Page 43 of Ruled By Rivalry

Finally, he asked, “Can I be honest right now?”

And I recognized that look on his face. It’s the same one Carter Jackson had given me in high school, right before he’d pulled me onto his lap and kissed me with tongue and teeth and in the way only a sixteen-year-old would enjoy.

Probably the opposite of how Elliot would do it. Gentle, inquisitive, thorough. He’d wait a respectable amount of time until his tongue met mine, and it would feel so effortless that I might only realize it once I swallowed my own moan.

I knew, with every fiber of my being, that he was about to tell me how much he wanted to kiss me. Maybe he wouldn’t say it; maybe he’d just ask, Can I kiss you?

Something in the pit of my stomach flipped just at the thought.

Which was why I shook my head—gently and with a look in my eyes that hopefully said, Please, for the love of God, don’t be honest right now. Because I couldn’t be sure my response would be the loud, resounding no it should be.

No, I shouldn’t kiss him.

I shouldn’t want to.

But with nothing between us but the light of the refrigerator, it was harder to stand my ground than I would’ve liked.

“No?” he asked, and even then, he smiled. “You want me to lie to you?”

I didn’t want him to lie, but I needed him to.

“Please,” I rasped. “Don’t say what you’re thinking.”

That he wanted me as much as I wanted him. A dangerous admission—one that could cost me my job and my future and everything else I held dear.

I could tell I was right by the gleam in his eyes and the way his face morphed from amused confusion into something more serious.

“You’re right,” he said, straightened. “It would be stupid and reckless and irresponsible.”

All things I wasn’t.

“Not hooking up with your coworker is, like, the first rule of Workplace 101. We wouldn’t be good together.” Elliot tucked a single strand of red behind my ear, and the touch sent goose bumps down my neck and heat all the way to my core.

I felt like I might implode even before he added, “And I’ve definitely never thought about just how bad.”

He left me standing in the low-lit kitchen, well aware that he was lying. He’d thought about it just as much as I had.

Chapter 18

Elliot’s words had played on a loop in my head all night, leaving me restless and confused and very, very turned on. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop imagining just how bad we’d be together either. All that my mind supplied me with were images of him on top, below, between my thighs—and the way he’d sound, right by my ear.

It was unheard of for me to fantasize about a man. For me to want—really, truly want—him in my bed. So badly, I’d played with the thought of walking the few steps over to his room until my hand slipped into my panties, and I was a frustrated mess because nothing I did came close to the thought of actually being with him.

At three a.m., I set my alarm for six as some form of masochistic punishment and got to the office at seven. I had a fuckup to compensate for and an Elliot to get out of my head.

When Camila popped into her office, I was already slouching over her table, drafting a pattern for a design out of my sketchbook she’d distractedly smiled at last week. A start, she’d called it. See what it can become.

So, with heavy eyes and sleep still in their corners, I was. The mild surprise on her face made it worth it. The approving smile did, too.

And after weeks of administrative tasks and playing the role of a glorified servant, my fingers buzzed in excitement. Maybe that was just the fourth cup of coffee making itself noticeable, though.

Pattern prep, fabric cutting, construction. The atelier was vast. A long table sat in the middle of the room, fabric samples lined one wall, and tools and color palettes covered the other. A large arched window provided enough natural light not to need a lamp for the basics, but each workstation still had one beside it. The mess here should irk me, but it felt beautiful in its own way. Every forgotten pair of scissors or spread-out piece of tulle told its own story.

At least the base layer, I thought. Let me get that done before Camila leaves. To show her that I could do things Elliot would never even consider attempting.

Unfortunately, between silk and chiffon fabrics, I had to admit that wasn’t the first and only time his name, face, and piercing blue eyes made an appearance in my head. Ever since I’d stepped foot inside the office, Elliot Ashwood had haunted me. We hadn’t run into each other yet, but every time I rounded a corner, I was scared we might.

Not hooking up with your coworker is, like, the first rule of Workplace 101.