Page 70 of Ruled By Rivalry

Was this . . . Elliot Ashwood being vulnerable? Opening up?

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to do with that. With a version of him that wasn’t all cocky smiles and quick comebacks and unshakable confidence. One that wasn’t perfect, in every sense of the word.

One that, apparently, got anxious in crowds.

I’d seen glimpses of it before. When he’d told me about the paparazzi crowding him and his family after an innocent movie screening. When he’d ushered me into a backroom for a second of quiet.

I’m not particularly fond of paparazzi or the crowd of people they usually come with.

Wasn’t that what he’d said? Yup, weeks ago, right before I’d decided it was a good idea to call exactly those anxiety-inducing paparazzi to follow him to a club for exactly those scandalizing shots he hated.

Great work using a man’s anxiety against him, Maeve.

He waved me off once more. “Don’t worry about it. Really.”

He probably wouldn’t try to comfort me if he knew what I’d done. I probably wouldn’t have done it if I’d known how big a deal it was to him.

A single deep breath later, Anxious Elliot was gone. Like someone had snapped their fingers, his posture straightened, he stopped playing with the ring around my finger, and he gave me an easy smile. “We wouldn’t want to admit that anything about my life isn’t perfect, right?”

He winked at me, in sync with the elevator doors closing behind us.

“I never said your life is perfect.” I’d just thought it. A million times. “I said it’s easy.” And I wasn’t even entirely convinced of that anymore.

“Right.” He nodded. The usual amusement back on his face was as relieving as it was infuriating. “Welcome to easy, then.”

Chapter 28

The elevator delivered us straight into the apartment.

No matter how prepared I thought I was, I wasn’t. Not for the view, the design, or the sheer size of it. Not for the staircase leading to the second-floor gallery, or the dining table longer than our living room. It took five minutes to run into the first person, and Elliot’s family wasn’t small.

Their apartment was just really, really big.

It happened on the balcony with a perfect view of Central Park at sunset.

“Elliot! Darling!” Blond hair pinned up, pink lipstick leaving a print on her son’s cheek. In one hand, Mariette Ashwood held a drink; the other ruffled through his hair. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She sighed, adding another hug to her welcome.

“You never do,” he reminded her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Brought a friend,” he added.

I froze. My smile fell. My eyes darted to Elliot, trying, through looks alone, to figure out how unannounced my arrival was.

If the gasp his mother let out was anything to go by, then the answer was very.

“Wonderful!” The next second, her slender arms slung around my body, and over her shoulder, I glared at Elliot. You didn’t tell them, I mouthed.

He gave me a sheepish smile.

On the off chance she’d found the one person in the country oblivious to who she was, she said, “Mariette. It’s so nice to meet you.” Her eyes flitted down the length of me, an appreciating gleam in them when they met mine again. “I love your dress.”

And if Elliot decided to push me off the balcony right this second, I’d die a happy woman. Screw whatever Oliver said. Mariette Ashwood just complimented my dress. My design.

If the Ashwood boys drew media attention like moths to a flame, their mother was a floodlight. Had always been. She’d grown up alongside her father’s booming business, and every date she’d gone on, every party she’d been at, every gala she chaired made the front pages. For being a billionaire socialite, yes, but the men she dated weren’t usually nobodies either. Investors just as rich as her father, movie stars just as famous as her, singers and drummers and, once, an entire band . . . if the rumors were to be believed.

When she’d settled down with her now ex-husband, the father of her children and son of one of Hunter’s closest partners at the time, it made news for weeks on end. Mystery Marriage in Marseille; Mariette’s New Lover: A Deep Dive into Lucas Carrington; Finally Settled—Why Mariette Ashwood Waited for Mr. Right (and Why She Only Found Him in Boyfriend Number Twenty-Four).

I introduced myself, and it felt inconsequential. “Maeve. Elliot and I work together.”

Her face soured, and her blue eyes darted back to him disapprovingly. Avoid talking about work, I noted. I wished he’d warned me about any other sore subjects beforehand. But it was like he’d said; this was for his own amusement, not mine.