Chapter 45
The Ashwood Annual should’ve been monumental for many reasons. My first dress on one of the biggest carpets in the world. My debut as a designer. Every single celebrity crush I’d ever had casually walking past me.
Not because I’d lost my virginity there.
“What made you change your mind?” I asked, and Elliot’s head cocked in my direction as we weaved through the halls to get to our respective tables.
We were as close to each other as we could physically allow ourselves to be.
Without being obvious about the fact that I could still feel the stretch of him between my thighs, and he could probably still taste me on his tongue.
I cleared my throat. “You said you didn’t want to”—I started whispering—“sleep with me in case you get the job. In case I’d hate you. ”
An impossible thought now. The decision had already been made, and no matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t get myself to hate him.
It still made my insides clench and formed a lump in my throat, but . . . “You slept with me. You have the job.”
I was just way beyond the possibility of hating him again.
He must’ve known that.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Elliot hummed, hand in the small of my back, and the pressure of him so familiar I could burst into tears. Yep, my period was definitely coming up.
“Come on, Daphne’s dress is good, yes, but not good enough to convince your grandfather of the impossible.”
The sheepish smile on his lips should’ve been a dead giveaway, but I was too busy not marveling at the way my favorite actor greeted Elliot in passing.
A back pat from one of Hollywood’s most valuable didn’t even seem like a big deal to him; instead, Elliot was looking at me.
Shrugged. “No need to convince anyone. I quit.”
I stopped. Abruptly. In the middle of a busy corridor leading from the entrance hall to the main event. “You did what?” He tried to nudge me forward, but I was glued in place, blinking slowly down the hall.
“I told you.” His brows rose when I finally looked at him. “I had to convince myself you’re sorry because it was embarrassing how quickly I forgave you. The things I did were embarrassing.”
I couldn’t form a single thought and gave myself more time when I asked, “Such as?”
“Waking up every time I heard someone unlocking a door in our building. Wandering the halls of the office not sure if it’d be worse to run into you or go another day without seeing you.
” Elliot grabbed my arm, gently pulled me to the side so we wouldn’t continue blocking half of the hallway.
“Asking Amir whether you’d already left. ”
With every word, I needed another second longer to form a coherent thought. So, another question. “What did Amir say?”
“He said he knew what I did and hasn’t opened a door for me since.” Elliot didn’t seem upset about the development. Meanwhile, if the circumstances were different, my smile would’ve been so big my cheeks would hurt. But there was one thing he hadn’t mentioned yet.
“And?” I prodded.
“And I quit.”
I wiggled out of his loose grip around me to take a step back. To look at him and signal the severity of his words. His actions. The situation.
“You can’t just—”
“I never cared, Maeve.” Another shrug, hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s very clear who the position should go to, but I know Hunter, and I know he wouldn’t give it to you. They could have a unanimous vote at Adeline Ashwood, and he’d still choose me.”
My head shook. My brows furrowed. He couldn’t just . . . “You can’t just—”
“I have things to fall back on, friends and family. The foundation.”
“Which is a nonprofit,” I reminded. “Billions, Elliot. You can’t just—”
“I have.” He nudged my shoulder, finally managed to get us moving again, down the hall in step with the few people not yet inside.
I had no concept of time, but I assumed the entertainment part of the evening was about to start.
I’d much rather argue with Elliot about the stupidity of his decision, though.
“You might have to financially support me for a while there.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
There was a stage at the front of the massive room dotted with round tables. “We’re not done with this conversation,” I threatened, ignoring the flutters in my stomach. His words still hadn’t computed. “But my table should be somewhere over there.” In the back.
“Same.”
I gave him a look, tried to ignore the way they were dimming the lights. “I’m pretty sure the Ashwood table is by the stage.”
“I’m still an employee for tonight. And I’d much rather argue with you at a table full of people who hate me than spend a single second with my family. I had my place card switched with Rachel’s.” Hand on my back, a covert kiss to the crown of my head.
Eyes were upfront, someone had just taken the stage, so maybe no one would notice.
Or maybe everyone should.
