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.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I’m heading out early to catch someone on set. I’ll finish up around seven or so.” I pause, then wonder if I’m going to regret what I say next. “We could meet after? Unless you have something to do.”
“After is perfect. I’ll clear my schedule and meet you wherever you are.”
For a moment I think about having him just meet me at my place, but then I realize what a giant mistake that would be. “How about BOA, seven thirty?” I suggest instead.
He’s already putting it into his phone. “Seven thirty. I’ll get us a reservation and see you there. Thanks, Evie.”
? ? ?
Carter is seated when I arrive, and the hostess walks me to the table. He’s changed out of his work clothes and now has on a white button-down shirt and soft, dark jeans. The effect on me is immediate; because he looks like any other guy out on the street, it’s both easier and harder to be with him right now. Easier because I don’t feel the need to try to match his charisma like I do every day at the office. Harder because he looks so much like the Potential Boyfriend version of Carter. It sucks that the dynamic between us is so strained now.
I sit, unfolding my napkin and placing it on my lap.
We both thank the waiter when he fills our water glasses.
To my surprise, Carter declines any sort of cocktail . . . so I do, too.
The waiter lists the specials and says he’ll be back once we’ve had time to look over the menu. The silence stretches between us. The contrast between this dinner and our first together is pretty stark. And the longer we’re quiet, the harder it is to find a single word to say.
I could really use that cocktail.
The sun is setting through the windows and I look out at the street, marveling at how quiet this intersection gets when the offices shut down for the night.
I glance over to see him watching me, and he quickly looks away, back down to scan the menu. His eyes are so bright behind the glasses. I think I forgot how green they are, how perfect his mouth is.
“So,” he says, and I realize it’s my turn to be caught staring.
“So.”
His attention is so steady. I wish I had a Carter Thought Decoder Ring. His lips tilt up into a knowing half smile. “How’re things?”
I burst out laughing and his smile grows, morphing into the real deal, the goofy, crooked smile, not the flashy work one.
“We probably should have ordered drinks,” he says.
I am so relieved that his easy frankness is back that I nearly want to launch myself across the table.
“Yeah, like a hundred.” Nervously, I straighten my spoon and knife beside each other on the table. “Carter,” I start, “I’m really glad we did this. I wish we could start over in some ways.”
He nods, swallowing a sip of his water. “Me too. Though maybe not all of it. Some of it wasn’t too bad.”
My face heats at his meaningful smile. “Agree. And the work situation sucks, but I think we can work better together.”
Relief seems to wash over him and he reaches across the table to take my hand. “I agree. We haven’t been great.”
“I really do think they could have positions for both of us here. The more I look, the more I realize there’s a lot of deadweight in the Features department . . . but it isn’t us.”
“Obviously I haven’t been there as long,” he says with a nod in my direction, and I appreciate the small acknowledgment, “but yeah, I agree.” He leans forward. “Our strengths are so complementary. Rose and Ashton might be better suited for New York. They love to do the theater stuff; it’s just there isn’t that much of it out here. Maybe they would want to be transferred if given the choice?”