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.”