No one bothers to ask why the hell Andrew was there, mind you.
After everyone’s spent their gossip currency, we still have over an hour left to drive, and we shift into the kind of silence that will result in at least three of us falling asleep with the champagne drowsies. I can see Kylie working up the nerve to move over toward Carter, and it is exactly like watching some elaborate bird mating ritual. She crouch-walks from her spot next to me at the back of the limo and sits next to Carter on the side bench, slowly scooting closer, leaning in like she wants to read over his shoulder. But . . . I mean . . . he’s reading a contract, I can tell by the legal paper and prong fastener at the top. This isn’t canoodling reading. This is legalese pouring off the page like a violent mudslide.
Kylie does this weird catlike stretch and then slides her arm behind her a little so she’s pressing her boob to his shoulder.
Carter startles, shifting away on instinct, and suddenly I am living.
“Hey,” she says, looking at him like she’s admiring herself in a hand mirror.
“Hey,” he says, smiling briefly at her before returning to the papers on his lap.
“Excited for the trip?”
He nods. “Yeah. Should be good.”
“Have you ever stayed at the Big Bear Lodge and Suites before?”
“Nope.”
“It’s really nice,” she tells him. “Big bar, big cozy lobby . . . big rooms.”
And now I’m uncomfortable for them both, because Lord is she laying it on thick. He looks up and catches me eavesdropping, so I look away but it’s a horribly executed startle-blink and I have to pretend that I have something in my eye—which I don’t, which we both know.
When I look back at Carter, he’s still several inches away from Kylie, and he’s still watching me, clearly wondering just how jealous I am right now. Carter’s smile this time isn’t cocky or teasing, it’s happy. Just pure, quiet happy. Maybe cutting the shit in person won’t be impossible after all.
? ? ?
For once, the reality lives up to the hype: the resort really is beautiful. Set near the top of one of the summits, the main building is an immense log-cabin-style lodge with several deluxe small cabins surrounding it. Towering ponderosa pines cluster around the grounds, and the air is so crisp it feels a little like I’ve never been outside before. The LA basin is notoriously smoggy, being trapped between the mountains and the marine layer, and although it’s much better than it was when I was a kid, it still makes it easy to forget the sensation of truly fresh air.
I feel pretty optimistic as we emerge from the limos, squinting into the brilliant sun. The snowpack is light this year, but at least it’s there. Even if everything else about this weekend sucks, it’s beautiful and promises a lot of alcohol.
Brad stops us all outside the grand entrance, decorated with gold tassels and an impeccable red carpet leading from the curved driveway to the wide lobby. “Welcome to the P&D Features Seventh Annual Retreat.”
We clap politely: the most awkward round of applause ever witnessed.
“Thank you for taking the time to join me this weekend,” he continues. “I want to thank each of you for your commitment to the agency and your continued dedication. Needless to say, it’s been an interesting year.”
A small laugh moves through the group.
“Understatement of the decade, am I right?” he adds, looking at the assembled crowd of agents and staff. “But none of that matters, because this, right here? This is what it’s all about: seeing my team around me, ready to really show the world how it’s done. Now more than ever we need talent that can do it all—TV, film, media—and they need a team behind them that can do it all, too. That’s why I have you all here together, where you can learn to cheer each other on and become unstoppable. How do we do that?”
“As a team,” someone says, and Brad nods.
“That’s right. Not two individual companies, but as a team.” Brad stops to look around before waving me to the front of the group. “Now, come on up here, Evie. You’ve done a great job as event planner. Tell us what we can expect for the night. Dazzle us.”
Carter looks to me, frowning.
“We have a welcome dinner in the lodge,” I tell them, glancing at my watch, “in about forty-five minutes. That should give everyone time to drop off their things and get sorted. The real fun starts tomorrow at ten.”
At my side, Brad nods enthusiastically. “Can’t wait. Now, I can tell you guys are chomping at the bit to get rolling! Let’s go check in, team.”
Looking up, I meet Carter’s eyes. His expression is grim, his mouth a slash of disapproval.
Brad claps me on the back, shooting me forward toward the doors of the lodge. “Lead the way, kiddo!”
Sweet hellacious hellfire, this weekend is going to be a doozy.
? ? ?
When we all split off with room keys in our hands, I could be a CIA agent the way I covertly watch which way Carter goes (and also maybe which direction Kylie goes, too, celebrating internally when they turn down opposite halls).
I wheel my small suitcase behind me to 207, a few doors away from Rose. Inside, it’s gorgeous, with an enormous bed in the middle of a spacious room, and a breathtaking view of the lake beyond a wide balcony. I mentally high-five Kylie for securing such a great deal with this place and walk outside to get a better look at the view.
It’s never cold enough for the lake to freeze over, and so deep blue water laps gently against frost-covered rocks at the shore. The trees are brilliant green speckled with white, and for just a moment—a tiny, perfect inhale—I am absolutely giddy to be here.
Knowing I have a few minutes, I step back inside and pull the files Jess gave me from my bag. Jess’s recordkeeping is usually flawless, but when I glance over the retreat vendors she mentioned, I see what she meant: I don’t recall most of them, either. I’m in the middle of sending her a note to verify some of the entries with Kylie when my phone buzzes on the table with a text to me—and only me—from Brad:
Please arrive to the lodge restaurant early to ensure everything is in order.
I give myself exactly three deep what the actual hell is up with Brad? breaths before I find my purse and my key and head downstairs.
? ? ?
As it happens, dinner is lovely. Or at least it is after Brad thanks everyone again for coming and asks me to get in front of the group and explain what we can expect on tonight’s menu. I move from my seat, but the tension in my spine over being treated like his assistant—or an event coordinator—is slowly ratcheting tighter.
“I’m happy to explain the menu,” Carter interrupts, beginning to stand.
Brad shakes his head. “Let Evie do it.”