Chapter 31
PAULA, two minutes ago
> what the fuck is this???
> anything you have to say for yourself??
Attached, three photos. Of me. And Elliot. On a green carpet, with the Ashwood Foundation logo on the press wall behind us. Backstage, looking at each other and standing closer than we should’ve been. After the auction, lingering at the bar together.
What the fuck, indeed. I swiped through the pictures three more times, on my way to google my own name for the first time in my life to see where she’d found these, and realized with a sense of startling awareness that anyone could do the same.
That Camila could see these. That Oliver and Rachel could, too.
That I was officially connected to Elliot now, and all I could do was hope that my bosses didn’t habitually google their employees.
We should’ve been more careful, and I should’ve been smarter. Especially walking a carpet together. I was surprised the pictures weren’t worse.
The search bar already said Maeve Pe—when Paula’s contact photo popped up on my screen. I yelped in greeting, “I can explain!”
“You better explain.”
And so, walking through the apartment, phone on speaker, I did.
“You do love a good challenge,” she’d muttered on the other end of the line when I told her about my week following Elliot’s schedule.
I gave her the story in broad strokes. Leaving out the part where we’d kissed. That I’d let him do much more to me than anyone else ever had. It felt like a conversation we should have in person, because I knew her reaction would be priceless, and it would’ve been wasted over the phone.
And maybe, just a little bit, because I was scared. Embarrassed. Self-conscious about the whole thing.
Paula needed a moment to process what had already happened anyway. She cleared her throat, and I let myself sink back onto the couch just as she said, “First of all, I cannot believe you live with Elliot Ashwood, and I’m only finding out about it now. Like this.”
“You’re busy!” I cried.
“As are you, I’m sure. With him.” Her teasing undertone let me roll my eyes, but the corners of my lips tipped into a smile anyway.
“With work,” I corrected, which sobered her a little.
“But I remember you saying something to me once.”
“Probably more than just once, honey.”
She sighed a laugh. “You said, and I think I can quote, ‘We don’t sacrifice our dreams for men.’”
“They’re never worth it,” I agreed. “Why—”
“God, I can’t believe I’m about to give you guy advice. This is so exciting! It just sounds like he’s . . . I don’t know. Wrapping you around his finger. Which, by the way, I didn’t know anyone could do.”
“Paula . . .”
“Sorry! I’m just saying. I don’t know how competitive things are at work, but it just sounds like, if there is competition, he’s trying to get the upper hand.”
Competitive felt like an understatement.
“You think,” I began, wrapping my head around her accusation, and the fact that my first instinct was to defend Elliot. “He’s buttering me up so I forget about work?”
“He’s probably buttering you up because you’re cute.
” I knew her head was shaking just by the way she’d said it.
“Sexy. Smoking hot.” I almost smiled. “And making you forget about your priorities is just an added bonus.” I said nothing, which she took as a sign to continue.
“I mean, I don’t know the guy! I’ve never met him. ”
I interpreted her tone correctly and snickered. “Yes, Paula. You may come over while he’s here.”
On the other end, she was probably fist pumping. “Anyway, maybe he really is just in love with you and he’s got no ulterior motive.”
“He’s not in love with me.”
“Ulterior motive it is, then.”
I groaned, and my back hit the couch cushions again. “I don’t know what’s worse, to be honest.”
“Hmmm.” Paula pretended to think. “Having a billionaire with limitless resources scheming against you. Or having him be completely and utterly obsessed with you. Tough choice.”
“Isn’t there an in-between option? These all sound quite . . . extreme.”
“Nope.” To Paula’s credit, if she knew how far I’d let things go already, she’d probably take this more seriously. But admitting I’d let him touch me now just seemed . . . silly. Like I should’ve noticed the dynamic she pointed out all by myself.
And I had. A week ago, I still believed I was just being nice to him for the same reason: to manipulate him into trusting me so I could jeopardize his future with any information he gave me.
Not Paula’s laugh or the way she kept teasing me about those pictures—the way I was looking at him and the way he was looking at me—snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts, though. It was the sound of the door rattling, and whose presence it announced.
“Listen, let me know when you’re free next week. You can come over and watch the guy like he’s a zoo animal, if that’s what you really want. I gotta go now!”
Paula snorted. “You know me so well,” she said. “I’ll text you. Bye!” And hung up, in sync with Elliot’s head popping through the doorway. His eyes immediately darted to my phone, screen up, on the armrest of the couch. The pictures of us smiling back at him brightly.
