Chapter 17
“Is it weird to take our leftovers home?”
“We’re starving interns, Maeve. We’ll take what we can get.”
Which was how we’d ended up back home, stuffing leftover gourmet meals into my Tupperware meant for meal prepping.
“He wouldn’t really let you starve, would he?” I asked. Maybe because with my face still hidden in the cool depths of our fridge, I could avoid having this conversation with eye contact.
“Who? Hunter?”
I nodded, realized he couldn’t see. “Yeah, your grandfather.”
His amused huff filled the otherwise quiet kitchen. “God knows the lengths that man would go to in order to teach me a lesson.”
I dared a glance out of the fridge to figure how serious he was. Judging by the absentminded frown on his lips, very.
I took another moment to prepare myself (for rejection or the truth) before asking the question I really wanted answers to. “What happened? In that meeting before you moved in?”
His eyes finally—unfortunately—flicked to me, still crouching in front of the fridge. Almost level with parts of him I shouldn’t even think about. Elliot Ashwood was supposed to be a Ken doll; no genitals in sight and no time wasted thinking about what he could do with them.
I shot to my feet, if only to further avoid those thoughts, and it brought a smile to his lips. Amused, teasing. “Hold on—it’s no longer ‘What did I do?’ but ‘What happened?’” He gasped. “And you’re calling it a move-in, not a break-in!”
Just like that, my base-level annoyance was back. It announced itself with a loud, unapologetic groan. “You know what? Never mind.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head playfully, and then . . . actually answered my question. “Not much happened, per se.”
I froze, scared any small reaction might make him realize that opening up to his biggest competition at work wasn’t a good idea. Even the fridge stayed open—I wasn’t taking any chances, and it was the only light in the room.
“He showed me the photos, read that Goss article out loud, then wondered if I had, and I quote, lost my damn mind.” I had to exhale or I might pass out, and to my surprise, he kept going.
“‘This is the exact thing that got you into your position in the first place,’ he said, and if he were talking about nosy paparazzi who’ve lost all sense of integrity, he’d be correct. ”
Paparazzi that I’d called. Did that mean I’d lost all sense of my integrity, too?
“But he meant the alcohol and Allegra and—” He shrugged. “God knows what else. The thing with Daphne and Ryan didn’t make it better. Hunter said that if the intern position wasn’t enough to make me realize what was at stake, there were other ways to show me.”
“By kicking you out of your home?”
“And taking my driver, freezing my credit cards, blocking all Ashwood purchases. The only thing he was gracious enough to leave me is my security.”
Pops was a grumpy man, didn’t laugh often, and even then, I couldn’t imagine him doing anything like that.
Hunter Ashwood was a different caliber. Powerful, cruel, mean. Enough of those things to cut his youngest grandson off for as little as a night out. A night he only knew about because of me.
Okay, I think I was officially starting to feel bad. I needed to change topic, and fast. “A surprise that you and Rowen turned out to be at least . . . decently mannered.”
Unfortunately, behind those sweet dimples and blue eyes, he was still my sworn enemy. I wished he looked like one, too.
“There wasn’t enough of those decent manners for all four of us, so we’re the only lucky ones,” he joked, seeming grateful that I wasn’t dwelling on his confessed conversation.
“Alexander’s a dickhead. And Kai . . . You’ll know what I mean after having to sit through that dinner with them on Friday. ”
It sounded a little too much like an official meet-the-family thing. The only reason I was looking forward to it was getting to peel back another one of Elliot’s many layers.
“Kai’s that bad?”
“Not bad.” He hesitated. “Blunt, grumpy. Socially inept,” he added as an afterthought. “He doesn’t say much, but when he does . . . oh, boy.” A laugh that seemed genuine, despite his harsh descriptors. “Great for business. But I’m not surprised he’s been single for the past twenty-eight years.”
“I assume he’s twenty-eight?”
“Did you do your research on him, too?”
