Dating You / Hating You

  It’s just that I have no idea who Chad is.

  Brad leans in, giving her a confident nod. “I have zero doubt that you’re the one to handle her.”

  This feels like a sharp stab.

  And I’m growing uneasy, because aside from her current list, he’s given her a big name, with the probability of signing two more, and all three of these clients are huge commissions.

  Why the hell was I starting to feel bad about jumping in and taking Dan Printz?

  Brad settles in again, looking back to his stack of folders. “Next up, Keaton Avery. I’m sure you remember that little tiff he had with the paparazzi last year, so I want to make sure image repair is at the front of your mind.”

  Her pen slows on the pad in front of her, but she doesn’t question or object. Keaton was in an Oscar-nominated film last year and is poised to become the new art-house darling.

  Fuck.

  “Trent Vanh,” Brad says. “Just wrapped filming on the final season of Burn Brightly.” I lean back in my chair, feeling feverish. Trent won an Emmy last year. “He’s hoping to transition to film, so we’ll need to land him something big, and fast.”

  Brad pulls out the final folder in the Evie stack. I feel my blood pressure rise about ten points and wonder what else he could possibly have.

  “Last we have Seamus Aston, YouTuber.”

  And goddammit. My hands curl into fists in my lap. Evie sits up, leaning her elbows on the table.

  “Incidentally, Seamus and Jamie starred together in the new Scott film, so the two of you will have promo for that to coordinate. Seamus had seventeen million subscribers on his channel, along with pretty much every millennial endorsement you can imagine, and was just cast in what some are predicting to be the biggest film of next year. But,” Brad says, and leans back in his chair, “he is an epic asshole.”

  You would know, I think.

  As if on cue, Evie reaches for her handbag at her feet and pulls out a small tube of hand cream. Despite how tense things are, I know what she’s doing and have to stifle a smile as I watch her squeeze a dollop into the center of her palm and start vigorously rubbing her hands together.

  “Not a problem,” she says.

  This pulls a grin out of Brad. “That’s what I like to hear, kiddo. Glad you’re taking our talk to heart. Team player.”

  Evie’s reputation is as an agent who keeps her cool and can handle divas, but there’s something else lurking here. Brad is being so nice to her about it, like he’s helping her to the top of a mountain. He’s intending to either let her plant the flag or shove her off the sharp ledge on the other side.

  “I know the scales seem a bit tipped right now,” he says to me. “But Evie knows this town and the people in it, and like I’ve said before, it’s one thing to land talent—it’s another to keep it.”

  “Got it,” I say.

  Yes, Evie has more contacts, experience with features, and several more years in the business than I do, but that doesn’t necessarily make her the better agent. Logically, I know that what Brad is saying makes sense. But there’s a part of me that can’t help but bristle.

  We end the meeting and begin gathering up our things. My optimism has dissolved. Yes, we can work as a team, and yes, we have complementary skills. But do I want it to appear that I’m learning from her, and benefitting from her experience? I’m trying to talk myself down, but my pulse is racing and I can barely look in her direction.

  I stall to let Brad and Evie leave the room first, but I’m not surprised to find Evie waiting in the hall when I make it outside. She stops me with a look, leaning back against the wall. She’s got a head start in this race and seems to know it.

  “So, that was interesting.” She folds her arms over her chest.

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “About that strategizing,” she says, looking away. “Like I said, I have an appointment at five, but we could still get together afterward. It might be nice to download all of this.”

  Fuck.

  My heart is a hammer against my breastbone; my stomach is a pit of guilt. “You know, I forgot that I told Michael I’d watch Morgan tonight. She has swimming and I said I’d walk her down to the pool and stay until he’s free to pick her up.”

  “Oh,” she says, and she knows I’m lying. She knows. “Another time.”

  “Of course.”

  Evie is a master of the calm mask, but I can see the tightness around her eyes. “You happy with your list?” And the tiny amused tilt to her voice tells me she wouldn’t be if she were me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Combined with what I’m bringing, I’ll be busy. You?”

