Chapter 28
The elevator delivered us straight into the apartment.
No matter how prepared I thought I was, I wasn’t. Not for the view, the design, or the sheer size of it. Not for the staircase leading to the second-floor gallery, or the dining table longer than our living room. It took five minutes to run into the first person, and Elliot’s family wasn’t small.
Their apartment was just really, really big.
It happened on the balcony with a perfect view of Central Park at sunset.
“Elliot! Darling!” Blond hair pinned up, pink lipstick leaving a print on her son’s cheek. In one hand, Mariette Ashwood held a drink; the other ruffled through his hair. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She sighed, adding another hug to her welcome.
“You never do,” he reminded her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Brought a friend,” he added.
I froze. My smile fell. My eyes darted to Elliot, trying, through looks alone, to figure out how unannounced my arrival was.
If the gasp his mother let out was anything to go by, then the answer was very.
“Wonderful!” The next second, her slender arms slung around my body, and over her shoulder, I glared at Elliot. You didn’t tell them, I mouthed.
He gave me a sheepish smile.
On the off chance she’d found the one person in the country oblivious to who she was, she said, “Mariette. It’s so nice to meet you.” Her eyes flitted down the length of me, an appreciating gleam in them when they met mine again. “I love your dress.”
And if Elliot decided to push me off the balcony right this second, I’d die a happy woman. Screw whatever Oliver said. Mariette Ashwood just complimented my dress. My design.
If the Ashwood boys drew media attention like moths to a flame, their mother was a floodlight.
Had always been. She’d grown up alongside her father’s booming business, and every date she’d gone on, every party she’d been at, every gala she chaired made the front pages.
For being a billionaire socialite, yes, but the men she dated weren’t usually nobodies either.
Investors just as rich as her father, movie stars just as famous as her, singers and drummers and, once, an entire band . . . if the rumors were to be believed.
When she’d settled down with her now ex-husband, the father of her children and son of one of Hunter’s closest partners at the time, it made news for weeks on end.
Mystery Marriage in Marseille; Mariette’s New Lover: A Deep Dive into Lucas Carrington; Finally Settled—Why Mariette Ashwood Waited for Mr. Right (and Why She Only Found Him in Boyfriend Number Twenty-Four).
I introduced myself, and it felt inconsequential. “Maeve. Elliot and I work together.”
Her face soured, and her blue eyes darted back to him disapprovingly. Avoid talking about work, I noted. I wished he’d warned me about any other sore subjects beforehand. But it was like he’d said; this was for his own amusement, not mine.
“I still cannot believe he’s making you do that.” Mariette clearly wasn’t a fan. Fair enough. She seemed like the spoiling type. The doting and loving mother who’d get her children the moon and the stars, if they wanted them.
And they did.
“It’s fine, Mom.” His head shook gently. “Really.”
“It was one video,” she went on. “Years ago. Investors never cared about what I did when I was your age. And the board certainly had no say in it, whether they cared or not.”
When Mariette headed back inside, she rightfully assumed we would follow. The door led straight into the living room—or dining area? kitchen?—leaving the evening breeze on the terrace behind. Open floor plan was an understatement for their place.
In the kitchen, one thing sizzled in a pan, another bubbled in hot water, and .
. . it was Rowen maneuvering around the stove like he did nothing with his time but cook elaborate meals.
With his back to us, he tossed a salad, stirred a sauce, and then returned to the dressing.
Elliot didn’t pay his brother much attention, and I didn’t want to distract him from what already smelled heavenly.
“Things change.” Elliot shrugged in response to his mother’s complaints, nudging me toward the dining table. “And we can’t all be America’s Luxury Darling.”
“Ha!” She threw her head back in a boisterous laugh that screamed money. “No, that’s true.” Across her shoulder, she sent me a wink that made it obvious where Elliot got the habit from. “That’s why he’s my favorite. Don’t tell the rest of them.”
“Don’t tell us what?” A boy with familiar blond hair, just curlier than Elliot’s, descended the stairs from the gallery.
Tattoos covered his arms, and a Henley fit tightly around his biceps as he crossed his arms the same way his brother always did.
Like he was guarding something close to his heart.
“Nothing, nothing.” She waved him off, an amused gleam in her eyes as one hand curled around the back of a chair. “Your brother brought a friend, Alex.”
