides our breathing.
“What?!”
“He told—”
“I heard you the first time.” She waved me off, finally moved again to set down the laptop she’d held against her chest. “Elliot told who? The board?”
I almost felt bad for letting her know how much worse it was. If her first guess had been the board, and she’d already deemed that scandalous enough to raise her voice . . . I cringed before I confessed, “Daphne and Ryan.”
“What?!” As expected, she shouted the words and didn’t even apologize for it. I flinched. “When?”
Now onto the unpleasant part of snitching on Elliot Ashwood. Because I’d been complicit. Somewhat, at least. If possible, I shrank farther into my chair. “Last week.”
“Last week?!” she repeated, a little dumbfounded. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“You were so busy!” I cried. “With fashion week and final approvals and helping us—” But her features didn’t soften, and to be fair, I was keeping my biggest reason from her.
The only thing that could make this situation worse was confessing that I’d started to believe that maybe Elliot and I could handle it. Together. As a team.
“Maeve.” Camila shook her head, and the clear disappointment on her face was a punch to the gut. “This is a head-designer-level crisis. Not an intern-level crisis. What exactly did he say to them?”
My head fell back with a loud exhale, if only to avoid her harsh stare. I don’t think she’d ever looked at me that way, and I never wanted her to again. “There might not be a way to fix—”
“Let your boss worry about that, why don’t you?” She cut me off, then added, “Quote him, if you can.”
Fuck.
Unfortunately, my memory was good enough to remember exactly what he’d said. “‘We were thinking a touch of sustainability, maybe?’ Ryan hesitated, but Daphne was so on board that I think it would be hard to backtrack.”
Camila paced up and down the length of her studio, continuously mumbling some variation of “That little shit.” At least she wasn’t shooting the messenger.
“This is exactly what I meant. He doesn’t have rules to play by.
He’ll do whatever, whenever, to beat you.
He’ll use you, and you won’t even notice. ”
I guess he’d already managed to draw me in enough that I hadn’t thought to tell Camila earlier.
“The question is if you’re doing the same thing?” she doubled down.
I did call the paparazzi on him, and that did get him in trouble . . . at least until he’d turned that mess around for himself. “I think so.”
“Good.” But it wasn’t enough to get back into her good graces right away. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ll start thinking about ways to implement his stupid sustainability goal tomorrow. You should head home now. It’s late.”
It was nice to know she still hated Elliot more than she hated me, but a boulder of dread lodged itself into my stomach regardless. I didn’t want to go home. I should be trying to make up for this major fuckup, somehow. Staying late—all night, if I had to. Fuck whatever plans Elliot had for us.
“But—”
“Seriously.” Camila’s eyes snapped up from the folder in her hand. “Call it a night. It’s past six already.”
I wanted to plead and beg and explain that I always stayed past six. But the look on her face forced me to pack my things. When I spotted Elliot in the lobby, I knew exactly who to blame for the drastic shift in dynamic between my boss and me.
And the last thing I wanted to do was attend a restaurant opening with him.
“I’m not going.”
“Where?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what I was talking about, only pretending otherwise to get on my nerves. The smirk on his lips gave it away.
I silently thanked the traffic light for turning green as soon as we got to it. One less minute in his presence.
“Your stupid restaurant opening!” I sped across the street, managing to dodge the rogue finance bros heading back into their offices for a late-night shift, takeout in hand. I was supposed to be working one of those, and the man beside me was the reason I wasn’t.
“Hey.” He snickered. “Rowen put a lot of work into that restaurant, so I don’t think it’ll be stupid. And doesn’t food just taste so much better when it’s free?”
Free food had always managed to lure me out of the house; most of the college fundraisers and student body events knew what they were doing when they offered it.
And I was sure they weren’t serving cold pizza and bland salad at an Ashwood restaurant opening.
Especially one meant to earn them a Michelin star one day.
But—“I can’t go.” Quickly, shaking my head, I amended, “I don’t want to go.”
“You clearly do.” When I looked at him, he raised his brows like it wasn’t even a debate worth having. Thank God we just rounded the corner onto our block, and we no longer had to.
“Do not,” I said regardless, not allowing him to have the last word. His irritable nonchalance was spiking my pulse and snapping my patience in half.
He was still smiling. “Why are you lying to yourself, Maeve?”