  “Thrilled,” she says, and grins. “Glad you jumped in on the Dan Printz thing after all. I don’t know how I’d find time for him and Adam, Sarah, Seamus . . .”

  I pause, trying to hold back my first reaction: to call her out on her passive-aggressive shit. I fail. “So you were pissed about my email to Brad about Dan?”

  “I wasn’t pissed,” she says evenly; she was totally pissed. “It’s just funny that only a few hours before, you were calling me to say we should keep our lines of communication open. Then you swoop in to grab a client Brad was thinking of giving to me.”

  Is she serious with this?

  Neither of us likes this situation. Each of us sees the other clearly—at least I think we do. I would still give my small finger to bang her until the sun comes up, but in this moment, when Evie is staring at me like I’m an opponent on the other side of the field, I decide I have to close one door to keep another open. I can’t do both things right now. And if I can’t get the girl, at least I can keep the job.

  “I did keep our line of communication open,” I tell her. “I CC’d you on the email, didn’t I? It was all in plain sight. There was no ‘swooping’ about it.”

  There’s a moment of awkward silence before she turns and walks down the hall. I continue to watch long after she’s rounded the corner and probably disappeared inside her office.

  Justin steps up beside me. “How’d it go in there?” he asks, motioning to the conference room.

  I clap my hand on his shoulder and give him my best smile. “Great,” I say. “In fact, it looks like we have a lot of research to do. Tell me, what do you know about YouTube?”

  A plan begins to form in my head as he prattles on excitedly, and even though it makes me feel a little underhanded, it takes hold. I need this job. I need to figure out a way to make this work for me. Brad may think Evie’s the right one for the position, but that’s only because he hasn’t seen what I can do.

  If I have to do a little homework and learn everything there is to learn—and more—about my client list and hers, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  There is no way I’m losing to Evil.

  chapter eleven

  evie

  Date: Fri, Oct 30 at 4:12 PM

  From: Kylie Salisbury

  To: Carter Aaron; Evelyn Abbey

  Subject: Department Retreat

  Hi Evie, Carter,

  Brad has asked that the two of you be in charge of the annual department retreat up in Big Bear. It is back on the calendar for January 14–16. As Evie knows, I’ve organized it the last two years, so let me know when is a good time for the three of us to sit down and go over the format, activities, and any other relevant details.

  Best,

  Kylie

  I’ve read the email about seven times and still am not sure I understand it. I walk into Daryl’s office and have her confirm I’ve read it correctly. I call Amelia in to have her verify that I am not, in fact, reading this wrong.

  Wasn’t this canceled? Is it back on—but this time with senior agents in charge of the itinerary? Am I having a stroke?

  Apparently, I’m not. On top of everything else on our plates, Carter and I have been given an assistant’s task: organize the departmental retreat.

  Brad is a piece of work.

  Since this isn’t coming from Brad
himself, I have no way of knowing the subtext, but I’m sure there is one. It’s possible Kylie dropped the ball somewhere, but it’s more possible that this is Brad’s first twist in the P&D Hunger Games.

  I lean against Daryl’s door, rubbing my face.

  “This means I’m going to have to talk to him,” I say. Two weeks ago this wouldn’t have seemed like such a bad thing because (let’s be honest) I wanted to talk my way into his pants. But after Carter’s pouty blow-off—Let’s have dinner, oh wait, you got a better list than I did, no dinner for you!—I’m beginning to think the best strategy is just to never, ever interact with him at the office again.

  Which . . . surprisingly, wouldn’t be that hard. With new clients and new coworkers on top of my normal schedule, I’ve been completely swamped. In the past week and a half, I’ve arrived at work by eight and stayed long after the office is empty, had nine lunch meetings, eleven meetings after work over drinks, and wall-to-wall clients during work hours. I’ve barely seen Carter. Except for when I watch him leave his office and find a way to enjoy the view from behind all the way down the hall . . .