I was smiling for real now, and I probably shouldn’t, seeing as Camila’s eyes were narrowed into slits at our approach and she was furiously whispering into her husband’s ear.
“Risky,” I said. “Seeing as you couldn’t possibly have known we’d make up and have sex in a spare room beforehand.”
“One way or another, you would’ve talked to me tonight, Maeve.” His steps slowed. “I’m a man who makes things happen, remember?”
How could anyone forget?
I had no time to respond before we reached the table, and every single look ranged from simple confusion to outright betrayal.
Camila was wearing a mix of all of them, somehow.
My chair was the one next to hers, and I was glad Elliot had taken Rachel’s place on my other side.
The woman had always been too intimidating for me to feel at ease around.
Tense silence sat down with us. I played with my napkin, lined up my cutlery perfectly, and cleared my throat. Someone was saying something into the microphone on stage, but I couldn’t hear anything other than the suffocating quiet of our table.
As some sort of lifeline, I glanced at Elliot. His gaze had already been on me, and the eye contact seemed to do something to him. Set him into motion with a reassuring smile and a clear of his throat before he—
“I quit,” he said.
Well, addressing the elephant in the room was certainly one way to get over it. I still hadn’t quite processed what he’d done, so my eyes widened all over again.
At least the confession finally pulled something else onto Camila’s face. Surprised, she cocked her head, brows furrowing when she exchanged a glance with Oliver, whose mouth was simply hanging wide open.
On stage, the host was welcoming us, getting the audience to clap and whistle. No one at our table seemed to care. Camila’s eyes jumped to Elliot. “You what?”
“I quit,” he repeated, calmly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Why?” Oliver.
“Because Maeve deserves that job, and I’m not sure Hunter cares.”
Camila snorted despite herself. Until now, it seemed she’d sworn she wouldn’t as much as smile in Elliot’s presence.
“How did I not see this?” Our faces puzzled, but she went on.
“You’re sleeping with each other! Oh my God.
Of course you are. Put two good-looking twentysomethings in a room, and what do you think’s gonna happen? Look at Oliver and me.”
Everyone, down to Project Management, ahhhhhed in understanding. So loudly, the next table over shushed us.
“It has more to do with the fact Maeve is much more talented, much more ambitious, and actually wants to work with you—” Only the way I kicked his shin below the table got him to shut up.
Too thick, I mouthed in his direction, then interlaced our hands on his lap in silent apology. He was laying it on way too thickly.
“Wow.” An ironic whistle from Camila. “If you hadn’t insulted my life’s work to the entire world, I might actually believe you’re a decent guy, Elliot.”
Even if it made for some uncomfortable situations, I loved that she had no filter. Loved that she simply addressed another elephant at the table instead of dancing around it. It reminded me so much of Mom.
“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know if I ever said that—”
“You didn’t,” Camila, Oliver, and Gabriel deadpanned in unison.
“I was young and stupid and out of touch.” Everyone at the table gave him a look that seemed to imply he still was.
But he must’ve done a lot of growing to be able to admit to all of this.
“Drunk, too. It was never about your work or its quality. Always just about hurting him. I don’t even know what happened that particular time anymore.
It didn’t even make sense, really. I always wear Ashwood.
I’m wearing it right now.” And he looked good as hell in Gabriel’s design.
“I make Maeve wear it, and she looks beautiful in every single one of your pieces, Camila.”
A loud sigh.
I couldn’t believe I was at the Ashwood Annual, unconcerned with the show and much more interested in . . . my coworkers making up, or whatever was happening around me.
Camila sat a little straighter. “Multiple times, I told Maeve not to trust you. I told her you’d do anything to ruin her chances, and she needs to be quicker in ruining yours.”
“Oh, she certainly tried.” Glance in my direction that I avoided like the plague.
“And she stopped when . . . ?” Unfortunately, avoiding his gaze meant I caught Camila’s right away. Curiously, she raised her brows.
“I don’t know.” When did I stop trying to sabotage him? “When we started working on the Annual looks together, maybe?”
Her eyes shifted back to Elliot. “And when did you—?”
“The second I saw who spilled coffee on my shirt.”