Dating You / Hating You
Page 37
Can you make sure to follow up with Seamus about the start time next week?
I blink, staring at the screen. Brad has moved on from his gushing over Carter, and now Ashton’s voice is a nasal lull in the background.
Did you send this to the wrong person?
Is this Evelyn Abbey?
Why would I forget to follow up with my own client?
I was just making sure.
Just contact Jess with the list of information you need.
Beside me, he snorts out a dickish little laugh and shakes his head, sliding his phone onto the tabletop.
Livid, I type one more thought.
You could have given me a heads up that my shirt was unbuttoned.
Your shirt was unbuttoned?
You’re sitting right across from me.
It would be impossible for you to not have noticed.
Well, I didn’t ;-)
Holy shit. Did Carter just type the bird-flip of smiley faces? Did Carter just give me the smiley-finger?
My heart is pounding so hard, I can barely hear what Ashton is saying. I’m sure I look like a mouth-breathing wrestler, but my thoughts won’t budge away from how much I despise Carter this very second.
I’m not entirely sure what this feeling is, because I’ve never had it before . . . but I think it’s unmitigated rage.
I think my brain has just declared war on Carter Aaron.
• • •
In my office, I descend upon my other two doughnuts with a kind of desperate, two-handed, open-mouthed vigor. Coffee and berries long gone, these doughnuts are my entire life now.
But because the universe is a cat, and I am but a fuzzy ball of string, Carter walks in right when I take down half of one doughnut in a single bite.
“Hey, Evil,” he says, eyes on his phone. “Jonah needs to start at eleven next Friday. Does that work?” He looks up and startles at the sight of my face, both cheeks bulging with food. “I’ll . . . give you a second to answer.”
And then he just stands there, watching me chew behind my hand, his eyebrows raised in amusement. When the chewing takes me longer than either of us would have liked, he adds, “You must have been starving” with a mocking half smile.
Swallowing, I say, “You may have noticed Brad knocking my breakfast into the trash.”
He eyes the sugar crumbs littering the bag on my desk. “Good thing you had spares.”
I make a point of walking to my door and dramatically motioning to where Jess is sitting in front of her computer, next to the other assistants.
Carter follows me and looks out. “Yeah?”
“That is my assistant, Jess. Talk to her about scheduling.”
He peeks out again, offering Jess a wave and an adorable smile. “How’s your mom’s cat doing?” he calls out.
Her face lights up. “Good! First couple nights were rough, but the stitches come out next week. Thanks for asking!” Her eyes swing to me, and she looks like a deer caught in headlights. You have got to be kidding.
“So can we?” he says.
I turn my head to see him looking down at me. He is entirely too close. I’ll never be able to get any real leverage kicking him in the balls at this angle. Straightening, I take a step back. “Can we what?”
“Can we start shooting at eleven instead of noon next week?” He says it slowly, as if the problem is me and my comprehension, and not the fact that he’s a plotting weasel. “Jonah has ‘a thing’ at three.”
I should be difficult and insist he go through Jess with this, but apparently the Team Evie ship has sailed. “God, you’re a pain in the ass. Let me check my calendar.” I move to sit down behind my desk, saying pointedly, “I sure appreciate being involved in the coordination.”
He sighs. “It wasn’t like that, Evie.”
“It wasn’t?” I turn on my computer, typing in my password with shaking hands. I hope he doesn’t notice; the last thing I want is for Carter to see how much this gets to me.
He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Look, if Brad had an issue with Jonah doing the shoot, then okay, we could discuss how to adjust the plan. But he didn’t.”
Carter clearly knows as well as I do that Brad approved of this for reasons completely unfathomable to either of us. Even a nearsighted dog in the room would know that what Carter did was outright nepotism. “Are you using Brad Kingman as your litmus test for honorable behavior?”
“I just want to have a job,” he says. “My mistake was in not getting an okay from you up front, I get that. Can we move on?”
Staring at him in the answering quiet, I finally say, “Do I really have a choice?”
I must have made my point, because for the first time since I’ve known Carter, he doesn’t have a comeback.
“Next week . . . Friday?” I ask, back to business. Carter nods. “Eleven should work. I told Seamus to get there at eight thirty for makeup anyway to make sure he gets there on time.”