  I have a short break between a lunch meeting and an off-site and hope I can catch him for a few minutes. Because the odds of me wrestling him out of anger or lust are roughly equivalent, I decide to call in Daryl’s IOU for ditching me at Steph’s party and make her act as chaperone, possibly witness.

  I am the best of friends.

  We stop outside his office door, and I lift my fist, giving a single tentative knock.

  Normally, Carter isn’t really a closed-door kind of guy. From what I’ve seen so far, he’s always in the hall talking to people, or has two or three other agents in his office. I get that it’s just a way we do business differently—I tend to be to the point, friendly but brief, whereas he chats and wanders. Everyone likes Carter. I know he’s been crazy busy this week, too, but he always seems to have a moment to say hi to someone, to stop and socialize for a spell.

  I realize this makes our styles complementary, and I get a warm little pull in my stomach.

  Wouldn’t it be nice if we could collaborate?

  Wouldn’t it be nice if he didn’t immediately turn into a threatened, competitive jackass?

  “Stop it,” Daryl says, and I look over to her.

  “Stop what?”

  “You’re fidgeting. You’re supposed to be a badass here. Badasses don’t fidget. And don’t give me that face; this is exactly why you brought me.”

  “Okay, right right.” I close my eyes, summoning my inner badass. “I’m Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2. Sigourney Weaver in Aliens—because let’s be honest, that’s really where she came into her own. Fascinating that it’s the sequels where those two really—”

  “Will you focus?”

  When he calls out, “Come in,” I’m a little taken aback at the way his voice sounds—deep and quiet, not at all his normal easygoing tone. It reminds me of how he sounded against me, on my bed, and I want to walk repeatedly into the nearest wall.

  This whole situation would be about a million times easier if I didn’t want to kiss him as much as I want to shove him.

  Pushing open the door, I look up to find him sitting at his desk, hair messy, glasses crooked. He’s oddly rumpled.

  “Hey, Evie.” His expression is hard to read. Surprised, maybe. Nervous? A little. Good.

  Carter looks behind me to where Daryl has just walked right into my back.

  “Thanks for the warning,” she says, rubbing her nose. I should be more careful; she paid a lot of money for that nose.

  “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Carter says, and stands to walk around the desk, reaching out to shake Daryl’s hand. “Carter Aaron. New guy.”

  “Daryl Jordan. Sagittarius.”

  “Aries,” he says with a sly grin. “You know that makes us most compatible out of all the zodiac signs.”

  My God in heaven.

  Daryl smiles, charmed. “Convenient, considering you’re my new best friend for knowing that.”

  I turn to her, eyes wide. Traitor.

  “I didn’t peg you for an astrology buff,” I say, not sure which of them I should glare at first. “Big horoscope reader, Carter?”

  Your competitive moon is eclipsing my happy place sun, jackhole.

  “Not much these days, I’m afraid,” he says, expression serious again. “My mom is really into astrology and used to read us our horoscopes every morning during breakfast. Whenever I hear someone mention it I get a little homesick.”

  Son of a—

  “That might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Daryl swoons visibly. Bringing her was obviously a mistake. I wonder if anyone would notice if I gently shoved her out of the room.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like, but I’m hoping soon. For the holidays, at least. Anyway.” He straightens his glasses but doesn’t bother to do anything about his hair. Motioning for us to have a seat, he walks back around to his chair. “I’ve been buried in contracts. What’s up?”

  “I gather you’ve seen Kylie’s email?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and turns to his monitor.

  “How are you liking it here?” Daryl asks. “Getting to know everyone?”

  I hear the double click of his mouse and watch him quickly scan the email. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Just making friends, getting the lay of the land. Everyone was a little standoffish at first, but I think I’ve overcome it. Feels like a really good group.”

  Just like I did, he rereads the message a few times and then looks up at me. “Is this serious?”

  Shrugging, I say, “I assume so.”

  “Brad doesn’t think we have enough to do?”

