Chapter 34
Fashion week was fast approaching, and Camila was all over the place. Final approvals here, completely new last-minute looks there. She’d barely managed to glance over our ideas for the Annual between the last sip of her third coffee and her first bathroom break all day. It was past five.
But her hastily scribbled notes still made my day. Love! Keep going, she’d written on one of my sketches.
After Mary’s terrible coffee (Elliot had been right about that), our quick diner visit had turned into a full-on night shift. Several times, he tried to get us to go home.
I’d been relentless, though. Scratched out, rethought, sketched many more drafts before finding one .
. . okay. After a few of those night shifts, it was good enough to show Camila, and the fact that she loved it sent me skipping through the Adeline Ashwood halls.
Even if a lack of sleep had been incapacitating her for the past few days, I took it as what it was: a win.
The first one in a while.
Elliot wasn’t in the neighboring office, though. That’s why I was hurrying across the second floor, trying to spread the good news. Not because he was the first person I wanted to share them with. Not because I wanted to kiss him and hear him whisper against my lips how great I did.
Just to tell him what direction to go in for Ryan’s look. That’s all. Obviously.
So my colleagues wouldn’t think I’d completely lost it weeks into my internship, when I heard voices around a corner, I slowed down. And hand on my heart, I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Have you seen Maeve Peterson’s design?”
Who could resist an opportunity like this, though? One peek around the corner, and I knew I was listening to Melissa from textiles and Ronnie, whom I’d shared a few meetings with. Melissa had asked, and I hid back around the corner in sync with Ronnie’s enthusiastic nod.
“The pink one? I liked it!” Figured, seeing as The New Romantics Annual theme had been her idea, and that dress had been the embodiment of romance, with its ruffles and color. My heart soared, and my stomach warmed with pride.
I’d already been flying high from Camila’s compliment, and this was shooting me straight into orbit.
“I know, right?” Mellisa agreed. “I heard Oliver ripped her a new one for it—but when is he not a grumpy old man?”
Not even the reminder that Oliver hated that dress could sour my mood.
“Half the time, he doesn’t even like Camila’s stuff, which is an objectively wrong opinion,” Ronnie muttered. “I don’t know how they don’t kill each other at home; they’ve literally never agreed on anything in their lives.”
The women laughed, and I almost chimed in. There was no need to expose myself, though. Not when it was just getting interesting as Ronnie added, “I do like Maeve.”
They sobered. “It’s a shame. She’s so talented and nice and hardworking.”
“And pretty!”
“Love her outfits,” Melissa agreed.
“To think we’re going to lose her to Elliot Ashwood.”
Something in my ribcage cracked.
“He’s not really talented, definitely not nice. Hardworking?” They both laughed.
“He is pretty,” Ronnie added as an afterthought. “But I’m sure that’s not the reason they’re saying he’ll stay.”
Someone groaned, probably Melissa. “How sure were they, though? Like, we-can-still-do-something-about-it sure or it’s-settled sure?”
Please say—
“Pretty much settled. Judging by the last exec meeting, I’d say 90 percent. Can you imagine Hunter Ashwood firing his grandson? Less likely than him burning the entire company to the ground.”
—not that.
Their conversation was a harsh reminder that my life wasn’t just all-nighters at the diner, fancy events, and making out with Elliot Ashwood. A harsh reminder that he was this close to taking it all away from me. Apparently, he already had.
My hard work, clearly appreciated by the rest of my colleagues, was worth absolutely nothing in comparison to his last name.
I could work for the rest of my internship without an ounce of sleep, and Hunter Ashwood would still rather burn the entire company to the ground before giving me what I deserved.
Why even let us compete, if it was never a competition in the first place?
I was frozen in place, back pressed tightly against the wall, eyes shut. If Melissa and Ronnie rounded the corner, I probably wouldn’t be able to move. Too many neurons firing, too many thoughts to sort through without a solution or end in sight.
Stupid. To get so caught up in a man that I forgot the reality of our situation. Elliot was supposed to be my biggest rival, and I’d been so close to—“Who are we spying on?”
My eyes shot open, and there he was. The last person I wanted or needed to see right now.
He’d whispered his words, shy smile on his lips as he looked down at me. He couldn’t know that the end of my career had just accidentally been announced, and that it was his fault.