“Because I have to clean up your mess!” Alright, I’d run out of patience.
I whirled toward Elliot in front of our block.
“Because the woman I’d always dreamed of working for hates me for something you did, and I’ll have to fix it before it gets worse!
Because I thought—” I cut myself off, still huffing and puffing.
Because I thought that you and I could handle the sustainability fiasco together. Because I forgot that you’re a liar and a schemer and not to be trusted.
Elliot blinked at me. “Camila doesn’t hate you, and she’ll get over the sustainability thing.”
She would, once I got upstairs, glued myself to the small desk in my bedroom, and worked on a perfectly sustainable idea for Daphne’s dress that I could show Camila tomorrow.
“Oh, shut up, Elliot.” Defeat laced my voice as I climbed the stoop. “Not everyone can just walk around thinking it’ll all work out. Some of us actually have to work to get to where we want to be.”
Usually, his snappy comebacks came before you’d even finished your sentence, so watching Elliot consider my words felt . . . strange. I was almost hopeful that he finally realized where my priorities were and that he couldn’t get me to change them.
But all he said was “So you’re giving up?”
“What!” The disbelief in my voice echoed through the entire street. “Giving up what?” I was fighting for what I wanted, not giving up. How—
“You’re admitting you wouldn’t survive a week with my schedule. You’re giving up, Maeve Peterson,” he singsonged. “And it’s only day two.”
“There are other things on my schedule—”
“There are other things on mine, too.” Challenge lingered in his tone and gaze. His blue eyes shimmered with mischief and pride, and I hated the way his tongue poked the inside of his cheek.
There were a number of insults on the tip of mine, and I was ready to throw them all at him in a minute-long monologue. I would’ve, if it weren’t for the car behind him startling me with a single honk.
Through its open window, I couldn’t see all the way into the driver’s side, but the voice made it to us anyway. Elliot’s spine straightened; my brows furrowed.
“No matter how entertaining this little back-and-forth is, and no matter how much I would’ve loved to watch it play out . . . we have to go, Elli. Don’t ignore me. You asked to be picked up.”
My eyes flicked back and forth between the car and Elliot, who acknowledged the situation with a single “Rowen.”
Rowen Ashwood, Elliot’s older brother. In sync with my realization, he ducked over to our side and waved, his smile hauntingly similar to Elliot’s. “Feel free to be a little meaner next time, Maeve.”
There was no time to compute the fact that Rowen Ashwood knew who I was or that he’d just listened to the entirety of our argument when Elliot turned back to me, something in his eyes I almost didn’t recognize.
Traces of panic and desperation, no more amusement.
“Daphne and Ryan will be there.” His final argument, I realized.
“They’re ambassadors. Now that we know they’re in New York until the Annual, they’ll be wherever Ashwood is. ”
And tonight, that was the damn restaurant opening. The same one I’d just spent the entire walk home arguing against.
“If you really want me to have more uninterrupted alone time with them . . .” Elliot said. My gaze flicked to Rowen in the car, tapping his watch. Back to Elliot, challenge in his blue eyes again. He turned to leave.
Fuck.
“Fine.” The word shot out of me, and I only half regretted it. “I’m going.” Although I hated seeing the satisfaction spread across every single one of his features. “But I need to change. I can’t go looking like this—”
“You look good,” the brothers said in unison, and I merely rolled my eyes. I’d be caught dead before I showed up to another one of Elliot’s fancy places in work attire.
“I’ll get something for you,” Elliot offered quickly. “There’s no guarantee of you ever coming back down once you disappear in there.”
“And you’re going like that?” I gestured toward his usual tailored dress shirt and pants combo, only in the hopes the dig was unpredictable enough to surprise him. Not because it actually looked bad.
“And she’s back to insulting my outfits again.”
My mouth already opened when Rowen interrupted, “Please don’t start arguing again.”
And I got into the back seat because I felt bad for him; no other reason. I could change once we got there.
Rowen’s car smelled new, leathery, and expensive. Looked that way, too. Without a crumb to be found and freshly cleaned windows. Through the spotless rearview mirror, I could feel his gaze on me.
The second we made eye contact, he asked dryly, “Are we holding you against your will?”
No need to hesitate. “Yes.”
The corners of his mouth curled upward. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you—even if it’s involuntarily. You’ve been causing quite the stir.”