Carter’s eyes go wide. “That was pretty smart.”
“Try not to look so surprised.”
This makes him laugh, but he doesn’t bother to correct me.
Just as Carter is about to turn and leave, Rose ducks into my office, closing the door behind her.
“Do you want me to go, or . . . ?” Carter asks her.
“You’re fine. You can stay, I want both of your opinions.”
Oh, great. Here comes the gossip.
I glance up at Carter, unsure as to whether he’s been subjected to her yet. He’s got his blank face on, which means he probably already knows exactly how indiscreet Rose can be. I constantly fear that any legitimate work conversation with her will devolve into gossip and name-dropping. It’s not that I am necessarily against gossip and name-dropping, but it has to be done in the right way, with the right people. Discreet people, for Christ’s sake, who do it only with the right combination of irony and credibility.
But instead of slowly building an intriguing story of flirting, or client drama, or sexual harassment, Rose drops an incredibly personal grievance right in the middle of my office: “Ashton’s bonus was about seven thousand dollars bigger than mine.”
My eyes widen.
Carter takes a small step back, as if he’s trying to blend into the background.
“How do you know that?” I ask. We talk about money all day with clients, but rarely do we share our own income with colleagues. And, I’m guessing, it’s for precisely this reason. Nothing is ever as clear and fair as we expect it to be.
“We were talking yesterday about our projected year-end totals, you know, with the merge? Everyone’s head seems to be on the chopping block. So we went back to our desks, and our bonus statements were there. I guess because we were already talking money, he was comfortable enough to tell me what he got.”
“Were his signings and bookings bigger than—” I begin, but she cuts me off, shaking her head.
“The same,” she says. “We were almost dead even.” She looks over to Carter. “Bullshit, right?”
“Unacceptable,” I say. “You need to ask Brad. Or go straight to Accounting and have them check the numbers.”
Rose gasps. “I can’t do that!”
“Then you’re out seven grand.” I shrug.
“This sucks!” she growls.
“Talk to Brad,” Carter gently urges. Naive Carter. As if Brad doesn’t already know.
She looks up at him, miserable. “He won’t care.”
I blink, staring at the screen. Brad has moved on from his gushing over Carter, and now Ashton’s voice is a nasal lull in the background.
Did you send this to the wrong person?
Is this Evelyn Abbey?
Why would I forget to follow up with my own client?
I was just making sure.
Just contact Jess with the list of information you need.
Beside me, he snorts out a dickish little laugh and shakes his head, sliding his phone onto the tabletop.
Livid, I type one more thought.
You could have given me a heads up that my shirt was unbuttoned.
Your shirt was unbuttoned?
You’re sitting right across from me.
It would be impossible for you to not have noticed.
Well, I didn’t ;-)
Holy shit. Did Carter just type the bird-flip of smiley faces? Did Carter just give me the smiley-finger?
My heart is pounding so hard, I can barely hear what Ashton is saying. I’m sure I look like a mouth-breathing wrestler, but my thoughts won’t budge away from how much I despise Carter this very second.
I’m not entirely sure what this feeling is, because I’ve never had it before . . . but I think it’s unmitigated rage.
I think my brain has just declared war on Carter Aaron.
• • •
In my office, I descend upon my other two doughnuts with a kind of desperate, two-handed, open-mouthed vigor. Coffee and berries long gone, these doughnuts are my entire life now.
But because the universe is a cat, and I am but a fuzzy ball of string, Carter walks in right when I take down half of one doughnut in a single bite.
“Hey, Evil,” he says, eyes on his phone. “Jonah needs to start at eleven next Friday. Does that work?” He looks up and startles at the sight of my face, both cheeks bulging with food. “I’ll . . . give you a second to answer.”
And then he just stands there, watching me chew behind my hand, his eyebrows raised in amusement. When the chewing takes me longer than either of us would have liked, he adds, “You must have been starving” with a mocking half smile.
Swallowing, I say, “You may have noticed Brad knocking my breakfast into the trash.”
He eyes the sugar crumbs littering the bag on my desk. “Good thing you had spares.”
I make a point of walking to my door and dramatically motioning to where Jess is sitting in front of her computer, next to the other assistants.
