Page 53 of Ruled By Rivalry

If I weren’t so focused on how much I wanted this, I’d hate how much he was reveling in the fact. How much he loved being right, and how he always needed to prove it.

“Has anyone ever told you,” I began, “that you’re the most annoying, aggravating, infuriating person in the world?” I pulled him closer by the collar of his annoyingly perfect shirt. The one his annoyingly perfect arms looked annoyingly nice in. So nice, he’d been wearing it in my dreams that night.

“You probably shouldn’t be kissing the most annoying, aggravating, infuriating person in the world.” Tauntingly, he tried to take a step back, but it didn’t take much to keep him in place, right here, stomach almost pressed to mine. A finger traced the outline of my waist down to my legs, nearly slipping below that skirt. “Say it, Maeve. Do you want this?”

No. I shouldn’t—not after realizing how good, how perfect, it felt. But he was right there, looking at me like that. So.

“Yes.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a cruel, knowing way before it finally landed on mine again. I sighed against his lips.

“Good,” he muttered, barely a sound at all. “Because knowing what you’re wearing below all this has been killing me ever since you came out of your room.”

I was wearing one of the outfits laid out on his bed when he’d moved in last week, and yes, my underwear had been on full display then. What I couldn’t quite wrap my head around was the fact that he remembered, and it was doing things to me I couldn’t find words to interpret.

Elliot played with the buttons of my shirt absentmindedly, never focused enough on actually opening them. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to. If this was the right time to . . .

“Elliot—” But my voice died down, in sync with a foreign sound. The doors rattling and the lights flickering.

We shot apart so fast, he must’ve hit his head pretty hard on the other side of the elevator. He was rubbing the spot, eyes flicking to the gap between the two doors, growing wider by the second.

Light flooded the small space, and the crowbar in between became visible. Then boots, legs.

Rescued not just from the elevator but from ourselves.

Chapter 22

I kissed Elliot Ashwood and I don’t regret it. I kissed Elliot Ashwood and I don’t regret it. I kissed Elliot Ashwood and I don’t regret it.

In case it wasn’t obvious, I was also spiraling. Hard.

The elevator had gotten stuck due to a block-wide power outage that somehow only lasted ten minutes, and not, say, sixty. As soon as I was hauled out, I bolted before Elliot had even managed to lift himself out too.

For the past seven hours, I’d been hiding in the fourth-floor atelier. Stitching, ruffling, detailing that first idea of Daphne’s dress.

For nothing, it turned out.

For me to sit elbow to elbow with Elliot, trying my best not to burst into tears as Oliver Sheffield critiqued a dress meant to be seen and judged by his wife. Camila would get me, I thought as he went on.

Too plain.

Too pink.

Pretty, but not enough.

“But pink is her color,” Elliot tried to argue on my behalf, but even that didn’t help. Not even the fact that our knees were touching under the table could make me think of anything other than Oliver Sheffield telling me my design sucked.

The mannequin had been rolled into a corner five minutes ago, and I was still staring at it. Oliver went on like he hadn’t just crippled a part of my confidence beyond repair, flicking through the pages of my notebook.

“I like that elemental idea. Water, fire, earth . . . but should they do the same one? Have opposing looks or ones that complement each other? Water and fire? Water and earth? That sort of thing.” Oliver nodded in my direction. “Your sketches are fine, Maeve. Much more elaborate than what you actually . . . conjured up.”

Another stab to the heart. I’d be leaving this meeting with twenty wounds if he kept this up. Judging by the look on his face, Elliot might be leaving it with a murder case on his hands.

“How long did it take you?” Oliver gestured to the dress in the corner.

“Around forty-eight hours.” I cleared my throat. “I meant to show Camila—”

But he cut me off. “Right.” An understanding nod. “Give yourself a bit more time for the next one, why don’t you?”