Page 14 of Ruled By Rivalry

“CFO,” Henry filled in.

My brows furrowed. “Which means?”

“Chief financial officer—”

“No. What does it mean for us?” Or Elliot. Or the situation. I wasn’t quite sure what I was even asking at this point, but both Paula and Henry got enough of it to go on.

“Oh. That the board put Elliot up to this . . . interning thing. He’s not doing it because he wants to be there or cares about his reputation.”

“Or finally realized life is more than just philanthropy. Could you tell that Kai Ashwood was absolutely livid when he said that?” Paula added, for a moment forgetting this wasn’t all great news for me.

“Only that Kai doesn’t get livid. He stoically complains about things, then goes back to work like everything’s just dandy,” Henry corrected.

“Sure.” I nodded, finding myself not caring all that much about the intricate inner life of Kai Ashwood. “But what about—?”

“The gist of it is this, Maeve.” I braced for impact at the tone in Henry’s voice. No more amusement, no more bullshit. I came to a halt, let go of a photo I’d previously scanned. “The board is forcing Elliot to intern at Adeline Ashwood, hoping it’ll show the public—especially investors—that he’s a changed man. That he was young and stupid and drunk in that video, and that there’s nothing wrong with their clothes. That he loves everything they do and finally wants to be a part of the family business, just like the rest of his brothers. They’re trying to reposition him as humble and regretful, eager to work his way up.”

So, it hadn’t been Rachel’s decision to change things up this year at all. She probably wanted Elliot, a walking PR nightmare, around less than I did. It was the board that had forced her hand. The board that was well on its way to ruining my life.

Did I even stand a chance when this was Elliot’s image-rehabilitation plan? Nothing would really be rehabilitated if he . . . lost.

Henry had answers, thank God. “But if he doesn’t nail this internship . . . if he doesn’t exceed expectations, stop fucking around, and start getting his act together”—he cleared his throat—“he’ll lose everything.”

“Everything?” Henry always had a knack for the dramatic. “What does that mean? Everything?”

His reputation? His allowance? Cut from infinite to a meager $5,000 a week? At least if there was a plan in place for the possibility of my win—his loss—that meant I did still stand a chance.

The silence on the other end lasted a second too long for my relief to settle, though. I imagined them staring at each other, wincing, wondering how to break the news to me.

Whatever news.

“Billions, Maeve. Think drained bank account, cut out of the will, kicked out of the penthouse. No more access to the resources he currently has at his fingertips.”

Oh.

I blinked into the archive. Let my gaze wander the rails, the bags, the photos clipped onto them. Wondered if I should come here every night for as long as I could because it seemed I wouldn’t see them again after my three months were over.

I’d expected bad. That Elliot might need to prove himself to his grandfather, the board, or the public. That external factors at play had brought him to the intern department of Adeline Ashwood.

But this . . .

Disowned. Losing billions if he didn’t wipe the floor with me.

It gave him a kind of motivation I hadn’t expected; the stakes were much higher than anticipated. He had a reason to manipulate and scheme and fight for this.

Who wouldn’t fight for billions of dollars?

I’d do it for much less: a good salary, health care, and some paid days off to visit my family. Mimi and Pops and Mom’s grave.

I told myself I was doing it for them when I hung up with a quick thank-you, and five minutes later stood in front of Elliot’s office.

Chapter 7

Elliot was still there, sending another wave of dread through me. If he didn’t stand to lose billions, he’d probably be home by now. Or at some cool club, cutting the line. Taking a weekend to vacation on an island I’d never heard of.

The blood in my veins was humming, and the noise in my head wouldn’t quiet. Every second that passed made it more obvious how fucked I was.

Through the glass, I observed him. Hand on his computer’s trackpad, scrolling through something that cast a sharp light on his features. He was squinting at the screen, so captivated by what he was reading that he didn’t react when I pushed the door to Oliver’s office open. Of course, the head designer was long gone by then.