? ? ?
That night at my parents’ house, I think about what Avya said.
Progress, not perfection.
I don’t have to be perfect; I don’t necessarily even have to fix everything with Evie, but I can at least own up to the things I did that even I’m not okay with. I can try to be a little less terrible.
Reaching across the bed, I find my phone where it’s charging on the table. I scroll through the conversations until I find the one labeled Evil and open it.
I do the time zone math in my head; just after ten here, just after seven there. Definitely not too late.
Hey.
I hold my breath, staring at the phone and hoping to see the little dots indicating she’s typing. Just when I let out a long exhale and start to put my phone down, the bubble pops up. My heart bounces into my throat.
Hey, you.
Here goes. Time to get it all out there.
I feel like I need to go back a bit.
Starting with: I should have called you to talk about Dan Printz first.
I should have told you your shirt was unbuttoned. I should have ASKED you about Jonah doing the shoot.
Have you been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past?
Something like that.
Well, thanks.
No problem.
I can’t apologize for the glitter though.
The glitter was pretty great.
And honestly, I’m sorry, too.
But not for the onion.
You’re forgiven.
The onion was terrible/genius.
The mixing room, however, was enjoyable.
Will she appreciate my understating the obvious? Will she agree? Another minute goes by. My heart is basically inside my mouth, in my eyes, pounding my head off. Finally, my phone vibrates again.
You can say that again.
I exhale and roll into my pillow. Thank God.
Are you in New York?
Yeah. What are you up to?
I had dinner with Daryl and have to finish up my expense reports before I go to Burbank tomorrow.
Expense reports over the holiday?
Hiss.
I know, but I think I’m the only one they’re waiting on to finish up the audit.
What is it they think they’re going to find? The vodka I expensed after dealing with Brad?
I bet that’s a whole lot of vodka.
Well, by the case makes it cheaper at least.
You’ll see Michael and Steph while you’re there?
They usually stay with Steph’s parents, so yeah.
Is it weird that I’m excited to get together with them out here?
Like, we live in the same city.
It makes no sense.
It’s because you miss partying at Areola.
I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, having forgotten I’d told her about that. Are we flirting? Is that what that is? She’s bringing up our past conversations and I’m being . . . what?—charmed by it? Think of something clever, Carter.
Noted.
Nailed it.
Can you do me a dumb favor?
I live for dumb favors.
If you do something outdoorsy, can you take a picture of the snow?
That’s not really that dumb.
I’m disappointed.
California Christmas not doing it for you?
Maybe . . .
How’s this, I’ll make a snow angel and even write your name next to it.
As long as it’s not in yellow.
In yellow?
You’ll get there.
Wait for it . . .
Oh. OH.
Bazinga.
You’re broken.
I think you like it.
Goodnight, Carter.
Night, Evie.
chapter twenty-one
evie
My first morning back to work after the holidays, I am a mess of nerves. It’s impossible to keep my calm, reasonable voice in my head because it’s basically closed up shop for the winter.
Carter walks into work in what my stalker tendencies tell me is a new outfit, and looks . . . breathtaking. His pants are charcoal gray and slim cut, stopping just at his ankles and exposing a little flash of some exuberant socks. Are guys taking over the ankle flirtation game? I am here for it. His shirt is a cool purple print, and in general he just looks way too hip, even for an office full of Hollywood power players.
I’m standing in the doorway to the break room, watching his path from the elevators in total awe, but my world trips when he stops at my office and tentatively peeks in.
Obviously, I’m not there. I call out to him, my heart dropping somewhere in the vicinity of my vagina when he turns toward my voice and smiles.
Man. I am in deep.
“I brought you something.” He walks toward me and holds out a cellophane-wrapped package. The tape is barely holding together and the ribbon looks like it was used as a handle. “Cookies. From my mom.”
“You brought me cookies all the way from New York?” I ask, handling the small package carefully.
Whether he intended it or not, Carter seems to realize the implication of this.
“I . . . There were a lot of extras?” He gives me an adorable self-deprecating smile. “I made it weird, didn’t I?”
My heart is thrumming, my skin is all flushed, and the vision of grabbing him by the collar and kissing him is flashing like a Vegas billboard in my head.
“No, it’s sweet.” I gingerly pull apart the wrapper. The scent of chocolate and butter fills the air.
“Carter,” Kylie says, winded as she jogs up. “I’m glad I found you.”
He turns to her. “I just got in. What’s up?”
“Brad wanted to know if you had a chance to look over the scripts he sent you.”
“Oh, not yet,” he says, clearly caught off guard. “I only saw the email last night.”
Kylie laughs easily. “He wanted me to follow up. I was like, ‘Brad, there were five of them! Give him time!’?”
Carter laughs easily now, too, but my own smile is totally forced. A gallon of ice water could not have changed the tone of this conversation any quicker.
It’s not that Brad doesn’t forward along a script to an agent when he has someone in mind from said agent’s list. It’s just that he doesn’t send five out, to one agent.
I’m trying to keep calm, but is this the golf weekend thing all over again? “Brad sent you some scripts?” I ask.
“Yeah, for one he wants to give the screenwriter some feedback and asked for my thoughts.”
“I see.” I put the plate of cookies down on a nearby table.
“Brad also wants Carter to help him decide how to best distribute to the team,” Kylie adds helpfully.
I bite my lower lip to keep my jaw from falling open. So now I need to position myself with Carter in order to have him send work my clients’ way?
When I’m sure I can ask it without yelling, I say, “Just Carter?”
“Yes, just Carter,” Kylie says, shrugging a little helplessly.
We’ve finally arrived here. I can’t even say I’m surprised.
“I do have some experience in this,” he says, with a gentle lean to his voice. “In New York I did some playwright work. For what it’s worth, I also have a decent eye for pairing talent with roles . . .”
I nod, forcing another smile. Why do Carter and I do so much better when we’re not in the same room? After the texts, I was so excited to see him, and now I’m confused all over again about who he is. It’s like fate keeps telling us there’s just no way to make it work.