Page 62 of Ruled By Rivalry

“Because I had my first I-Don’t-Remember-What-Just-Happened moment when I was nine, I think. Maybe ten. And it wasn’t a red carpet, just my mother taking me and my brothers to see a movie. We got out, security wasn’t quick enough to hold them off, and I swear we almost got trampled.” The tight-lipped smile on his face looked strange. I’d never really seen him try to smile. He always just did. “Since then, I’ve been very grateful for the barricades at these things. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“God, I hope not.” The idea of putting myself in that situation again was unfathomable. “Did I even do anything?”

Elliot’s hand guided me to a quiet corner where I could spiral in peace until I’d come to terms with the fact there were pictures of me out there now, and I had no idea what I was even doing in them. “Oh God,” I repeated. “I don’t think I did anything.”

Sitting on a high chair I couldn’t quite remember getting onto, Elliot covertly shuffled between my legs, one hand resting on my thigh, the other on the small, round table beside us.

If I weren’t already so busy freaking out, I’d start now. Because we shouldn’t be this close to each other in the privacy of our own home, never mind a very public fundraiser where anyone could see, take a picture, and tell on us.

“You did just fine,” he assured.

I shook my head. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Like a friendly reminder, he said, “I was there.”

“You were busy . . .” looking good and making them laugh and rocking that quiet, stoic thing that’s undeniably sexy. “Doing whatever it is pros are doing on red carpets. I wouldn’t know.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, smiled, and squeezed my thigh teasingly. “Apparently, pros are busy looking out for their dates. You smiled, you posed, you looked good. We wouldn’t have been out there that long if you hadn’t.” He added, “Smiled and posed, I mean. We already established you look good.”

“They could’ve still taken a bad picture,” I argued.

“Doubt it.” His hand slipped into mine, raising it to his lips. “And if they did, we’ll have it destroyed, and that photographer will be out of a job for the rest of his life.”

His tone was so casual, I didn’t even question it, or the way he pressed a single reassuring kiss against the back of my hand before pulling me out of the chair.

“Good?” he asked when we were halfway across the hall.

Whatever it is he’d done to me in that corner made me feel better. More secure and calm. “I think so.” Which meant I finally had time for a look around.

The first thing that came to mind was the color. White. Walls, floors, and ceiling were all the same muted shade. Corners were rounded, with all shapes organic except for the large frames around colorful artworks, which displayed abstract structures in pink, orange, or purple. The wide hall curved, revealing the coat check and elevators.

Despite various other arrivals, we got one to ourselves. And to shift very far away from what happened ten hours ago, also in an elevator, I asked, “So you did all of this?”

“Well, no. That would be . . . a lot.” I wasn’t sure why he was smiling like that, leaning against the opposite wall. But I wasn’t complaining. “My team did most of the actual work. I just planned, organized, and then signed off on the bigger decisions they made.”

“While working at Adeline Ashwood?” When did he have time to do all this?

Again, his lips ticked upward. “These things are planned months in advance, so not really. You look so impressed, though, I almost want to say yes.” He took a single step, and it was all he needed to stand right in front of me, my head craning upward. “Maybe I should plan another one for next month just to show you I can.”

I snorted a laugh, but he . . . looked sincere. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Things are happening in my head right now,” he threatened with a laugh. “Calculations. Budget. How much overtime my staff would have to take . . .” He trailed off, smiling, then shaking his head as if, finally, realizing just how ridiculous the notion was. “Okay, they’d kill me. Can’t do that to them.” He planted his hands on my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But we could do it. In theory.”

“I believe you!” I cried. “Leave those poor people alone. They’ve done enough.” More sincerely, I added, “Everything looked beautiful so far.”

The elevator’s ding announced our arrival on the top floor, and Elliot took a single step away from me, reluctantly letting his hands fall from my waist before the doors opened. Into a vast hall, bar to one side, round dinner tables set up across the rest of the space, and a view of Manhattan’s skyline like I’d never seen before.

“Well,” he said as we stepped into it. “Let’s hope beautiful makes these people feel generous.”

Chapter 25

“I know, I know. When you hear Ashwood, you think luxury. Spending money, not asking for it. And when you see me, you’ve probably got at least one headline in mind that’s so awful, you’d think the author felt personally victimized by me.” The crowd laughed, and from behind the podium, Elliot’s gaze flickered across the sea of people at tables in front of him. “Baby Ashwood jet-sets through Brazil again. Does Elliot Ashwood know he’s from New York? Why-oh-why is she still dating Elliot, when he’s never home?” Listing them in a booming voice, the guests got louder. Allegra, sitting opposite me, hid behind her hands—one of those headlines was about her, after all.

“But.” I looked back to Elliot. “We’ve been doing these fundraisers for over a year now, so you know all of that already.” More chuckles around me. “I’m in South America for reforestation and conservation efforts. In Europe to talk on stages and raise awareness. And traveling through the US to lobby for everything the Ashwood Foundation stands for.”

The Ashwood Foundation. Elliot was behind the fucking Ashwood Foundation. If I’d known that, his sustainability suggestion would’ve never blindsided me. I would’ve suggested it myself, just to be one step ahead of him. If I’d known this was an Ashwood Foundation fundraiser, I wouldn’t have been surprised about the masses of A-, B-, and C-list celebrities running around this place, either.

Anyone who’s anyone in New York City sat at one of those round tables. Politicians, actors, musicians. Plus me. Front and center at the one reserved for friends and family, sharing it with Allegra, her parents—whom I tried not to fangirl over—and Rowen, here for emotional support. His words, not mine.