We’ll just make a note here that we need to talk to Brad about this.
He’s also not Becca. I took a long shot and asked if there was any way to retain her; there wasn’t. Apparently mergers don’t work that way.
Becca used to argue with me, and she was right ninety-eight percent of the time. Becca would snap in my face when I wasn’t paying attention and yell at me for leaving my empty coffee cups around. Becca would fix my grammar on Post-it notes. Becca, and her loopy script I could never decipher. I miss Becca.
“You’re back,” Justin says as he walks into my office. Like most of the interns and assistants here, he’s barely old enough to drink and looks like he just stepped out of a Topman ad.
“Hey. Yeah.” With my hands on my hips, I survey the newly unpacked office. It feels so empty.
“Good lunch?”
“Just met a friend.”
“We’ve had a few people stop by.” He looks down at his notes. “Angela from Literary. Esther from Legal. Aimee from—” He stops, eyes narrowing. “There are a lot of women on this list.”
“Listen,” I say, and walk to the door. Satisfied that nobody is within earshot, I close it quietly behind me. “Do you know where Evie is?”
“Evelyn . . . Ms. Abbey?” he asks formally, and I nod.
Justin jogs out of the room and comes back about twenty seconds later. “Jess says she had a lunch meeting and isn’t back yet.”
“Jess?”
“Her assistant.”
“Right.” I feel twisted inside and want to sit down with Evie sooner rather than later. We’re meeting with Brad to review our client lists this afternoon, and I would prefer we go into that with a united front rather than under a cloud of miscommunication and awkward silence. “Do me a favor and let me know when she’s back, okay?”
“We have that meeting with Joanne in about five minutes,” he reminds me.
I give him a few seconds to hear the echo of that sentence, but he doesn’t seem to regret his odd assistant-speak. “Thanks, Justin,” I say. “I’m headed down there now. Just send me a text if you see Evie.”
Justin’s eyes widen at the prospect of being given a specific task, and it makes me feel bad for him for a beat. Mergers are terrible enough, but with a boss who doesn’t quite have his sea legs yet? Torture.
“Absolutely,” he says eagerly. “I’ll keep an eye out and text you the minute I see her back! Have a good meeting.” He turns to leave and then stops by the door. “Oh, and if you don’t catch Ms. Abbey before, remember the two of you have a meeting with Brad at two.”
As if I could forget.
? ? ?
I go into my meeting with Joanne trying to feel optimistic. Under normal circumstances, I would be floating on confidence. I know I’m outgoing and a good coworker. Everyone I’ve spoken to at P&D has been welcoming, excited, and enthusiastic about what I can offer this new combined firm.
I know that Joanne had been based in the LA office but transitioned to television in New York a few years ago. The rumor is she moved because Brad didn’t play well with female others, and having seen him firsthand with Evie, I’m inclined to agree. Given that Joanne is just as senior as he is, I wonder whether it was his decision she be moved or hers. Hollywood is a world of big dogs and small pens.
Unfortunately, my feeling of optimism doesn’t last. This was a basic get-to-know-you, where all Joanne has to go on is what she sees in my portfolio, what she’s found on the web, or what she’s heard from Brad. But Joanne clearly knows Evie. Clearly likes Evie. Where I might have felt I had some sort of edge with Brad—in the dudebro sense, which I don’t really prefer anyway—that edge is clearly absent here. Joanne impresses upon me how lucky I am to be working with Evie, how great and well respected she is, how much I can learn from her.
Basically, there’s a whole lot of Evie is awesome happening today, and it’s only one o’clock.
With my stomach feeling like it’s bottomed out somewhere near my knees, I get a text from Justin on my way to the meeting with Brad, telling me that Evie came in, dropped her things off, and is already in the conference room, waiting.
Shit, so much for strategizing first. It’s becoming clear that Evie has one hell of an upper hand. Not only is she smart and beautiful and fucking great at her job, but she’s got the executives singing her praises. I definitely have my work cut out for me.
Rounding the corner, I spot her as soon as I walk in.
It doesn’t matter how many times I see her, I’m always surprised by how gorgeous she is, like I forget somehow when we’re apart. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s in a fitted sweater vest with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. She’s wearing a skirt and as I slip into the seat next to her, it takes superhuman strength not to let my eyes—or hands—follow the length of her legs below the table. I can imagine how she’d look spread out on top of it, maybe pressed against that wall of windo—
Focus, Carter. Eyes on the prize.
Other than the occasional quick hello in the hallway as we pass, we haven’t spoken since our brief phone call Tuesday night. I mean, obviously that’s a little weird, given that less than a week ago I had my hand in her underwear and was already planning on when I could enjoy that again.
Brad hasn’t joined us yet, so we’re all alone in here, but just in case, I keep my voice low: “I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. Get dinner? Strategize?”
She finishes what she was writing and looks over to me. I envy her mask of calm as she quickly glances around. I’m close, but not too close. Definitely not encroaching on her space, but maybe giving her the hint that I’d still really, really like to.
“Dinner?” she repeats. I can tell her pulse has picked up. Her eyes dilate as we continue to stare at each other. “You want to have dinner.”
It’s like dropping a match in a puddle of gasoline, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I want to lean in, press my mouth to her neck.
“Yeah. If you’re not busy.”
I swallow, working to keep my eyes on hers and not let them wander down to her mouth. Looking at her mouth could lead to remembering her mouth, which could lead to further imaginings of her mouth, and that would be a very, very bad idea.
Evie pulls out her phone and checks her calendar, her brows drawn together while she scrolls. “I have a meeting at five. What do you mean by strategize? Strategize what?”
Strategize you on top of me?
Brad picks this exact moment to walk into the room. He takes a seat and shuffles a few papers in front of him before looking up at us. “Evie, Carter, how are you doing? Playing nice?”
I can only wonder if Evie’s reaction is the same as mine—an internal What the fuck?
“Sure,” we both say, and I feel her foot nudge me slightly beneath the table. And yes, this is exactly what we need. Us against them. A united front. I bite back my smile. We can do this, I have no doubt.