“A colleague,” Elliot corrected from beside me. Although the way his hand found the small of my back so effortlessly, delicately nudging me toward one of the empty chairs, didn’t seem very . . . collegial.
But “colleague” was better than “girl I’m trying to have sex with.” Especially when it was his family he was introducing me to.
“I cannot believe my little brother is a working man,” Alex teased.
His eyes fell down my dress, an appreciating gleam in them when they met mine again.
Skipping the last two steps, he stood but a foot away from us, holding out his hand.
“Alexander,” he said by way of greeting.
His gaze flicked to Elliot, just for a second, before he added, “Seems like he did something right for once.”
The man beside me ignored the dig. “I’m a year younger than you,” he reminded.
“Which technically, legally, and any other way, still makes you my little brother. Something wrong with that statement?” Alex’s brows rose in challenge.
Elliot sighed in defeat, gesturing toward the chair opposite his. “Just sit.”
As if on cue, the chime of what must’ve been a very old grandfather clock echoed—yes, it literally echoed—off the walls, the fan was turned off in the kitchen, and a server brought two large bowls of salad to the table.
So far, I’d managed to push the reality of the situation far enough away not to freak out. But sitting at a table with Alexander, Elliot, and Mariette Ashwood made playing it cool significantly harder.
“Rowen cooked?” Elliot asked no one in particular, and it gave me something other than Alex’s curious glances to ponder.
If their sounds of agreement weren’t confirmation enough, “He did” came from behind us. In the same second, Rowen rounded the table. “Just once a month, I’d like to actually use our kitchen.”
“I literally didn’t say anything.” But there was an undertone in Elliot’s voice that suggested he had, at least once at some point, and whatever he’d said hadn’t been flattering.
“I know you were about to,” Rowen shot back. “Shouldn’t you be happy to be eating anything other than instant ramen after Hunter kicked you out, Elli?” He batted his eyes innocently, a sweet smile on his lips as he sat down opposite me, next to Alex. “Hi, Maeve.”
“Three years ago.” Elliot sighed. “I didn’t like something you cooked three years ago. Will you ever let me live that down?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Will you ever stop being a spoiled brat?”
“Boys!” Mariette. “We have company. Please.” Behave was the word she didn’t say.
Wine bottle number one was opened, and I was starting to understand why Elliot said he wouldn’t survive a family dinner without it.
“Hey.” Just like the rest of them, Alex ignored their mother’s pleading tone. He pointed at Rowen, offended. “How come he’s met Elliot’s girlfriend already and I haven’t?”
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have taken a sip right when someone as unpredictable as Alexander Ashwood was in the middle of saying something. That way, maybe I wouldn’t have sprayed the entire table in wine.
But I had taken a sip, and I did spray the table.
“Colleague!” I gasped for air, face as red as my hair and as hot as the summers back home. “I’m so sorry.”
None of them looked as mortified as I felt, though. Even when I reached for my napkin, about to get out of my chair to wipe away whatever saliva-wine mix had made it onto the table, Elliot just held me by the arm, gently pushing me back into my chair.
His only reaction was suppressing what would’ve been a hearty chuckle. His dimples were showing; that’s all I needed to know.
I’m sorry, I mouthed at Rowen again. I’d probably have to say it fifty more times before I could start forgiving myself.
“We met at the restaurant opening you were too busy for,” Rowen said pointedly, wiping a trace of wine off his cheek as if nothing had happened. I visibly cringed. At least it wasn’t Mariette or, God forbid, Hunter Ashwood.
“Then again at the fundraiser you had no interest in,” Elliot added.
“I’m sorry, Elli. I’m not particularly known for caring about the environment. It would’ve been—”
“Gossip fodder. I know. I’m just saying.” The man beside me shrugged, and I tried to ignore the way his shoulder brushed mine. He nodded toward the head of the table, and I was just glad we weren’t talking about my wine accident anymore. “Are Hunter and his favorite heir not joining tonight?”
“Office,” Alex provided.
At the same time, their mother tutted, “He doesn’t have favorites, Elliot.”
“Important money stuff, I assume.” Elliot again. Irony laced his words, and I was sure he was rolling his eyes internally.
