Page 31 of Ruled By Rivalry

Finally, Elliot sighed. “I think you underestimate me.”

“Do I?”

“You think I’m a shallow rich kid who does nothing all day but eat expensive food, drink expensive wine, and complain about all the expensive things he doesn’t have.”

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “At the moment, you do work at least forty hours a week, so that’s something.”

A single laugh slipped out of his mouth, but there was nothing humorous in the sound. “It all looks so easy from the outside. Trust me, it’s not. You wouldn’t survive a week with my schedule, Maeve.”

He was starting to sound ridiculous. “Wining and dining, hanging out in your family’s penthouse, getting drinks with socialites and movie stars and models. It all must be so terribly hard for you, Elliot.”

“Try it, then.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

He raised his brows, a challenge in that dark blue of his eyes I knew I couldn’t turn down, even before he’d spelled it out. “A week with my schedule. I’ll take you. Wining and dining, hanging out with my family, getting drinks. If that’s all I do, it’ll be a piece of cake. Right?”

The smile on his face when we shook on it told me I might’ve just dug my own grave.

But spending a week with him meant I might learn things about him, his habits, his routine—and could easily use the knowledge against him in our upcoming battle.

War strategy, that’s what it was. That’s why I agreed.

Chapter 12

I liked my solitude in the mornings. Liked getting up earlier than anyone else in the house and then running for a mile or five before the rest of the world slowly got out of bed.

Mom used to call it her Me Time. As a single mom, she left me alone for brief spells as soon as I was old enough. It meant that at seven thirty each morning, I’d stand by the door to welcome her back from her trail runs, we’d make breakfast together, she’d drop me off at school, and then she’d spend the next eight hours at the little boutique that paid her minimum wage.

So, that steady rhythm of my feet against the empty New York sidewalk every other morning had become my trusted companion. If I couldn’t rely on anything else, at least I had my alone time before work.

Or so I thought.

“You know the deal was one week in your shoes, right?” I asked, lungs burning in that deliciously satisfying way. Now if only there wasn’t a second pair of steps beside mine, annoyingly easily holding my best-effort pace. “It wasn’t an invitation for you to follow me around, too.”

“Funny,” Elliot said from beside me. At least he had the decency to sound out of breath. “I thought I was doing you a favor. You love my company, don’t you?”

I sped up, just to show him that was not the case. I didn’t just not love his company. It was enough when we had to see each other at work every day, but it had gotten worse once he moved in. At least for those forty minutes in the morning, I’d like to be rid of him.

But he caught up, still holding my pace. My legs ached, and the burn in my lungs was no longer satisfying or delicious. Painful would be the right way to describe it. One look at my watch told me we were still at least three miles out, though. We’d just gotten to Central Park.

And if Elliot had the audacity to invite himself on one of my runs, the least he could do was suffer for it. Judging by the laborious breaths from beside me, we were getting closer to that point of regret. Unfortunately, my energy levels were running low too.

He must’ve interpreted the second glance at my watch correctly. “Giving up?”

“I didn’t know this was a competition.” At least not officially. Still, I’d gotten dressed faster than him, ate my banana faster than him, and emptied my glass of water first.

“Maeve.” He exhaled loudly, and I wasn’t sure if that was one of those signs of surrender or if he just liked saying my name that way. Panting and breathing heavily. “When has anything between us ever not been a competition to you?”

Touché.

Central Park continued flying past us in a blur. Our path wound through thick trees and open fields, around small ponds and bigger lakes until another mile must’ve passed, and Elliot still looked too determined for my liking.

We’d both gotten slower, though.

And I was desperate. To take a proper breath again and stretch the muscles in my legs out. “You could . . . you know?”

“I could what?”