Dating You / Hating You
Page 29
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.
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.
