Page 108 of Ruled By Rivalry

I knew it wasn’t the point he was trying to make, but it was all I had left. I’d done all that, and he still won. Hunter Ashwood still chose his grandson.

Elliot laughed. Loud, boisterous. Almost the way he would at a bad joke, but with spite and disbelief mixed in the sound. “How often do I have to tell you that I. Don’t. Care. About. This. Job?” He swallowed thickly. “I care about the foundation and the work we do and that, at the very least, I can keep doing things that matter with it. When you win, I would’ve convinced Hunter to let me keep that—and because it’s not a good look for a charity to disappear overnight, he would’ve let me.

“I thought maybe losing my inheritance to have a more normal life could’ve been worth it. The press’s interest in me would fade, and I’d run the foundation on a normal salary. I’d get an apartment in Brooklyn or Queens, and I’d no longer be part of the problem. Live a relatively ethical life. Or as ethical as possible when you’re related to a bunch of spoiled billionaires.”

That was denial shaking my head. He couldn’t possibly have had a plan for the small chance of my winning.

“You—”

“Never once intended to steal your job. Never once schemed against you or lied to your face. I don’t think the same can be said about you.”

Fuck.

My mouth opened and closed. Opened again, trying to figure out what to say and coming up short. “That’s not fair,” I settled on. “We weren’t friends when I . . . It’s different now. We’re—”

“So much more than friends.” He sighed. “It’s a little insulting, just calling me a friend.”

Guilt nagged at the very fabric of my being. I’d questioned his intentions for so long, and assumed they couldn’t be anything other than my worst fear. I’d jumped to conclusions based on all these new feelings in the pit of my stomach: Worry. Anxiety. The fear of losing something I’d never had before.

The fear of having someone in a way I’d never had before.

“Elliot—”

“You know how much I despise them,” he muttered, fight blown out of his voice. Exhausted was all he looked. Tired and disappointed and sad. Embarrassed. “The press, paparazzi. They’re the reason I—”

Have anxiety. Get anxious in crowds. Don’t like too many people and need your presence to ground me.

I’m sorry, I wanted to say—but not really. It wasn’t fair. I needed that job, and I should do whatever the fuck I had to do to get it. To treat Mimi and Pops on a vacation every once in a while, pay for his hip replacement, and finally have that hole in the shed fixed.

“I didn’t know any of that back then,” I said, calmer than I’d expected. “I didn’t know you at all, Elliot. Nothing but your star sign and the hospital you were born at, and that I needed to be better than you.”

The corner of his lip twitched, sad and pitiful. “Congrats, I guess.”

Chapter 42

I was on the cover of People, and I could not care less that I looked good. Didn’t care about the question marks in our old college group chat and the photos acquaintances sent me.

Maybe, if nothing had gone to shit twelve hours ago, Elliot and I could’ve laughed at it. The way they’d spelled my name wrong and thought we’d met years ago, at some college fundraiser I couldn’t remember and he’d never even been at. Instead, my face was nestled in Paula’s neck, and she held me like she’d been born to do it.

“Not to sound rude,” she prefaced. “But I am so glad I get to do this.”

“Letting my snot dry on your sweater?”

“Being there for you!” I could feel her shift below me, turn her head to look at me. I didn’t look back. My eyes were strictly pointed at the magazine on the foot of her bed, a glimpse of his hair visible. “Are you really snotting all over me?”

“I hope not,” Henry grumbled from the other side of the bed. “That’s my hoodie.”

I gasped, at least some amusement in the sound. “I didn’t know you owned hoodies, Pressley.”

“Be nice, you two.” Paula sighed like she was currently keeping her husband from fighting the orphaned child she’d brought home without consulting him first. In a way, she was.

Henry shifted, and I bet his head was shaking right up until the moment Paula looked at him. “Is a ‘No snot on my clothes’ policy rude?”

“You owe me,” I reminded. “You guys would’ve never gotten back together without my blessing.”

“Charm, please tell her—” He cut himself off. And I stifled a laugh because I knew exactly what he was looking at. Paula, giving him an apologetic glance, batting her eyelashes, mouthing Sorry. “Unbelievable.”

Despite the bickering, there wasn’t a place I’d rather be. With my best friend, in her boyfriend’s penthouse, in her boyfriend’s bed. With her boyfriend.