Or maybe he did know all along? Maybe that’s why he’d always seemed so unbothered, so rational?
Scanning him—blond hair I’d run my fingers through, blue eyes I’d gotten lost in more often than I’d like to admit, his lazy button-up and pants combo I’d started to appreciate—I didn’t want to believe it. But that kind of naivete had gotten me into this predicament in the first place, so . . .
“No one,” I said, so fast his brows immediately furrowed. “Nothing. I—should go. Lots of work to do.”
If I’d allowed myself more time with him, I might say things I didn’t mean. Or maybe I did. Asshole. Cheater. Privileged rich kid who cares about no one but himself.
I brushed past him, and I wasn’t sure if my shoulder hitting his was my subconscious, taking its last chance to feel his body against mine, or the part of me that was so pissed, it would take even the slightest chance to hurt him.
I hurried back to my office, and a single glance at the watch around my wrist let me know the head designers had just started their fashion week daily meeting, which meant I could slam Camila’s door forcefully without repercussions.
Rattling on its hinges, the sound echoed through the studio.
But it did nothing to get rid of . . . whatever I was feeling.
I refused to admit it was betrayal.
That meant I’d let my guard down enough to feel betrayed by him in the first place. When I should’ve known—always had, a little bit—that it would come to this. I’d just been so blinded by Elliot’s shiny facade, I let myself forget.
On the table, Camila had left another note: Working from home after my meeting. I need a nap. x
I locked her studio door, threw myself into my chair, and didn’t look up from sketches and fabric samples and color palettes until well after the sun set. Once, the door handle had rattled, and I knew who it was without looking up.
I didn’t look up.
It wasn’t fair to punish him for a decision his grandfather made. Or maybe it was. Maybe he’d convinced Hunter Ashwood he was the best candidate.
I changed my mind about that every other minute. From blaming him to making excuses.
Eventually, Elliot gave up. My phone vibrated against the desk one last time with a text asking me to leave with him. Which I also ignored.
I should have stuck with my principles. I should have listened to the words Mom had ingrained in my mind for most of my life. Always look out for yourself first, and never depend on anyone else, honey. Especially not a man. You’re very capable of providing and taking care of yourself.
After Dad left, she hadn’t mentioned him again, but I knew he was in the back of her mind whenever she talked like that.
Because he’d left her high and dry, let her go through the struggles of being a single mom and raising a little girl all by herself.
From what I’d gathered, he would’ve had the finances to support both of us well beyond our needs.
But she’d never heard from him again, and Mom wasn’t the begging type. Never had been.
God, if I’d just listened to her, I wouldn’t be in this situation now. Wouldn’t have let a man distract me from something I’d worked toward my entire life, and I wouldn’t have let him come between me and my determination in the first place, either.
It must’ve been midnight by the time my head collapsed against the table, full of thoughts I’d never had before and doubts I’d never felt. Was taking the Adeline Ashwood internship the right decision? Would I have had more success if I’d gone to literally any other designer?
I passed Amir on the way out and couldn’t ignore the way his brows had risen. “No,” I deadpanned.
If I wasn’t in such an awful mood, I would’ve marveled at the way he laughed. Loud and boisterous, with none of his usual grumpy attitude. He innocently put up his hands. “Wasn’t going to say anything.”
“I know that’s a lie.”
His laugh was replaced by a sheepish smile, similar to Elliot’s when he said something he knew he shouldn’t have. “Goodnight, Miss Peterson.”
The door fell shut behind me, and I couldn’t focus on the fact that I might’ve just bonded with Amir when I was just so angry.
It had taken four hours, but I was finally there.
Being able to sort through my feelings enough to land on one emotion.
Anger. Mostly at myself, for letting everything remind me of Elliot, which inevitably reminded me of the fact that he’d won.
We still had over a month, and he’d already won.
The streets were emptier than I knew them to be. Then again, I’d never left the office quite this late. Maybe that’s why I said, loudly and without a look around, “If you’re Elliot’s security—leave.”
The last thing I needed was them telling him I was on my way home now. I didn’t want him waiting at the door, with takeout he’d ordered or a salad he’d tried to make or, God forbid, a desire to talk.
He’d said they didn’t report my whereabouts, but who knew what he was lying about anymore.
