Chapter 15
To his credit, Elliot was fast. A few minutes later, he shot out of the building with a black dress over his arm, and I knew exactly which one it was, even before I felt it between my fingers.
I’d watched Mom make it for her thirtieth birthday, sitting on her lap, holding the fabric in place, and feeling so very proud—like it wasn’t an unnecessary job.
A midi-length slip dress, sweetheart neckline trimmed with a contrasting white border to match the hemline. Mom had struggled with that neckline notching for hours, and it had been the first time she’d sent me off her lap and out of the room. Maybe that’s why I still remembered it so vividly.
Maybe that’s why seeing it sent a punch straight to my gut.
Elliot couldn’t have known the significance it held, and all his selection showed was that he had great taste. I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth as Rowen pressed on the gas. “I can just get changed there, right?”
I thought there would’ve been no other option, but the glance Elliot and Rowen exchanged was . . . suspicious. “Guys?” I doubled down.
Rowen cleared his throat. His eyes flicked to mine in the rearview mirror again, then back to traffic. “The restrooms are big,” he said. “But they are in the back. You’d have to walk through the entire restaurant.”
Whatever sense of relief the first half of his sentence brought vanished. “Which you could!” Rowen added quickly, like he almost forgot. “Seriously, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”
True, the denim skirt, matching vest, and button-up below looked good, but not for a restaurant opening with Michelin-star ambitions. With a pointed glance at Elliot, busy studying his brother beside him, I muttered, “Heard that one before.”
Your outfit will always be the first thing people notice.
I wasn’t usually this quick to give up, but unless I wanted to get changed in an alley behind a dumpster . . .
“I mean . . .” Elliot hesitated, which didn’t happen often. I wondered whether he was about to suggest the dumpster idea, too. “The car’s big. We’ll look away.”
Okay, worse than the dumpster idea.
“You want me to get changed in front of you?!” A hot guy I worked with and his attractive brother that I met ten minutes ago. “No way.”
“Behind us,” Elliot corrected.
“I’m not going to be part of that conversation,” Rowen established quickly, and his eyes flicked back to the road. “ETA is fifteen minutes, though. Just something to consider.”
And I really didn’t want to get changed behind a dumpster.
“Look away,” I pressed, and both men immediately straightened. “I mean it, Elliot. I swear to God—”
“I’ve seen your underwear already, Maeve. How much worse can it get?”
Seeing me in them, I guess.
I slid farther down the seat, burying my face in my hands to avoid the glance I was sure Rowen had cast my way. Embarrassment burned my cheeks, tinted them a deep red that matched my hair. At least the latter wasn’t in a messy bun held up by a pencil again.
“Look away,” I repeated. Again, both of them followed the order.
In a car with Elliot and Rowen Ashwood, in the middle of downtown Manhattan, I opened the buttons of my denim vest. Threw it aside, then unbuttoned my shirt. Slipped out of that too, and then sat in the back seat of the car in nothing but my denim skirt and bra.
One that hadn’t been laid out on Elliot’s bed the night he moved in.
I made sure to keep my eyes on the two brothers, but they were behaving.
Elliot stared down at his phone, and Rowen was more focused on the dense traffic around us getting worse the farther we drove.
I slipped the dress over my head, wiggled out of my skirt, and had everything in place before I gave them the sign. “Okay.”
But I was still unhooking my bra when Elliot’s eyes shot to mine through the mirror. Like he’d been wanting to look for much longer and could finally allow himself.
His brother was right next to him, and we weren’t even really looking at each other, but the silence between us felt intimate. Like he couldn’t help but intently watch every single one of my movements.
I don’t really know why I didn’t tell him to look away again. Not when the clasp finally came undone, and not when I slipped it out from under the dress. My eyes did avert.
Probably because I hated that weird tension in the air more than I hated him, and because I didn’t need Rowen catching onto it. I straightened Mom’s dress, and another look down my body made me feel much more prepared for what was to follow. Low lights, fancy courses, and celebrities.
“Ready.” I cleared my throat, searched for the emergency lip gloss in my bag. Elliot finally looked away too. “Shoes?”
My hand was already out when he said, “What?”
“My shoes.” I gestured for him to hand them over, applying my gloss absentmindedly.
The car was dead silent. Not even the radio was on. All three of us, just breathing.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rowen finally muttered. “Seriously, Elli? You forgot the shoes?”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, indeed. “What?!”
“I know that look on his face,” he explained, pointing an accusatory finger at Elliot, so close the latter was swatting it away with a scowl. “It means he just realized he fucked up. Like when he ran into the fifty-grand wedding cake or—”
“Alex pushed me into that,” Elliot clarified. “And anyways, Maeve said dress!”
“I said I needed to change!” I wiggled my foot between the two. “Do you want me to wear sneakers to your fancy dinner?”
Elliot grimaced, but a sparkle of amusement at the thought still crossed his features. “No? I think?”
“What he’s trying to say is he’d actually love to see that,” Rowen translated, anxiously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Figured,” I muttered. “Well, I guess I’ll just get the subway back home. There’s no way I’m going in there with these.” Another pointed wiggle of my sneaker before I lowered them. Just to really sell this thing.
