Chapter 37 #2
“What do you think you’re—” doing, I wanted to say. He cut me off, not with his words or a mean look. Just his hand, slowly raising, effectively shushing me.
It annoyed me, too. I wasn’t usually easily shushed.
“Listen, we don’t need to talk. You can be mad at me for however long you want.
It’s fine, you’ve got every right to be.
” The crease between his brows shifted. Concern, sincerity, if I were to still believe in my abilities to read him.
I didn’t. “But when I get home in the middle of the night, and you’re not there, and I text you and you don’t reply, I call and you don’t pick up.
” He leveled our gazes, took a deep breath.
“That’s something we’re not going to do,” he whispered. “Alright?”
Maybe from the grimace on my face, maybe by the way my mouth opened, he knew I wasn’t about to agree. So, he repeated himself. “Alright?”
My head shook just for the sake of it. Even though I knew, if the roles had been reversed, I might’ve been concerned for him, too. He had no right to be, though. Not really. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“You wanna bet on it?”
Something in his eyes flashed, and I tried to ignore something in my stomach coiling in answer. Like our bodies were having an entirely separate conversation, with an altogether different undertone.
A puff of air escaped me, and Elliot flinched at the reminder of how close we were. I wasn’t sure if he even realized he’d moved toward me. I couldn’t find it in me to move away either. His nose scrunched. “Are you . . . drunk?”
Not anymore.
The sound I made was unidentifiable, and yet he somehow managed to. Identify it, that was. “But you weren’t at the party.” Statement, not a question.
“No,” I said. “I was here. Working.”
“Why?”
I finally snapped. “Because that’s how it’s always been, and how it’ll always be! You’ll be out partying while I have to work to compensate for whatever benefit your last name brings you.”
“That’s rich.” He laughed, no humor in the sound. “Saying that I have an advantage here when every single person in this place hates me. When, from day one, they’ve been whispering God knows what in your ear, telling you how to destroy me. I’m not dumb either, Maeve. I know what’s going on.”
Barely. “It doesn’t fucking matter, does it?” My hands fell back to my sides. “I’m here, working—you’re there, partying. Everyone here loves me; they hate you. And still, you’re the one your grandfather picked.”
“We still have an entire month ahead of us. Just because he says that now—”
“Oh, come on, Elliot.” My head shook. “He’d rather burn the entire company down before firing his grandson.” Thanks, Melissa. “Some no-name intern against Elliot Ashwood. It never really was a competition. There’s no way.”
“For better or worse.” He smiled, but I wasn’t really convinced. He didn’t seem to be either. “There’s always a way.”
“Fuck you.” I had nothing else to say, no energy to come up with a clever comeback or mean joke. Taking a step back, the packed cabinet full of cleaning supplies pressed into me.
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, even though the way I’d swayed was simply a product of his proximity. My legs felt wobbly and my skin turned clammy because of him, not the alcohol. “Why did you even drink?”
“Not much.” Which wasn’t a lie.
“Why?” he repeated.
My head tipped back in a laugh, shaking in disbelief. “God forbid a girl celebrates her first successful fashion show with a glass of wine.” He cocked a brow. “Okay, a bottle of wine. Whatever.”
“Celebrate away.” His head tilted. “You did amazing. You deserve it.” It shouldn’t go to my head like that, his praise. I’d never thought much of compliments, never took them as more than proof of what I already knew: I did well.
Maybe that’s why this one hit differently. Because I wasn’t actually sure if anything I did was good. Because I’d never been crippled by self-doubt and insecurities before, and Elliot’s compliment filled that gap in my confidence.
“But I’d love to come home and not think my roommate’s lying in a ditch somewhere because I’m not able to reach her.”
“Your roommate.” It shouldn’t have stung; the assessment was accurate. And yet.
Elliot didn’t notice, thank God. Just went on and on about apparent worries he’d had. “Especially after she requested I pull my personal security off her.” He gave me a look. “A decision I’ll be reversing in the morning, by the way.”
“You can’t—”
“I am.”
It hit me right then. I was no longer talking to Elliot, roommate and intern and whatever else we’d become in the past few weeks. This was Elliot Ashwood, controlling the room even if it was just us. Even if it was the size of a broom closet.
“This isn’t how I wanted to meet your best friend, by the way.”
He was giving me whiplash, and not only because the gentle command in his voice had been replaced by apologetic amusement.
“How do you know my best friend?”
“You’re not the only one who did their research. Social media is a thing, and Paula is all over yours.” He said her name just to prove it.
“My account’s private.”
“And you think I’m above a fake profile?”
I took a deep breath, tried not to feel flattered he’d gone out of his way to look at my posts. It wasn’t flattering. It was the bare minimum. I’d said the same thing to Paula barely an hour ago.
“I didn’t know.” Clearing my throat, I changed the subject to something that would calm my stomach, not set it into turmoil. “That you pulled your security.”
He shrugged. “You asked.”
“Someone asking doesn’t usually mean much,” I argued.
“You asked, Maeve.”
Okay, the plan wasn’t working. I wasn’t calming down, and my cheeks still burned feverishly. I’d give changing the subject one more shot.
“How am I getting home, then?” Maybe going back to teasing would finally snap him out of that streak of perfect answers that made me ache for him. So far, he was going two for two. And the wine wasn’t helping. “If there’s no security to escort me home, and the city’s so dangerous at night.”
He looked at me like he couldn’t believe it. “You think I’m leaving this place without you?”
Three for three. “What if I want to stay?”
“Then I’ll wait.” He finally overcame that urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He’d been itching to do it. I felt it whenever his hand twitched up, then lowered again, grazing my skin every time. “Until you’re ready.”
“Until I leave,” I said in clarification. More so for myself, and whatever was happening in my stomach at the words. The other way they could be interpreted.
“Right.” Smile. Dimples. I hated that I loved it. “Exactly.”