Page 20 of Ruled By Rivalry

Just in time, I noticed that it wasn’t Camila. Thank God—I couldn’t really afford a new phone right now. Rachel’s assistant, Hana, smiled at me brightly. One of the names on Elliot’s list of women he just worked with.

“Sorry to rip you out of your focus work.” She grinned. “Emergency meeting in Rachel’s office. Now.”

Despite the sheepish smile on my lips, my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. It didn’t even help that Elliot still wasn’t with us. I think that made it worse.

His nonchalance, attempted jokes, and teasing comments would’ve probably helped me avoid spiraling.

Because emergency meetings were never good.

Maybe someone had seen us together? Maybe someone had figured out who tipped off the paparazzi? Maybe my plan had backfired in less than twenty-four hours and they’d decided they didn’t need any interns this year at all because one of them was getting blackout drunk on a Monday night and the other was the reason half the world knew about it? Congrats, Elliot is fired! But so are you.

By the office, my stomach dropped a second time. Camila, Rachel, Oliver, all in there. Still no Elliot, though. Things immediately went from bad to worse to horrible. Their expressions didn’t help. Camila worried on her bottom lip; Rachel and Oliver were discussing something in hushed voices, not looking particularly thrilled either.

What could this be if not . . .

The door shut behind us, startling me and cutting their conversation short. Rachel announced, without preamble or time to prepare, “There’s been a change of plans.” The last change of plans had put my future at risk and Elliot in the way, so I wasn’t exactly thrilled. “I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines and the rumors and the clusterfuck Elliot keeps causing—” Rachel cut herself off, took a deep breath. Both Camila’s and Oliver’s eyes were bigger than usual, so they probably hadn’t expected that outburst either.

Her hands washed over her face and a muffled groan escaped before Rachel shook whatever bothered her so much off. Rolling out her shoulders, she cleared her throat and went on like nothing had happened. “I know you’ve probably just gotten the hang of things, maybe even a routine. So, I hate to do this . . .” But you’re fired. We’ll have to let you go. Despite his continuous fuckups, Elliot’s grandfather decided to let him win. No need to drag this out for another ten painful weeks.

“Every Ashwood Annual has celebrities and politicians and investors, of course. But we always have a few guests who take priority.” The ambassadors. My brows furrowed. “You were supposed to help Camila with Daphne Martin this year, while Elliot and Oliver tackle her fiancé, Ryan Quinn.” Deep breath, this time Rachel’s again. Like she hated having to say what she was about to. “But Elliot met them last night, and apparently, they got along splendidly. So splendidly that . . . you don’t get to help Camila and Oliver.”

I’m not fired was my first thought. I get to keep my job, the second.

The third was Big fat disappointment, though.

I still preferred it to the gut-wrenching pain losing this internship would’ve brought, but I’d been excited to assist Camila with Daphne’s look. It would’ve been an honor.

“Instead,” Rachel continued, and the forced smile on her lips looked painful. “Elliot made sure you get to do it all. The narrative behind their look, the story Daphne’s dress is supposed to tell. Wardrobe and accessories, closely coordinated with their stylist.”

I blinked at her. All I could say was “What?”

Rachel just continued her monologue like I hadn’t said anything at all. “This is a lot of responsibility, so we’re not going to pretend otherwise. If you survive the pressure of it, you might actually be equipped for the job lined up at the end. But it’s a long road to get there that starts today.”

“Today?”

I felt useless only giving one-word responses, but I wasn’t capable of more right now.

Rachel didn’t care. “They’re engaged, so their looks will have to complement each other, which means you will have to work closely with him.”

“Him?” She couldn’t possibly mean—

“Elliot.”

Okay, she did.

“Agree on a message and how to execute it. Whether you dress them in looks from the archives or design something new is up to you. Your mentors just have to sign off on it.”

I was still stuck on Daphne and Ryan. The latter had won his first Oscar three months ago, and Daphne’s dystopian romance still managed to be on the New York Times’ bestseller list, months after its release. What the fuck could Elliot have done to get an opportunity like this?

The pounding in my chest was a different kind once her words settled. Nerves and excitement at the prospect, I just wasn’t sure which emotion won yet. “Holy shit.”

“Language, Maeve,” Rachel tutted, but her eyes said, Holy shit indeed. “The Annual is in two months, right before the end of your internship. I’ve said it to Elliot and I’ll say it to you: There’s a lot at stake here. Gala prep and execution will be one of the few things we can tangibly measure your performance on in this setup. How you work with the ambassadors, with Elliot, and on your own. It’s all being considered.”

“How did he—?” I swallowed thickly. “Where is he?”

I know, I shouldn’t be focused on his absence, but I couldn’t help noticing it. Not my fault that she kept bringing him up.

I didn’t like the way she cringed at the question. I liked her answer even less. “He’s picking Daphne and Ryan up,” she said. “You can ask him the rest yourself. They’re on their way here right now.”