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 lift my hands in front of me, exasperated. “Honestly, Rose, if you’re only going to complain here—where I have no power to help you at all—the money must not be the reason you’re in this job.”
She looks down to the floor, nodding for a few seconds. “I know. I know, it’s just so frustrating.”
“I get it, sweets, but you’ve got to be your own advocate. No one else is going to be that for you.”
With a small smile of thanks, she turns and leaves.
Carter steps away from the wall. “Wow, Evie. That was a bit of tough love.”
I look up at his face, at the wide green eyes behind his glasses, his clean-shaven jaw and mussy hair. It’s a good thing he’s so pretty, because the attitude is not making any friends today. “You could have added anything you wanted to.”
He considers this for a few seconds and then shrugs. “Is she sure that’s really the case? I’ve never had any sort of pay disparity.” He seems to realize what he’s just said. “I mean, obviously. I know that sort of thing happens, but . . .” He winces, backpedaling. “That sucks for her. Hopefully she’ll get it fixed.”
He can’t be serious.
“This isn’t some rare case of a mathematical error in finance, Carter. This sort of thing happens every day. It’s happened to me.”
“Really? It’s just, you seem so in command all the time, I have a hard time imagining anyone taking something that’s yours.”
He moves another step closer, leaning back against my desk, facing me. It’s so close, it’s almost like we’re friendly, or flirting, but obviously we aren’t.
“It happens in this business all the time,” I say quietly. “You just don’t see it. It doesn’t affect you.”
“It should.”
I nod. “I agree.”
“So what do you think we should do?”
I don’t miss the way he looks at my lips for a tiny beat, and it suddenly feels like we’re not talking about pay disparity anymore.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
But I definitely feel like making out with Carter right now would help lead us in the right direction.
His eyes seem to roam all over my face, and then lower; he leans in . . .
For the span of two . . . three . . . four frantic heartbeats, I think he’s going to kiss me.
“Your shirt seems intent on staying open today,” he whispers, nodding.
Startled, I follow his eyes, and sure enough my top two buttons have popped open again, leaving a good deal of cleavage perfectly visible to both of us.
“Oh.” I look up at him, feeling my cheeks heat.
I start to smile at him, but instead of leaning closer to kiss me like I still think he’s going to, he leans back, offering an unreadable expression before he turns and leaves my office.
chapter fourteen
carter