Page 36 of Ruled By Rivalry

“Seriously.” Camila’s eyes snapped up from the folder in her hand. “Call it a night. It’s past six already.”

I wanted to plead and beg and explain that I always stayed past six. But the look on her face forced me to pack my things. When I spotted Elliot in the lobby, I knew exactly who to blame for the drastic shift in dynamic between my boss and me.

And the last thing I wanted to do was attend a restaurant opening with him.

“I’m not going.”

“Where?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what I was talking about, only pretending otherwise to get on my nerves. The smirk on his lips gave it away.

I silently thanked the traffic light for turning green as soon as we got to it. One less minute in his presence.

“Your stupid restaurant opening!” I sped across the street, managing to dodge the rogue finance bros heading back into their offices for a late-night shift, takeout in hand. I was supposed to be working one of those, and the man beside me was the reason I wasn’t.

“Hey.” He snickered. “Rowen put a lot of work into that restaurant, so I don’t think it’ll be stupid. And doesn’t food just taste so much better when it’s free?”

Free food had always managed to lure me out of the house; most of the college fundraisers and student body events knew what they were doing when they offered it. And I was sure they weren’t serving cold pizza and bland salad at an Ashwood restaurant opening. Especially one meant to earn them a Michelin star one day.

But—“I can’t go.” Quickly, shaking my head, I amended, “I don’t want to go.”

“You clearly do.” When I looked at him, he raised his brows like it wasn’t even a debate worth having. Thank God we just rounded the corner onto our block, and we no longer had to.

“Do not,” I said regardless, not allowing him to have the last word. His irritable nonchalance was spiking my pulse and snapping my patience in half.

He was still smiling. “Why are you lying to yourself, Maeve?”

“Because I have to clean up your mess!” Alright, I’d run out of patience. I whirled toward Elliot in front of our block. “Because the woman I’d always dreamed of working for hates me for something you did, and I’ll have to fix it before it gets worse! Because I thought—” I cut myself off, still huffing and puffing.

Because I thought that you and I could handle the sustainability fiasco together. Because I forgot that you’re a liar and a schemer and not to be trusted.

Elliot blinked at me. “Camila doesn’t hate you, and she’ll get over the sustainability thing.”

She would, once I got upstairs, glued myself to the small desk in my bedroom, and worked on a perfectly sustainable idea for Daphne’s dress that I could show Camila tomorrow.

“Oh, shut up, Elliot.” Defeat laced my voice as I climbed the stoop. “Not everyone can just walk around thinking it’ll all work out. Some of us actually have to work to get to where we want to be.”

Usually, his snappy comebacks came before you’d even finished your sentence, so watching Elliot consider my words felt . . . strange. I was almost hopeful that he finally realized where my priorities were and that he couldn’t get me to change them.

But all he said was “So you’re giving up?”

“What!” The disbelief in my voice echoed through the entire street. “Giving up what?” I was fighting for what I wanted, not giving up. How—

“You’re admitting you wouldn’t survive a week with my schedule. You’re giving up, Maeve Peterson,” he singsonged. “And it’s only day two.”

“There are other things on my schedule—”

“There are other things on mine, too.” Challenge lingered in his tone and gaze. His blue eyes shimmered with mischief and pride, and I hated the way his tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

There were a number of insults on the tip of mine, and I was ready to throw them all at him in a minute-long monologue. I would’ve, if it weren’t for the car behind him startling me with a single honk.

Through its open window, I couldn’t see all the way into the driver’s side, but the voice made it to us anyway. Elliot’s spine straightened; my brows furrowed.

“No matter how entertaining this little back-and-forth is, and no matter how much I would’ve loved to watch it play out . . . we have to go, Elli. Don’t ignore me. You asked to be picked up.”

My eyes flicked back and forth between the car and Elliot, who acknowledged the situation with a single “Rowen.”

Rowen Ashwood, Elliot’s older brother. In sync with my realization, he ducked over to our side and waved, his smile hauntingly similar to Elliot’s. “Feel free to be a little meaner next time, Maeve.”

There was no time to compute the fact that Rowen Ashwood knew who I was or that he’d just listened to the entirety of our argument when Elliot turned back to me, something in his eyes I almost didn’t recognize. Traces of panic and desperation, no more amusement. “Daphne and Ryan will be there.” His final argument, I realized. “They’re ambassadors. Now that we know they’re in New York until the Annual, they’ll be wherever Ashwood is.”