Page 69 of Ruled By Rivalry

“You could.”

“Kiss your mother’s hand? Call everyone Mr. and Mrs. and use old-timey language?”

“Old-timey language?” he asked, descending the four flights of stairs behind me.

“’Tis so nice to meeteth thee. How art thou?” I went on. “I thank thee for thy hospitality.”

“We’re not vampires from the 1800s. You know that, right?” But I could hear the crack of a smile on his lips.

He skipped a few steps, passed me, and opened the door before I said, “You just have money like they did.” That earned me another one of those looks—where his head fell to one side, and his brows rose before he rolled his eyes with a huff, sometimes a laugh. I hurried onto the sidewalk.

“I don’t have any money right now,” he reminded. No Adeline Ashwood credit cards, no penthouse, no driver. “Which is why we’re about to take the subway.”

I couldn’t help grinning like a first grader. My cheeks were starting to hurt.

Elliot sat opposite me, crammed between a guy air drumming aggressively and an elderly woman complaining about said aggressive air drumming. The poor boy looked terrified.

My smile got bigger, somehow. “Is this your first time in one of these?”

He’d been intent on staring at the floor until our stop was announced, so when he spotted my amusement, it must’ve been his final straw. He shot out of his seat, crossed the few feet between us, and said, simply, “How could you tell?”

A laugh burst out of me. I wasn’t sure if it was the terror in his eyes, the confusion when he looked around and noticed no one paid much mind to his seatmates, or the way he gripped onto the handrail for dear life. He literally sighed in relief when our stop was announced, closed his eyes in a silent expression of gratitude, and pulled me out of my seat so fast, I stumbled out of the car.

My hand was still in his when we got out of the station, and Elliot took a deep breath like we’d been underground for years. His hand squeezed mine, as if to make sure I was still there, before letting go. My heart pulsed in answer.

“How often do you take the subway?” he asked.

“Whenever I go somewhere?” The office was within walking distance, so that wasn’t an issue. But Paula lived somewhere in outer Brooklyn, so on the rare occurrence that we saw each other, it meant taking the subway. Once a week, I took it out of Manhattan to run the way back, too. “It’s really not that bad—”

“You should stop.” The light turned green, and as if it was second nature, he grabbed my hand again, pulled me closer, away from the oncoming wave of people.

“Taking the subway?”

I barely noticed his curt nod, blond hair swaying with the motion as I tried to keep up with him. He was walking faster than usual through the Upper East Side’s evening crowd. His grip around me was tight, his hands clammy. “Yes.”

“You just want me to walk everywhere?” I grinned.

“Preferably, I’d like you to get cabs everywhere.” We turned a corner, and I wasn’t surprised to see Central Park. I was even less surprised when he pulled me into one of the luxury skyscrapers along its edge. The one he’d tried to show me after our run on Monday, which felt like ages ago, not just four days.

Since then, our dynamic had shifted dramatically. When I looked at him, I wasn’t seeing schemes and deception, but the way his lips had been on mine, and how good they felt.

I wasn’t sure I liked that development.

The security guard greeted Elliot, and for the first time, he said nothing in response. I jumped in, thanked the man, then narrowed my eyes at the one beside me.

I would’ve liked to point out to him that between the two of us, there was only one billionaire. And even the billionaire in question could no longer take cabs everywhere. But he seemed off. “Hey. You alright?”

He stopped abruptly. We were still in the entrance hall, water cascading down the wall to one side, light panels behind the stone of it. Immediately, the hustle and bustle of the city was forgotten, traded for the calm sound of water rushing down a stone wall. A different world, just one door and a security guard away.

I couldn’t focus on the beauty of it—or the dystopia, really—because catching Elliot’s blue eyes for the first time since the subway, he didn’t look well. Not even with a forced smile and when he assured, “Yeah. Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Elliot waved me off, and I couldn’t very well hold him back when he continued into the lobby. I was too busy figuring him out to marvel at the high ceiling, the shaped light panels on the wall, or the huge chandelier above the gray couches.

“Nothing.” He shot the concierge a smile, one that literally opened doors for him. They slid open in front of us without a word, revealing the elevators. And artwork on the wall that could pay off my student loans.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he repeated when the concern—or suspicion or confusion—on my face didn’t waver. “Remember? I don’t do well with crowds sometimes. Or the public. Or, I guess, air drummers on the subway.” He fidgeted with my hand in his.