What I wasn’t sure about? When I’d started to internalize his habits. I could tell he was trying to play this cool, but he was as tense as I’d ever seen him. Almost as bad as on the subway.
I’d known the guy for a month—not nearly enough time to learn the ins and outs of a person. And I didn’t know him, I reminded myself. Not really.
I needed to remember that.
The tense silence was interrupted by the elevator’s ding as its doors opened, and every single person around the table froze. Me included. Unintentionally.
Their backs straightened. Elliot moved his wineglass an inch to the right, only to move it back a second later. The air in the room thinned, and I could imagine what the fuss was about: There were only two people missing around the table, if I got my Ashwood trivia correct.
A gruff voice spoke from behind us. Cadence calm; bored, almost. “Hunter won’t make it tonight.”
The entire table sank in relief at Kai Ashwood’s voice.
I should’ve been excited about sitting at the same dinner table as their grandfather.
But, truth be told, I’d been terrified and didn’t mind being spared that fate.
He probably wouldn’t remember the little intern bombing a meeting weeks ago, but the way his blue eyes had scrutinized me was still engraved in my mind.
And it was not a happy memory.
“No?” Mariette asked, and there was something other than relief in her voice. Disappointment, maybe? Surprise? I couldn’t be sure.
“Board meeting ran late.” The glance at Elliot wasn’t subtle. Kai sat, not bothering to introduce himself, and as if the entire family had been waiting for someone to say it, he rasped, “Shall we?”
Even halfway through the main course, the absurdity of the situation was hard to grasp. Here I was, Little Miss Nobody, having dinner with one of the richest families in America.
Scratch that, one of the richest families in the world.
I listened to familial bickering, first-world problems, and throwaway comments about people I didn’t know, all while managing not to draw attention to myself. The wine incident was completely forgotten. If I used the wrong fork, no one noticed.
Our empty plates were just being whisked away when my luck ran out.
“So, Maeve.” Alex leaned back in his chair, and the way he ran a hand through his dark-blond hair seemed calculated. And charming, so it must’ve been working. “You’re not my brother’s girlfriend, then. You said you work together?”
Okay, so maybe the wine shower wasn’t all forgotten about.
“At Adeline Ashwood.” I wondered if hearing her name like that was weird. If it evoked any emotion from them at all. When there was no immediate response, I felt the need to fill the silence and settled on “We’re working on some Ashwood Annual looks at the moment.”
“Nature something, right?”
“The Spirit of Earth.” I gave Alex a look. “Nature something works as well, I guess.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t nearly as pleasant a sound as his brother’s. Instead, subtle and low. Guarded.
Kai jumped in, said, “I hope you dropped the ridiculous sustainability thing.”
“It’s not just a ridiculous thing,” Elliot argued. Took another sip of wine, finishing his second glass. “And we haven’t dropped it.”
“We can’t afford any more critical think pieces by wannabe journalists at The Goss, Elliot. You’re fueling enough of those simply by existing.”
Alex rolled his eyes while his brothers went on.
“Wouldn’t some positive coverage be nice for a change? I, for one, would love that for the company I’m forced to work at.” Elliot added, “The one you forced me to work at. Remember?”
“The board—”
“You,” Elliot cut him off. “Not the board. Not Hunter. You did, Kai. I know you did.”
Kai’s voice was still as monotone as it had been when he’d walked in. When Henry said the guy was a robot, he wasn’t kidding. “You’re wasting your life drinking, partying, going back and forth with Allegra Amato, of all fucking people. You can’t seriously still think working was a bad call.”
I shrunk back into my chair at the mention of Allegra and the headlines Elliot fueled by simply existing. How much worse would the situation be if they knew I’d fueled them, too?
“Whatever happened to not discussing work during dinner?” Mariette said, and was promptly ignored.
“Save your breath and call me the family disappointment already. There’s no need to give these elaborate speeches just to end up at that conclusion, anyway.” Elliot didn’t seem particularly fazed. His wine had been topped up, and he took another sip, just to be doing something.
I followed his lead, and the movement in his periphery must’ve reminded him of my presence.
“Let’s get back to nagging Maeve about her life, why don’t we?” When his eyes met mine, there was an amused gleam in their blue depths. He added, pointedly, “Alex was having so much fun.”