Page 98 of Ruled By Rivalry

“No,” I said. “I was here. Working.”

“Why?”

I finally snapped. “Because that’s how it’s always been, and how it’ll always be! You’ll be out partying while I have to work to compensate for whatever benefit your last name brings you.”

“That’s rich.” He laughed, no humor in the sound. “Saying that I have an advantage here when every single person in this place hates me. When, from day one, they’ve been whispering God knows what in your ear, telling you how to destroy me. I’m not dumb either, Maeve. I know what’s going on.”

Barely. “It doesn’t fucking matter, does it?” My hands fell back to my sides. “I’m here, working—you’re there, partying. Everyone here loves me; they hate you. And still, you’re the one your grandfather picked.”

“We still have an entire month ahead of us. Just because he says that now—”

“Oh, come on, Elliot.” My head shook. “He’d rather burn the entire company down before firing his grandson.” Thanks, Melissa. “Some no-name intern against Elliot Ashwood. It never really was a competition. There’s no way.”

“For better or worse.” He smiled, but I wasn’t really convinced. He didn’t seem to be either. “There’s always a way.”

“Fuck you.” I had nothing else to say, no energy to come up with a clever comeback or mean joke. Taking a step back, the packed cabinet full of cleaning supplies pressed into me.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, even though the way I’d swayed was simply a product of his proximity. My legs felt wobbly and my skin turned clammy because of him, not the alcohol. “Why did you even drink?”

“Not much.” Which wasn’t a lie.

“Why?” he repeated.

My head tipped back in a laugh, shaking in disbelief. “God forbid a girl celebrates her first successful fashion show with a glass of wine.” He cocked a brow. “Okay, a bottle of wine. Whatever.”

“Celebrate away.” His head tilted. “You did amazing. You deserve it.” It shouldn’t go to my head like that, his praise. I’d never thought much of compliments, never took them as more than proof of what I already knew: I did well.

Maybe that’s why this one hit differently. Because I wasn’t actually sure if anything I did was good. Because I’d never been crippled by self-doubt and insecurities before, and Elliot’s compliment filled that gap in my confidence.

“But I’d love to come home and not think my roommate’s lying in a ditch somewhere because I’m not able to reach her.”

“Your roommate.” It shouldn’t have stung; the assessment was accurate. And yet.

Elliot didn’t notice, thank God. Just went on and on about apparent worries he’d had. “Especially after she requested I pull my personal security off her.” He gave me a look. “A decision I’ll be reversing in the morning, by the way.”

“You can’t—”

“I am.”

It hit me right then. I was no longer talking to Elliot, roommate and intern and whatever else we’d become in the past few weeks. This was Elliot Ashwood, controlling the room even if it was just us. Even if it was the size of a broom closet.

“This isn’t how I wanted to meet your best friend, by the way.”

He was giving me whiplash, and not only because the gentle command in his voice had been replaced by apologetic amusement.

“How do you know my best friend?”

“You’re not the only one who did their research. Social media is a thing, and Paula is all over yours.” He said her name just to prove it.

“My account’s private.”

“And you think I’m above a fake profile?”

I took a deep breath, tried not to feel flattered he’d gone out of his way to look at my posts. It wasn’t flattering. It was the bare minimum. I’d said the same thing to Paula barely an hour ago.

“I didn’t know.” Clearing my throat, I changed the subject to something that would calm my stomach, not set it into turmoil. “That you pulled your security.”

He shrugged. “You asked.”