Carter follows me and looks out. “Yeah?”
“That is my assistant, Jess. Talk to her about scheduling.”
He peeks out again, offering Jess a wave and an adorable smile. “How’s your mom’s cat doing?” he calls out.
Her face lights up. “Good! First couple nights were rough, but the stitches come out next week. Thanks for asking!” Her eyes swing to me, and she looks like a deer caught in headlights. You have got to be kidding.
“So can we?” he says.
I turn my head to see him looking down at me. He is entirely too close. I’ll never be able to get any real leverage kicking him in the balls at this angle. Straightening, I take a step back. “Can we what?”
“Can we start shooting at eleven instead of noon next week?” He says it slowly, as if the problem is me and my comprehension, and not the fact that he’s a plotting weasel. “Jonah has ‘a thing’ at three.”
I should be difficult and insist he go through Jess with this, but apparently the Team Evie ship has sailed. “God, you’re a pain in the ass. Let me check my calendar.” I move to sit down behind my desk, saying pointedly, “I sure appreciate being involved in the coordination.”
He sighs. “It wasn’t like that, Evie.”
“It wasn’t?” I turn on my computer, typing in my password with shaking hands. I hope he doesn’t notice; the last thing I want is for Carter to see how much this gets to me.
He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Look, if Brad had an issue with Jonah doing the shoot, then okay, we could discuss how to adjust the plan. But he didn’t.”
Carter clearly knows as well as I do that Brad approved of this for reasons completely unfathomable to either of us. Even a nearsighted dog in the room would know that what Carter did was outright nepotism. “Are you using Brad Kingman as your litmus test for honorable behavior?”
“I just want to have a job,” he says. “My mistake was in not getting an okay from you up front, I get that. Can we move on?”
Staring at him in the answering quiet, I finally say, “Do I really have a choice?”
I must have made my point, because for the first time since I’ve known Carter, he doesn’t have a comeback.
“Next week . . . Friday?” I ask, back to business. Carter nods. “Eleven should work. I told Seamus to get there at eight thirty for makeup anyway to make sure he gets there on time.”
Carter’s eyes go wide. “That was pretty smart.”
“Try not to look so surprised.”
This makes him laugh, but he doesn’t bother to correct me.
Just as Carter is about to turn and leave, Rose ducks into my office, closing the door behind her.
“Do you want me to go, or . . . ?” Carter asks her.
“You’re fine. You can stay, I want both of your opinions.”
Oh, great. Here comes the gossip.
I glance up at Carter, unsure as to whether he’s been subjected to her yet. He’s got his blank face on, which means he probably already knows exactly how indiscreet Rose can be. I constantly fear that any legitimate work conversation with her will devolve into gossip and name-dropping. It’s not that I am necessarily against gossip and name-dropping, but it has to be done in the right way, with the right people. Discreet people, for Christ’s sake, who do it only with the right combination of irony and credibility.
But instead of slowly building an intriguing story of flirting, or client drama, or sexual harassment, Rose drops an incredibly personal grievance right in the middle of my office: “Ashton’s bonus was about seven thousand dollars bigger than mine.”
My eyes widen.
Carter takes a small step back, as if he’s trying to blend into the background.
“How do you know that?” I ask. We talk about money all day with clients, but rarely do we share our own income with colleagues. And, I’m guessing, it’s for precisely this reason. Nothing is ever as clear and fair as we expect it to be.
“We were talking yesterday about our projected year-end totals, you know, with the merge? Everyone’s head seems to be on the chopping block. So we went back to our desks, and our bonus statements were there. I guess because we were already talking money, he was comfortable enough to tell me what he got.”
“Were his signings and bookings bigger than—” I begin, but she cuts me off, shaking her head.
“The same,” she says. “We were almost dead even.” She looks over to Carter. “Bullshit, right?”
“Unacceptable,” I say. “You need to ask Brad. Or go straight to Accounting and have them check the numbers.”
Rose gasps. “I can’t do that!”
“Then you’re out seven grand.” I shrug.
“This sucks!” she growls.
“Talk to Brad,” Carter gently urges. Naive Carter. As if Brad doesn’t already know.
She looks up at him, miserable. “He won’t care.”
