Page 38 of Ruled By Rivalry

And I really didn’t want to get changed behind a dumpster.

“Look away,” I pressed, and both men immediately straightened. “I mean it, Elliot. I swear to God—”

“I’ve seen your underwear already, Maeve. How much worse can it get?”

Seeing me in them, I guess.

I slid farther down the seat, burying my face in my hands to avoid the glance I was sure Rowen had cast my way. Embarrassment burned my cheeks, tinted them a deep red that matched my hair. At least the latter wasn’t in a messy bun held up by a pencil again.

“Look away,” I repeated. Again, both of them followed the order.

In a car with Elliot and Rowen Ashwood, in the middle of downtown Manhattan, I opened the buttons of my denim vest. Threw it aside, then unbuttoned my shirt. Slipped out of that too, and then sat in the back seat of the car in nothing but my denim skirt and bra.

One that hadn’t been laid out on Elliot’s bed the night he moved in.

I made sure to keep my eyes on the two brothers, but they were behaving. Elliot stared down at his phone, and Rowen was more focused on the dense traffic around us getting worse the farther we drove. I slipped the dress over my head, wiggled out of my skirt, and had everything in place before I gave them the sign. “Okay.”

But I was still unhooking my bra when Elliot’s eyes shot to mine through the mirror. Like he’d been wanting to look for much longer and could finally allow himself.

His brother was right next to him, and we weren’t even really looking at each other, but the silence between us felt intimate. Like he couldn’t help but intently watch every single one of my movements.

I don’t really know why I didn’t tell him to look away again. Not when the clasp finally came undone, and not when I slipped it out from under the dress. My eyes did avert.

Probably because I hated that weird tension in the air more than I hated him, and because I didn’t need Rowen catching onto it. I straightened Mom’s dress, and another look down my body made me feel much more prepared for what was to follow. Low lights, fancy courses, and celebrities.

“Ready.” I cleared my throat, searched for the emergency lip gloss in my bag. Elliot finally looked away too. “Shoes?”

My hand was already out when he said, “What?”

“My shoes.” I gestured for him to hand them over, applying my gloss absentmindedly.

The car was dead silent. Not even the radio was on. All three of us, just breathing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rowen finally muttered. “Seriously, Elli? You forgot the shoes?”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, indeed. “What?!”

“I know that look on his face,” he explained, pointing an accusatory finger at Elliot, so close the latter was swatting it away with a scowl. “It means he just realized he fucked up. Like when he ran into the fifty-grand wedding cake or—”

“Alex pushed me into that,” Elliot clarified. “And anyways, Maeve said dress!”

“I said I needed to change!” I wiggled my foot between the two. “Do you want me to wear sneakers to your fancy dinner?”

Elliot grimaced, but a sparkle of amusement at the thought still crossed his features. “No? I think?”

“What he’s trying to say is he’d actually love to see that,” Rowen translated, anxiously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Figured,” I muttered. “Well, I guess I’ll just get the subway back home. There’s no way I’m going in there with these.” Another pointed wiggle of my sneaker before I lowered them. Just to really sell this thing.

Maybe that’s how it was supposed to go. The universe finding a way to get me behind my desk after all. The only problem? I’d mentally prepared myself for the opening, and Rowen was kind of . . . fun. Probably because he wasn’t trying to steal my job.

“Nonsense,” Elliot said. “Rowen, pull over.”

“What?” We said it in unison; Rowen’s delivery was much flatter, though. Like he wasn’t surprised but had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“It’s just past seven. There’s an Ashwood boutique around the corner. Pull. Over,” he stressed, sterner, but his eyes were still on me. Less Intern Elliot and more Elliot Ashwood again. Much quieter, he added, “You’re not getting out of it that easily, Lucky.”

I hated what the nickname did to my cheeks. Just now, I’d been practically naked behind them, and this still felt worse.