It seemed I’d been alone on the street until I wasn’t. Until a shadowy figure crossed to my side, and they’d gotten so close without saying a damn thing, for a second, I was worried it wasn’t Elliot’s security.
“I’ve gotten clear instructions, ma’am.”
A relieved breath and laugh as I relaxed. I hated that he’d been right; that I did feel safer with them around. I fought the feeling.
“And I’m giving them to you clearer.” My strides got bigger, pace picking up. He was effortlessly holding it. “Leave.”
Silence.
“Seriously.” I had to stop at a red light, and when he did the same, I finally whirled around. It must’ve looked funny, the way I threateningly held up a finger toward a man at least two heads taller than me. About the same height as Elliot, but much broader.
Another reminder of him. It made me snap. “You can tell your boss he can stop pretending to give a shit.”
The light had barely turned green, and I was halfway across the street.
Of course, he kept up. “With all due respect,” he said.
I almost laughed again, even when nothing about this situation was funny.
“Even if he’d be fine with me leaving you, which he wouldn’t be, I can’t possibly in good conscience do that.
What kind of person would I be, letting a vulnerable woman, in clear emotional distress, walk the streets of New York City by herself in the middle of the night? ”
“I’m not in emotional distress!” The way I yelled the words might’ve suggested otherwise.
“Okay. Sure.” Beside me, he nodded grandly.
“This is stalking. You know that, right?” I’d told Elliot the same thing, then let myself be soothed and coddled into forgetting it. Fuck. “If I don’t want you here and you refuse to stop following me. I could go to the police.”
Now he snorted, the sound dismissive. “You could.”
Before I managed to say anything else, he’d slipped out of my field of vision again. Honestly, knowing he was there and not being able to see him was almost worse. But I made it home without further incident.
I climbed the stairs slowly to make sure they wouldn’t creak. Then I unlocked the door with a finesse I’d never managed before. Completely silent, I closed it behind me, slipped out of my shoes, and turned around to tiptoe toward my room.
Useless.
As if he had nothing better to do, Elliot stood in the doorway to his room, directly opposite the entrance. He leaned against the frame, head tilted, shirtless. His sweatpants hung low on his waist, and I cursed him for it.
If only because it took me a second longer to drag my eyes up to his.
His brows lifted. “Heard you threatened my bodyguard.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Thought they don’t report back to you.”
“They do when you accuse them of stalking.” He added, “What’s wrong?”
Instinctively, I took a step back when he took one toward me.
It left me a little bit closer to my room.
Even though I couldn’t lock it, at least it meant there was a door between us.
Between me and those blue eyes, trying to figure me out.
Between me and the way the light reflected off his chest and abs just right, every crevice begging to be explored by my tongue.
Another step back. He followed.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, when I’d been too busy admiring his fucking abs to come up with a reply.
Stole my job, my future, Mom’s dream. I chanted the words in my head as a reminder, and it worked.
“Don’t,” I hissed, and he stopped his approach. His brows drew together like he couldn’t even take a wild guess. “Do you think I’m dumb?”
“Not for even a second.” The apparent sincerity in his words made me furious, because I’d come to a decision. He must’ve known about his grandfather. He must’ve known and said nothing.
“You’re such a liar.” At this point, I was seething. My voice broke, and I hated that most of all. More than him. More than myself. “How long have you known? About them choosing you? And kicking me out?”
“What are you talking about, Maeve?”
“Your grandfather. How long have you known that he’s going to give the full-time position to you? Did you ever not know?”
Recognition flashed across his gaze. Pity and understanding too. “Why—” He cut himself off. “What?”
Just this morning, he’d had his fingers between my thighs and his lips puckered around my nipples, and I wished we could go back to that. But twelve hours later, he’d betrayed whatever fundament of trust we’d just begun to build. “I didn’t know. How do you?”
Liar. Liar, liar, liar.
I slammed my door before he could take another step. And he had enough decency not to knock. The very first and only respectable thing Elliot Ashwood did was not cross my boundaries. The bare minimum.
I cursed myself for appreciating it anyway. Then for thinking he might be different from every other man I’d been forced to hear about from my friends.
He must’ve known. I kept repeating it to myself because otherwise I might tiptoe over to his room and risk whatever sense of priorities I’d just reestablished.