  “That, or he thinks Kylie did a shitty job in years past.”

  Carter looks up at me disapprovingly. “She’s good, Evie.”

  Daryl pinches my arm, and seriously, what the hell? Weren’t we just coming up with hypotheses about why we’ve been asked to do this?

  Ignoring Daryl’s attempt to keep me calm, I glare at him. “I’m sure she is, maybe retreats just aren’t her thing?”

  He laughs drily, shaking his head as he reads the email again. “You have such a chip on your shoulder about her.”

  This takes me a few breaths to process. In the two whole weeks he’s been here, when has he ever witnessed me having a problem with Kylie? And why does he feel the need to defend her to me? My instinct is to pick up his stapler and launch it at his head. But a good agent keeps a lid on their temper unless it’s really necessary to unleash the fury. A great agent doesn’t have a temper, but can unleash the fury when necessary.

  The difference is everything. I’m still working on being great.

  “Okay, then,” I say calmly, brushing off Daryl’s grip. “I can tell you’re overwhelmed with work. I’m happy to organize this alone, if you prefer.”

  Daryl shakes her head. “Evie, I don’t think he’s saying he—”

  “I’m not overwhelmed,” Carter cuts in.

  “Of course you’re not,” I say meaningfully, and his cheeks go pink at the implication that he’s got a light list.

  I glance around his office. It’s certainly more lived in than it was. His walls are covered with framed photos of landmarks on the East Coast, pictures of him with clients, his diploma, a framed copy of his first signed contract. There’s a plant in the corner, and instead of a couch he has two chairs with colorful pillows, a giant ottoman in between. It looks cozy and warm, somewhere you’d sit and chat, make friends, maybe sign a contract or two.

  Why does he have to be so damn smooth with everything?

  I can tell he’s not going to say anything now that I’ve just dropped a bomb of snark, and Daryl seems to have given up hope of running interference. “Anyway,” I say as breezily as possible, “I just came down here to see if you wanted to go chat with Kylie really quick about the retreat.”

  Pushing back from his desk
to stand, he wordlessly gestures for me to lead us onward.

  • • •

  At least we don’t have to reinvent the wheel—Kylie doesn’t really give us anything I didn’t already know: It’s a retreat for the Features department and support staff. We drink, we do team-building activities, we drink. We listen to Brad tell boring stories where he is the starring attraction, we drink. Basically, it’s a giant drink fest with a few team-building games thrown in, which seems easy enough to organize—especially given that we’ll have an events coordinator on-site. I’m now taking my peeved with a side of relieved.

  I can’t help but notice that Kylie directs nearly all of her attention to Carter while she recounts the activities she’s put together the last two years. But . . . I can’t blame her, either. I also quite enjoy looking at Carter. But since Carter has pointed out that I have such a chip on my shoulder about Kylie—I mean, what even—I work to look as unaffected by her obvious crush on him as possible. Under normal circumstances, I would ask questions and redirect her attention back to the two of us, but since this situation is completely abnormal, and as long as there is food and booze at this event no one is going to care about other specifics, I can’t be bothered to get too worked up.

  It all seems pretty straightforward, and we’re about to walk back to our respective offices when Kylie stops us with a whispered, “Guys.”

  We turn back to face her.

  She looks almost apologetic and glances around us to make sure no one is listening. “That was all the regular stuff, but just remember: this is Brad’s favorite weekend all year. Add to that the merge, and that people are paying attention to how he runs things, and he really expects it to be . . . like, a big deal. Okay?” Her wobbly smile tells us that she’s relieved she’s not in charge anymore, and it will be a bloodbath if we mess it up.

  Carter must sense it, too, because he stops me on our way back down the hall. “Would you have any time to talk this out?” he says in a rush, looking the slightest bit queasy. “I know we’re both busy, but she made it sound like this was pretty intense, and I’ve never been to one of Brad’s retreats. I can clear my afternoon if I need to. If you can, of course.”