Page 68 of Ruled By Rivalry

I kind of loved that she referred to him as her husband when their wedding wasn’t until next year.

“Which, I guess, makes me one of those people. I’m sorry, I’m talking without thinking first here.” Deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, I love that you guys care about that kind of stuff. Which is why I was so excited when he suggested the sustainability theme.”

So excited.

I could still kill Elliot for mentioning the word sustainability so early on, because it’s exactly what had gotten us into this predicament: a client, excited for a look we didn’t yet have, with materials we’d never sourced, and bosses who hated the idea.

With a million sketches in my notebook and not a single coherent direction I could pitch because Oliver had hated the last one. With Elliot, busy organizing galas and raising money for important causes, which must’ve still taken up most of the time he’d been supposed to invest into Adeline Ashwood. Not the foundation.

I plastered a smile onto my face, nodding grandly as if I couldn’t agree more. “Me too.” It almost hurt to say. “We’re really excited. It’s a first for Adeline Ashwood, so it means the world we get to do it with you.”

Back to the truth. Apart from everything wrong with Elliot’s approach, Daphne loved the idea, and I, apparently, loved making her happy. Just look at the way her lips pulled into a genuine smile. Who wouldn’t want to do that for their favorite author?

“Look, I know Ryan said to play this cool, but he’s not here. When his stylist said Ashwood approached him, I lost it. Like, checking my emails for updates every hour, then jumping through the entire house when they came. The last time I did that, I was waiting for query replies from agents five years ago.” Drying her hands, she reached for mine again afterward. “Again, what I’m trying to say in way too many words: I love what you guys do, and I’ve never been more excited for anything in my life.”

“The movie deal?”

Daphne threw her head back in a laugh. “Okay, maybe that one thing in my life.”

By the time we got back, people were no longer sitting in their seats but wandering the venue, ordering drinks at the open bar, and admiring the view. An oversized presentation check stood on an easel in the middle of the stage.

Fifteen million dollars written on it in messy handwriting I immediately recognized as Elliot’s.

Chapter 27

Friday was my last official day of following Elliot around his private life like a lost puppy. So far, the time spent with him hadn’t particularly worked in my favor. All I’d found out was that he was a better person than I’d expected—and kissed exactly as good as I’d thought he would.

He’d also forgotten to mention that dinner at his family’s penthouse was always a “casual-fancy-clothes-thing,” and I didn’t have many Ashwood-appropriate pieces in my closet. None that I hadn’t worn in front of at least one of them already, anyway.

It took five minutes of silent staring before I ripped the dress I’d originally designed for Daphne off the back of my door. And, yes, maybe if I counted it as casual-fancy, it hadn’t been quite spectacular enough for the Ashwood Annual.

I would never admit that to Oliver, though.

Meanwhile, I could hear Elliot getting ready in the bathroom. Several groans and loud thuds from his elbow hitting the wall, shower, or cabinet sounded through the thin walls of our apartment. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came out black and blue—and let his family blame me for the bruises.

If the idea of meeting them wasn’t so intimidating, I might’ve been giddy with excitement. In twenty years full of big dreams, I’d never imagined meeting the Ashwoods for dinner, even though I’d spent the past decade hoping to work for them. No matter what came out of our little experiment, tonight would probably make it worth it.

For Mom, at least. Even if she wouldn’t approve of the way I was looking at Elliot (and the way, according to Rowen, he was looking at me), at least it had put me in a position where I might meet the entire family. And I could tell her about it the next time I visited her headstone back in Texas.

Mom, I met your favorite designer. Mom, I work for the fashion house you always admired most. Mom, I told the Ashwoods about you, and they wished they could’ve met you.

I do, too.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook those thoughts off when the bathroom door unlocked. No need to cry in front of Elliot. His voice shot through the corridor just as I blinked away the tears stinging my eyes. “There should be a minimum size required for a bathroom to be considered a bathroom,” he said, stretching his limbs in every possible direction.

He dusted himself off, tried his best to get the creases out of his shirt, failed, then—finally—looked at me. Opened his mouth, closed it again. Blinked.

“At least my banishment to the storage room with a shower, sink, and toilet seems to have been worth it.” He gestured to me in my dress, then added, “You look great. Oliver doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The dress is . . . perfect. I think.”

“Yeah?” I twirled in place to really sell it, and keep his eyes off my blushing face. I added, “You’ll take me to meet your family like this?”

“I’d take you in sweatpants and a shirt, Maeve.” He disappeared into his room and got back with a suit jacket hanging over his arm. “Remember, this is for my own amusement. Not yours.”

“You’re just excited to see me make a fool of myself.” Trying to reduce the likelihood of that, I came prepared. Googled which fork to use for which course, what wine pairs well with what meats, and looked at the stocks currently trading well. You never knew what topics might come up.

“No, I’m excited to see you admit that you were wrong. Just this one time.” About how easy his life was, and that I hadn’t known the half of it.

Sure, his social calendar was full, and the fundraiser probably wasn’t easy to pull off . . . I changed the topic. “So . . .” I slipped through the front door he’d opened. “Will I have to curtsy upon arrival?”