“I think that’s just called drawing logical conclusions. He doesn’t look like he could be much older yet. Or is that just Photoshop?” No point in denying the fact that I had done my research.
Elliot’s smile widened. He took a step toward me. With one hand, he leaned onto the counter. Tilted his head. “Are you calling my brother hot?”
It must’ve been the expensive wine, or the fact that it was past my bedtime. The joke hadn’t been that funny, but I barked a laugh anyway. He looked proud of himself. “It’s no secret you guys are pretty lucky.”
“With?”
“Your genes.”
That was a normal thing to say, right?
The fact was universally acknowledged, and I was sure it wasn’t a revelation to Elliot, either.
He’d grown up with models throwing themselves at him when he’d been barely old enough to drive.
With girls turning around for a second look when they passed him on the street.
With pretty friends and an even prettier ex-girlfriend, I was sure his good looks weren’t a surprise to him.
Still, the way his brow rose made my skin burn.
“Oh.” He chuckled, and the sound traveled all the way into a region it shouldn’t have. “You’re calling me hot.”
I rolled my eyes just to be doing something. “If that’s what you’re deriving from that.”
“I’m just saying,” he went on, tapping a finger against the counter. “That sounded awfully close to a compliment again. And just after calling me decently mannered, too. Is that wine getting to you, Lucky?”
Maybe. Probably. Most likely, because I think he’d just taken another step closer.
But Elliot wouldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t let him.
The heat beneath my skin was undeniable at this point, trying to convince me of another option I wouldn’t let myself consider. “I think that wine is starting to get to you, if calling you decently mannered is such a big deal.”
“It wouldn’t usually be.” Elliot leveled our gazes to make his point. “But you said it, Maeve.”
Pull yourself together. Repeating those words wasn’t helping.
He smelled like expensive wine and cologne, like forbidden prayers and don’ts and shouldn’ts. The kitchen was too small, and he was so close, everywhere, all-consuming. The silence stretched the tension in the air, thinned it until my breath became too shallow to hide.
Finally, he asked, “Can I be honest right now?”
And I recognized that look on his face. It’s the same one Carter Jackson had given me in high school, right before he’d pulled me onto his lap and kissed me with tongue and teeth and in the way only a sixteen-year-old would enjoy.
Probably the opposite of how Elliot would do it. Gentle, inquisitive, thorough. He’d wait a respectable amount of time until his tongue met mine, and it would feel so effortless that I might only realize it once I swallowed my own moan.
I knew, with every fiber of my being, that he was about to tell me how much he wanted to kiss me. Maybe he wouldn’t say it; maybe he’d just ask, Can I kiss you?
Something in the pit of my stomach flipped just at the thought.
Which was why I shook my head—gently and with a look in my eyes that hopefully said, Please, for the love of God, don’t be honest right now. Because I couldn’t be sure my response would be the loud, resounding no it should be.
No, I shouldn’t kiss him.
I shouldn’t want to.
But with nothing between us but the light of the refrigerator, it was harder to stand my ground than I would’ve liked.
“No?” he asked, and even then, he smiled. “You want me to lie to you?”
I didn’t want him to lie, but I needed him to.
“Please,” I rasped. “Don’t say what you’re thinking.”
That he wanted me as much as I wanted him. A dangerous admission—one that could cost me my job and my future and everything else I held dear.
I could tell I was right by the gleam in his eyes and the way his face morphed from amused confusion into something more serious.
“You’re right,” he said, straightened. “It would be stupid and reckless and irresponsible.”
All things I wasn’t.
“Not hooking up with your coworker is, like, the first rule of Workplace 101. We wouldn’t be good together.” Elliot tucked a single strand of red behind my ear, and the touch sent goose bumps down my neck and heat all the way to my core.
I felt like I might implode even before he added, “And I’ve definitely never thought about just how bad.”
He left me standing in the low-lit kitchen, well aware that he was lying. He’d thought about it just as much as I had.