Page 84 of Ruled By Rivalry

I deflated like an old balloon just to get away from his gaze. From the patience in his eyes and the amusement glimmering in their blue. “I don’t know,” I groaned finally. “I’m just . . .”

“On edge?”

I nodded. “You’re being too nice, and I’m starting to”—like you, I almost said—“think you’re not a completely awful person.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“I’m just saying. It feels like a setup. Too good to be true. Like you’re luring me in with this irresistible charm of yours until I turn my back and you stab me.”

Elliot’s head tilted. He smiled. Dimples. “You think I’m irresistible?”

He had to be if it had worked on me. But—“That’s not the point.”

“Sorry.” But he was still smiling. “Everything else just sounded so ridiculous, I thought you had to be joking.”

“Elliot,” I warned. And by now, my filter was gone. “You don’t see how you’ve got one hell of an advantage here?”

“You’re better than me in everything we do.”

“You’re an Ashwood!”

“You’re more reliable, more invested, and you haven’t insulted every person who has a say in the decision.”

He was right, and yet. “You’re an Ashwood. And you cannot honestly tell me that you’re not worried about being cut off.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “But there’s nothing I can do but my best. Plus, I still have the foundation for now.”

I shifted on the couch, turned toward him, and hugged my angled legs. “That sounds like . . .”

“A healthy way to look at things?”

“A lie.”

Elliot groaned, his head falling against the couch in defeat and exasperation and a million other things. “You gotta give me some credit here.”

I shouldn’t.

I tried to remember Camila’s words. And Paula’s. I tried to remember what it had felt like when I didn’t trust him. The way his constant smiles had seemed pretentious, not charming. The way every compliment had seemed like part of an elaborate scheme, not him shamelessly flirting with me.

Back when his every touch made me take a step back.

It felt like an eternity ago. When I kissed him this time, all I could think was Finally.

Chapter 32

I wasn’t proud to admit that in the following week, I saw Allegra more than my own best friend. Every obligation Elliot had, Allegra had, too. (Whatever happened to the agreed-upon one-week time frame for dragging me around? And why wasn’t I complaining about it? No comment.)

Dinner with politicians, a new Ashwood Hotel opening, brunch at the penthouse. Their social calendars must’ve looked identical, and I wasn’t sure how coincidental it was.

She hovered, was what I was trying to say.

Elliot kept giving her the benefit of the doubt, which would be sweet if I didn’t feel some sense of . . . jealousy whenever I saw them together. My brain wrongly identifying him as mine just because he’d kiss me into oblivion every night until I fell asleep.

He told me not to worry. Said she needed a friend. Suggested giving it a week. And Elliot was incredibly persuasive.

But it had been a week. And she was still here, in our living room, trying to convince Elliot to go clubbing on a Monday night again and very nearly succeeding. “Come on,” she whined. “You love it there!”

“You love it there.” He laughed, getting a sheepish shrug in return. His eyes flicked to me, sitting on the couch beside Allegra, for only a second. “But I can’t.”