Maybe that’s how it was supposed to go. The universe finding a way to get me behind my desk after all. The only problem? I’d mentally prepared myself for the opening, and Rowen was kind of . . . fun. Probably because he wasn’t trying to steal my job.
“Nonsense,” Elliot said. “Rowen, pull over.”
“What?” We said it in unison; Rowen’s delivery was much flatter, though. Like he wasn’t surprised but had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
“It’s just past seven. There’s an Ashwood boutique around the corner. Pull. Over,” he stressed, sterner, but his eyes were still on me. Less Intern Elliot and more Elliot Ashwood again. Much quieter, he added, “You’re not getting out of it that easily, Lucky.”
I hated what the nickname did to my cheeks. Just now, I’d been practically naked behind them, and this still felt worse.
Begrudgingly, Rowen pulled over. “Five minutes,” he warned. “And then I’m leaving both of you here. We’re so late, it’s not even classy anymore.”
“I really don’t need to—” But Elliot jumped out of the car, cutting me off when he opened my door.
“Nope,” he simply said. Then turned to Rowen and nodded. “Be back in three.”
Which was when his hand slipped into mine, he pulled me out of the car, across the busy sidewalk, and into a storefront with a familiar logo.
The bell above the glass door rang as we stepped inside. My hand, for some reason, still in Elliot’s. My heart beating out of my chest because I was entering an Adeline Ashwood store wearing a fancy dress and sneakers, maybe?
Sorry, Mom.
The same golden clothing rail we had in the archives wound along one wall, displaying a limited number of dresses, suits, and shirts.
Opposite the entrance, Adeline Ashwood’s signature bow protruded from the wall.
In the middle of the store, two couches stood opposite each other with a coffee table between them.
Sleek, elegant, superior. Just the way the office had felt on my first day.
“Mr. Ashwood!” The sales assistant started in our direction, delight in her voice. “It’s been a while. How can I—?”
While Elliot politely shook her hand, he didn’t let her finish the sentence. “We have two minutes to find shoes that match this beautiful lady’s dress, Natalie.”
That was the first time her eyes trailed to me. I could hardly blame her when the Elliot Ashwood randomly walked into her otherwise boring shift.
Natalie nodded sternly, immediately focused on the task. “One of ours?” she asked as she assessed the dress. Her eyes flicked to Elliot’s and my intertwined hands, and I instinctively pulled away.
“A Melanie Peterson.”
The name obviously didn’t ring a bell, but her brows rose with an impressed look I wished Mom could see, anyway.
If there was a way I could get a message to her, despite over ten years of missing her, the only thing it would say was They think the dress you designed and made is Adeline Ashwood, Mom. She’d freak out.
“It’s beautiful,” Natalie said absentmindedly, and by then, she was already halfway through the store by the shoe wall, each pair backlit with soft lighting. “Easy enough to pair. What’s your size?”
“7.5.”
“One more minute,” Elliot reminded, and Natalie moved faster, scanning the pairs on the wall. “Sorry for the rush. We just really need to—”
“These.” She got onto her tiptoes, reached the pair she wanted before Elliot could offer his help, and turned around with a proud grin on her face. “Lucky you, they’re a 7.5 too.”
Black lace stiletto heels, the intricate embroidery forming subtle Ashwood bows in their mesh paneling. The ribbon straps were branded and tied into a bow at the ankles as well, leaving the back open. The white “ADELINE ASHWOOD” lettering matched the neck- and hemline of my dress.
Perfect was what they were. Luxurious and expensive and way out of my budget. It felt wrong to even hold them in my hands.
“I assume you don’t want to try—”
Elliot decided for me. “Nope. We don’t even need the box.”
If I had a say in it, I’d try on every single piece in this place, including Camila’s dresses and Oliver’s suits.
I’d never had a reason to go into a store I couldn’t afford anything in, so I would’ve loved to explore, but Rowen honked from outside just as Natalie typed something into her tablet.
“Next time,” Elliot added, lower. “And put these on Rowen’s account. ”
The awe on my face was probably not very subtle, and I almost apologized for acting this way—like I didn’t belong.
The right thing to do would’ve been to fake nonchalance.
Allegra Amato would be indifferent to this kind of thing, and those were the people Elliot usually hung out with.
The kind of girls he usually bought expensive shoes for.
I couldn’t fake it this time, though. “It’s beautiful,” I muttered, throwing another glance around the store.
He didn’t follow my gaze. “Is it?”
I nodded, half my mind still wandering the boutique, the other trying to ignore the way he was still looking at me. Thoroughly and appreciative and only letting himself be startled when Rowen honked a second time. With an apologetic glance at Natalie, he gently pushed me out onto the street.
“Thank you.” I cast one last glance into the store before the bell above the door chimed and the sound of New York City’s evening traffic hit me with full force.
“I mean—I know a thank-you won’t cut it. This is—” I raised the heels in front of us. “They’re perfect. I don’t know how I could ever make up—”
Elliot hummed in the back of his throat, amusement and satisfaction in the sound when he opened the door to Rowen’s car for me. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something, Maeve.”
And the words echoed in the back of my mind until long after we’d made it to the restaurant.