Page 7 of Ruled By Rivalry

“Maeve. Just started around the corner.”

His gaze flicked down my body and back up so fast, I almost didn’t notice. But apparently, I was wearing the right clothes for him to figure, “Adeline Ashwood?” Followed by an impressed whistle. “Not bad, Maeve.”

“Not bad at all.” The words came from behind me. The smile on my lips froze.

I hadn’t heard his voice often, but something about its smooth cadence, low pitch, and ironic undertone in everything he said gave it away. Coming closer, only for me to hear, Elliot added, “Flirting on company time on your first day, Maeve. Impressive.”

His whispered words sent a shiver of dread down my spine. I wasn’t flirting, but he could easily use the situation against me regardless. Camila had said he wouldn’t be afraid to play dirty, and maybe that’s what this was. Collecting evidence for reasons to fire me.

I shut any friendliness between me and Robbie (thank you, name tag) off, gave him a tight smile and a look that said, Can you believe this guy? when I shuffled down the line, determined not to cause a scene in what was supposed to turn into my regular coffee spot.

There was no chatty back-and-forth between the two men when Elliot ordered. No impressed whistle at the fact that Elliot wasn’t just working at Ashwood, he was one. Only a curt “Thanks” before he was right on my heels again.

“Sorry,” Elliot said, not meaning it. Even with my back facing him, I knew that much. “Didn’t mean to ruin things for you back there.”

He did, even if there was nothing to ruin. On the off chance that there was, he’d taken the opportunity. And while yes, Be better probably meant not stooping down to his level, I’d never been great at being the bigger person.

“What do you want?” I asked, finally turning toward him. The stain on his shirt was gone—or, more likely, he was wearing a new shirt. A little tighter around the arms, showing off a little more. “Except for my misery.”

“Oh, come on.” He hummed playfully, lightly pushing my shoulder with his as if we’d known each other for years. “If he was that important to you, I’ll go over there and ask for his number. I won’t even tell Rachel.”

He made to move over, already raised his hand in an Excuse me, on second thought gesture that I only managed to stop with brute force. My hands around his arm, holding tightly, pulling him back.

Trying not to notice that he’d definitely found the gym since those pictures from three years ago. Trying not to like that he had.

“What is wrong with you?!” I hissed, then let my hands fall off his biceps a second too late, in my opinion.

“Depends on who you ask.” He shrugged, then changed the subject. “Listen, Maeve. I’ve been thinking.”

“Rare occurrence, I assume?”

His gaze—previously sliding down my outfit, noting every piece of jewelry, every wrinkle in my shirt, and probably the stitching of my pants I’d had to redo multiple times when they’d ripped—flicked back to mine. The corners of his mouth twitched, probably in disdain.

But Elliot surprised me. “About you.”

The statement shouldn’t have made my face feel hot. To counteract the flush I could feel, I tried my best impression of him. To seem casual about the reveal that, apparently, he’d been thinking about me. “Oh?”

“Let’s go out for drinks after work. Get to know each other. We’ll be spending the next three months together. There shouldn’t be any animosity between us. Right?”

There already was.

From the moment Rachel had said they’d decided to change things up this year, animosity was exactly what had been polluting the air between us. The fact that he might take opportunities away from me that I knew I deserved. That he was here on no merit of his own. That at the end of the day, I wasn’t sure if talent was worth more to Adeline Ashwood than his last name.

“How often does that happen?” I asked instead. “You, thinking about me.”

Elliot huffed (actual amusement this time?), took a dangerous step closer that felt . . . wrong. Right? Not sure. He reached behind me, leaving less than that previously acceptable distance between us for one, two, three seconds before he held a cup in his hands that read my name on it. Ignoring my words, he said, “I know a nice place. It’ll be fun.”

I should’ve probably thanked him for not dumping Camila’s coffee all over me in some kind of delayed counterattack, but instead, I just took it from him with a curt nod.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” I said. There was no need for false pretenses when I knew just as much as he did: We weren’t going to be friends.

In any other universe, the thought might’ve stung. He came from one of the most influential families in all of fashion, and I would’ve jumped at the opportunity to be his friend. To know what it’s like growing up with Hunter Ashwood as your grandfather, find out what really happened when Adeline Ashwood died and the entire family went into hiding for six months. I wondered if his entire closet was full of their clothes, if he got access to archived looks, and how they all decided what to wear for events.

But he was the furthest thing from a friend. To me, Elliot Ashwood was nothing but a big red warning sign that read, He’s going to steal your job!

“And what am I trying to do?” he asked.

“Pretend we’re going to be more than this.”