Page 94 of Ruled By Rivalry

“You disagree?”

But it seemed he had no energy left to fight either. His sigh said as much. “It’s obviously why this”—he gestured back and forth between us—“is happening.”

The look between us lingered as long as our silence. Minutes before he really did give up. His gaze flicked through the room, then back to my face. “See you at home.”

It didn’t matter that we still had the room for twenty more minutes because Elliot left without saying another word.

Chapter 36

My very first fashion show.

My last, if Hunter Ashwood had it his way, so I soaked it all up.

The high, ornate ceilings of the venue I’d helped scout. The red velvet drapes across the large (and usually bright) windows. The columns that reminded me so much of the Ashwood restaurant we’d been at. Everything felt, looked, and smelled rich.

The models were ready. Hunter Ashwood was on stage; Camila, Oliver, and Gabriel were backstage, biting their nails, nervously finalizing looks, and making last-minute changes. Taking out earrings here and adding a necklace there.

Everyone was nervous. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be.

And I was too busy to get distracted by something as trivial as anxiety. Or Elliot Ashwood, standing opposite me, ready to wave the models past the velvet drapes and onto the runway. My eyes definitely weren’t flicking to him every few seconds. I definitely wasn’t getting more irritated every time I found him still steadily watching me.

Outside, the carefully curated guest list started clapping. Flashes went off, and a second later, Hunter Ashwood rushed through the curtain and past us, back into whatever (luxurious) hole he’d crawled out of. That was our cue to send out the first girl in one of Camila’s dresses.

I waved her out and tried not to care that Hunter hadn’t so much as glanced at his grandson, who was still looking after him. Or me, who he’d mentally fired already.

In sync with the music, we sent a new girl out every ten seconds like clockwork. The man opposite me hadn’t looked at them once. If it weren’t for me, we would’ve sent Andreina out there with a crease in her shoulder pad.

Twenty minutes passed in a blur. The applause blended with the strict yelling and precise instructions backstage.

But we survived. No one had tripped or lost a piece of their outfit, and I felt the exhaustion of three basically sleepless nights as soon as the last model slipped through the curtain again, leaving loud applause and flashing cameras in her wake. Camila, Oliver, and Gabriel took the stage, and no one would be able to tell how panicked they had been, running circles around us just thirty minutes ago.

They bowed and smiled and waved, and my exhaustion took a back seat as I watched them on a small monitor beside us, thinking, dreaming, feeling determination bubbling within me. I want that to be me.

I wanted it so badly, my chest ached and my eyes were glistening.

Mom had never come close enough—but I was here. Really close to achieving what we’d always dreamed of. Nothing but Elliot Ashwood stood in my way.

“Hey—” But that didn’t mean I needed to talk to him right now. Our fight in the office a few days ago was more than enough; we didn’t need to start yelling at each other out in the open.

“Nope.” I shook my head, hurrying past him the second he reached for me. “Not now.” Not ever. His hand slipped back into his pocket. But he did follow me, all the way into a greenroom no one seemed to use. “I don’t have time to argue tonight.”

The door would’ve hit him square in the face if not for his hand coming up just in time. Slowly and carefully, he closed it behind him. Leaned against it, probably intentionally blocking the only way out.

Saying, without words, If you want to leave, you’ll have to go through me.

“We don’t have to argue.” His voice was too soft, his demeanor too calm.

The alarm bells in my head sounded.

“What, then? What have we ever done except argue or kiss?” I pretended to search an empty drawer, just to be doing something. “I don’t think there’s an in-between. There never has been.”

Something in his demeanor cracked. I think he smiled despite himself. I could tell he was trying not to, forcing the corners of his mouth back into a straight line and failing. His head shook in response, as if that would make it better.

“How do you keep doing that?” he muttered under his breath, and I wasn’t sure if he actually wanted me to hear. It stopped me in my tracks regardless.

“Do what?”

“I want to be mad at you.” He shifted on his feet, fiddling with the bow charm on his necklace. Meanwhile, I clung to the clipboard against my chest like a lifeline. “I want to be so mad at you. For ignoring me, blaming me, and somehow turning everything into a problem I caused. I told you I didn’t know about Hunter’s decision. I talked to him, but—” He let his head fall back, eyes closing. “See? I’m doing it again. Justifying myself in front of you when I have no reason to.”