“Oh,” he said. Took another step into the room. “About that . . .”
Paula’s words still played on a loop in my mind. Maybe that’s why I sounded so snippy when I said, “You could’ve warned me.”
“Have you read anything?”
“Read?!”
I reached for my phone, not sure what I was looking for. Instead of my own name, I googled his.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no.” He sat at the other end of the couch, his hands driving across his face. His hair looked messier than usual. “I tried to take care of it. I’m still taking care of it.”
“Of the pictures?” I didn’t think they looked that bad.
“Of what they’re writing about them.”
His words went in one ear and out the other once I found what he was talking about. The posts, the articles, the think pieces on social media.
WHO’S ELLIOT ASHWOOD’S NEW GIRL?
HAS ALLEGRA AMATO FINALLY BEEN REPLACED?
HAS ALLEGRA AMATO *ALREADY* BEEN REPLACED?
EVERYTHING WE KNOW ABOUT ELLIOT’S HOT DATE.
I blinked the headlines away, tried my very best to look at him, and failed miserably. My phone drew my attention again and again.
Over my shoulder, he glanced at my screen. “They’re not wrong,” I think he said.
“About?”
“My hot date.”
It just sounds like he’s wrapping you around his finger. If there is competition, he’s trying to get the upper hand.
I couldn’t shake Paula’s suspicions—probably because they were in line with my own—but I couldn’t do anything about it either.
I should’ve moved away when I felt his breath against my ear, but I didn’t.
I should’ve been mad at him for not giving me a heads-up about being the newest gossip fodder, but I wasn’t.
There were a lot of ways I should’ve felt about Elliot, and I wasn’t feeling any of them.
I tried to desperately cling to my anger and Paula’s words. All I managed to halfheartedly throw at him was “I didn’t know we were on a date, or I wouldn’t have paid more than half a million dollars for one that night.”
“Thanks again.” He seemed to mean that, so my delivery of what should’ve been a mean comment must’ve been off. “And sorry for the . . . aftermath.”
“I did warn you.” Another attempt to brush him off.
“You did,” he agreed. Sighed. “I just thought they’d be more focused on me, you know? Did Elliot Ashwood finally move on? How does his ex-girlfriend feel? That kind of stuff. Not a double page about who you are. And an entire gallery full of our faces.”
I shook my head, and he seemed remorseful enough to warrant some leeway. “The pictures are fine. No need to take someone’s livelihood away over them.”
Despite the laugh on his lips, he sobered quickly. “And the articles?”
“You just told me about them. Haven’t had a chance to read any—”
“Don’t,” he stressed, moving closer like he was ready to stop me himself. “Whatever you do, don’t read them.”
“Maybe they’re nice to me.”
“Most likely they’re not.” He reached across me to lock my phone; our faces, front and center on my screen, disappeared.
When he leaned back again, his hand brushed my leg, and he almost had me.
Almost made me cave, forgive, and forget.
Then he said, “Which just shows you how stupid and wrong they always are. You weren’t, by the way. ”
My brows furrowed when I brought distance between us to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“That you were right.”
“About?”
The pause worried me. Usually, Elliot didn’t need to consider his words. He simply said what came to mind and rarely thought about the consequences because, well, he was Elliot Ashwood.
“Not wanting you in the office today.”
I froze. Didn’t even breathe. Every single one of my alarm bells went off. He had tricked me. He was still actively against me.
“I thought if I kept you away—”
At once, I sat up. “You thought if you kept me away, cooped up at home in a blanket of bliss of your own making, you could just tell everyone I’m too lazy to work on a Saturday? Is that it?”
“What?” Elliot was the one to bring more distance between us; he was almost on the other side of the couch again. “I told everyone you weren’t feeling well.”
But I was so fired up, felt so vindicated, I ignored it. Honestly, didn’t even really register his words. “Just to convince them that it’s obvious who they should take on full time at the end?”
Elliot shook his head, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t even want that full-time position. I couldn’t care less about Adeline Ashwood.” A beat of consideration. “The brand. Not my grandmother. I loved that woman.”
His ability to be unintentionally funny was starting to become annoying. Fast. Especially in situations like this, when I was supposed to be angry at him—I was—and yet he managed to make my lips twitch.
“You might not want it, but you definitely need it.” I’ve always been competitive, and when could that particular habit of mine surface more than during an argument? That’s what I thought we were having, at least.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”