Page 92 of Ruled By Rivalry

He must’ve known. I kept repeating it to myself because otherwise I might tiptoe over to his room and risk whatever sense of priorities I’d just reestablished.

Chapter 35

In a futile attempt to push Elliot away, I got meaner. More distant. Most nights, he was out doing whatever it was he did, and I got up extra early for my runs the next morning to beat him to the bathroom. When he showered, I slipped out of the apartment.

Based on what Ronnie said, it seemed useless to try to sway Hunter Ashwood’s mind, but I wasn’t a quitter.

I needed to be so good that Camila would beg him to let me stay.

So, I stood in her office with a fresh cup of coffee before she could even ask for it, finished an assignment two days before it was due, and relentlessly worked on Daphne’s dress. I scouted fashion week venues and helped with model casting on Saturdays when she’d specifically told me I didn’t need to.

Because I did.

As an added bonus, working extralong hours meant the only time I could miss Elliot was in the comfort of my own sheets, and I was so exhausted by the time I got home, he only got a minute or two in my head before I fell asleep.

So we hadn’t spoken a word since the day I found out he was getting the job, I had no idea what he’d been working on, and we were two minutes into presenting our Ashwood Annual progress to Camila and Oliver.

Obviously, the weekly checkups he’d suggested weren’t happening.

I’d taken a chance, printed each of them a sketch I had made, brought the fabric I preferred, and then promised, very firmly, that the first concept was in the third-floor studio, ready for inspection. I was just too scared to risk damaging it by bringing it down.

Too scared of repeating what happened the last time I brought a design down here. This one had taken seven days, not two, though. And it wasn’t close to being done.

My eyes slid over to Oliver, and at least his scowl was less prominent. They both ahed and hmed, but it seemed really hard for Camila to suppress a smile, and I took that as a good sign. Finally. It only started going downhill when it was Elliot’s turn.

Because our looks didn’t work together at all. My design, and his suit out of the archives.

“So . . .” Camila’s nose scrunched. “You guys did work on this together, right?”

“Of course.” I was kind of proud we managed to say it in unison.

“And you thought . . .” There was less sympathy in Oliver’s tone, cruel gaze jumping back and forth between us. “Daphne’s pastel pink would go well with . . .” Gesturing toward Elliot’s suit, he was searching for the right words. Not a good sign. “Whatever that is?”

Some kind of muted fuchsia shade.

Elliot and I shared a glance, and I wondered if his palms were sweating just as much as mine. If his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach as well. Probably not.

“Individually, I don’t hate them,” Camila said, and complimenting Elliot must’ve been hard for her. “But Oliver’s right. Together, they make no sense.”

“No artistic vision.” Oliver again, gesturing to Elliot’s sketch of what the suit would look like after we’d altered it. Even calling it a sketch was a stretch, though; the . . . drawing was incomprehensible. No comment on the stick figure wearing the design. “There’s supposed to be some kind of metal on yours, Elliot?”

Which we only knew because he’d written, with an arrow and in bold, capital letters, METAL!

“To set accents,” Elliot agreed.

“Don’t hate it.” Oliver nodded slowly. “But where’s that element in Maeve’s design? Why aren’t they tied together better through small details just like that? And why, for God’s sake”—his British accent slipped here—“are the colors not matching?” He threw his hands up, seeming a little too calm for the gesture. “Or contrasting. Just anything to make it seem like you actually worked on this together.”

Well, for one, we hadn’t.

I’d kind of expected Camila to soften the blow, but all she did was give me a tight smile.

“You’ve got a month. We’ve got our fashion show on Thursday. With everything else, I don’t know if you guys can still pull off our usual schedule. First fitting next week?”

I blinked at Oliver. I’d never gotten a schedule. Never mind one where the first fitting would happen in a week. If possible, my hands got clammier.

The man beside me just nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Of course, Elliot knew about that. Apparently, he knew everything and didn’t bother informing me of anything.