Page 97 of Ruled By Rivalry

“It’s the bare minimum!”

“It’s still objectively sweet.” Her brows rose. “Don’t worry, I’ll be demanding all of the details, and there’s no way you’re getting out of telling me. But,” she added, “care to explain what you mean about one of you getting the job?”

Oh.

Fuck.

It just slipped out. I’d been so focused on Elliot and all the problems he was bringing to the table that I completely forgot about the problems already sitting there. Paula didn’t know my internship had started off as a shit show, gotten worse when he got involved, and we’d been battling for the Intern of the Summer title ever since.

So, I told her. About the coffee, and interrupting a meeting, and that only one of us would get offered a full-time position at Adeline Ashwood. I told her that ever since we graduated, no matter how much work I put in, I struggled. Even my three miles in the morning had me huffing and puffing when I’d barely broken a sweat during the same run a few months ago.

I told her I couldn’t read people here. That the intuition and understanding she’d usually called precognition seemed to have disappeared as soon as I got my degree. That’s probably why I was trying to make up for everything going wrong in my life by getting drunk at the office and working until three in the morning and crying in her lap and rambling incoherently.

It was so unlike me, she hadn’t been quite sure what to do about it. Apparently, running her hands through my hair and massaging my scalp had been the right thing, though. Soothed me enough to take a deep breath.

By now, it must’ve been around four in the morning, and the predawn light was dipping the lobby in a blueish hue. “You’re fighting with Allegra Amato?” Paula was still hung up on the fact. “The Allegra Amato?”

I nodded absentmindedly, head still on her lap, exhausted above all else. No longer quite so drunk, just feeling the residue of alcohol in my weary, tired bones. “I’m not reading into it, right? She definitely still wants him?”

From behind us, Amir muttered, “I never really liked her. Smile’s too wide, voice pitched too high. After that video of Elliot leaked, she was all over him again.”

Which had me suppressing a smile.

“Oh yeah.” Paula huffed. “Sounds worse than me after Henry and I broke up last year.”

“Ehhh,” I intervened, an apologetic smile on my lips. “You were pretty bad.” But that only proved my point.

“Hey!” Paula’s gasp was so loud, even Amir snorted. By now, I knew he’d long abandoned his phone, no shame in the eavesdropping game.

His demeanor shifted at once. “Ashwood approaching” was all he said.

“Wha—” Sitting up, I cut myself off when I caught a glimpse. Of him, already inside. Door falling shut with a small woosh. Beside me, Paula was holding back a gasp. I could feel it by the way she tensed, hand flying up to her mouth. “Elliot,” I breathed.

“You are going to be the death of me, Maeve Peterson.” His steps didn’t falter on their way over, pure confidence in his strides and exasperation on his face. He tipped his head at Paula, then added, “Excuse us for a second.”

I should’ve been less cooperative when he pulled me off the couch, through the lobby, and toward the gates, but I just glared at Amir when he opened them for us without a word of protest. It was a storage closet we ended up in.

Pulling a small string hanging from the ceiling, Elliot looked at me in the glow of a single bulb. His blond hair was tousled, and his shirt, once crisp, was wrinkled and untucked now. His tie was loosely draped around his neck. Shoes replaced with sneakers.

“What do you think you’re—” doing, I wanted to say. He cut me off, not with his words or a mean look. Just his hand, slowly raising, effectively shushing me.

It annoyed me, too. I wasn’t usually easily shushed.

“Listen, we don’t need to talk. You can be mad at me for however long you want. It’s fine, you’ve got every right to be.” The crease between his brows shifted. Concern, sincerity, if I were to still believe in my abilities to read him. I didn’t. “But when I get home in the middle of the night, and you’re not there, and I text you and you don’t reply, I call and you don’t pick up.” He leveled our gazes, took a deep breath. “That’s something we’re not going to do,” he whispered. “Alright?”

Maybe from the grimace on my face, maybe by the way my mouth opened, he knew I wasn’t about to agree. So, he repeated himself. “Alright?”

My head shook just for the sake of it. Even though I knew, if the roles had been reversed, I might’ve been concerned for him, too. He had no right to be, though. Not really. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You wanna bet on it?”

Something in his eyes flashed, and I tried to ignore something in my stomach coiling in answer. Like our bodies were having an entirely separate conversation, with an altogether different undertone.

A puff of air escaped me, and Elliot flinched at the reminder of how close we were. I wasn’t sure if he even realized he’d moved toward me. I couldn’t find it in me to move away either. His nose scrunched. “Are you . . . drunk?”

Not anymore.

The sound I made was unidentifiable, and yet he somehow managed to. Identify it, that was. “But you weren’t at the party.” Statement, not a question.