Dating You / Hating You
Page 62

“He’s sending over the script—and the offer—today.”
Brad nods and finally offers a tiny flash of a smile. “That’s good.” He inhales sharply, leaning back in his chair to study me. “Did you tell Carter?”
My brain comes to a halt, and I know my face has just been wiped clean of any expression. Instinct makes me continue with caution. Did he ask me this because he knows I’m sleeping with Carter? Or did he ask me this because Trent will soon be Carter’s, and I’ll be packing my bags?
“I came to tell you first,” I say. “I’ll tell him whenever I see him.”
Brad smiles. “He’s looking at some big deals, too, coming up. Did he tell you? He landed Dan Printz on Saturday.”
I am Alice, tumbling through the looking glass. I am Louise, driving the car over the cliff.
“He did?”
He did?
He did?
Why didn’t he tell me? I wanted this for him!
My face feels hot—God, I must be bright red. I need to get the fuck out of here.
Brad puts his glasses back on and his smile is genuine this time. “Go congratulate him. It’s a great signing for us.”
• • •
I have about seven thousand reactions to this, and they’re all happening in my body at once. Confusion, surprise, anger, sadness, worry, guilt, happiness, and whatever the other several thousand are—I feel them, each one.
Locking myself in a bathroom stall, I sit down and put my head in my hands.
Think, Evie.
Work through it all.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I know why: this situation is complicated and our relationship is only a few days out of Cutthroat Situation and into All the Sex.
Is Carter really that guy? Am I so emotion-blind that I can’t even see when he’s collecting a few fucks before taking my job? My brain screams and I press my fists to my temples.
I know going to Sexist Asshat Town is my knee-jerk reaction. The sad thing is that I’m right most of the time. But this is Carter. I’ve seen him at his best, and his worst. I know him, don’t I?
I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing my internal debate team to step up to the podium.
Would I have told him yet? Maybe, but likely no. I would want to see that signature page first. I would want to know for sure that Dan Printz was mine, because it doesn’t matter how many Michael Bay movies Trent gets. Dan Printz is the future. He’s the next Brad Pitt, the next Clooney. He’s not a small star, he’s a sun.
What does this mean for me?
With Rose out of the picture, who knows. But it likely means that I’m second to the golden boy, and that golden boy is my boyfriend. Am I okay with that?
• • •
Carter isn’t in his office when I come out of my panic room, and so I pace my own office, replying to emails as my brain takes tiny breaths of air. It’s only noon, and I know I have a to-do list a mile long, but I can’t for the life of me remember anything on it.
I call Jess in, tell her to go through and prioritize my monstrous call sheet, and focus on that for as long as I can. Work is grounding. It’s the sharpening of a knife, the trimming of a hedge. Everything feels orderly once I’ve passed the ball into someone else’s court.
Jess leans against my doorframe. “Did you have a chance to go over those retreat invoices again?”
I wince. “Dammit! It’s on my list to do today. Thank you for the remin—”
Carter’s shoes squeak on the marble when he steps off the elevator, and I am up, out of my chair, and sprinting. Jess’s laughter follows me down the hall.
I jog over to him, clutching his arms in my hands. “Carter.”
“Hey, crazy eyes,” he says, laughing. But then his expression straightens—like he knows I know—and he lifts his chin for us to head back in the direction of his office.
He closes the door behind him. “Evie—”
“I just talked to Brad,” I say breathlessly. “Trent was offered a role in the next Bay production and he told me about Dan, and—”
“I was going to tell you,” he says urgently, and the frantic set of his eyes makes my chest twist. “I just got back from lunch with him, and was coming—”
“I’m not mad,” I say quietly, interrupting him. “I was. But I calmed myself down.”
Carter sits down heavily in a chair.
“I knew you were courting him,” I remind him. “And, to be honest in my own actions, I told Dave from the Vine to email you and make the contact.”
His eyebrows pull close together, and he swallows. “You did? When?”
“Like, maybe your second week here?” I say, shrugging. “Dave assumed Dan was coming to my list. I just sent him your way instead.”
He shakes his head, stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“The merge had just happened and you’d been dealt one hell of a blow. I wanted to win, but I wanted an even playing field first. Or maybe I just underestimated what a threat you’d be. I don’t know. But I’m glad you got Dan. I think you’ll be a great fit. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me. I promise.”
He seems to flounder for a few seconds, and then says quietly, “I can’t believe you did that.”
This makes me laugh, and it surprises him because it’s never a soft laugh. It’s a bursting Evil laugh. “Like I said, I wanted to beat you fairly.”
He lifts a single teasing brow at the assumption that I would beat him at all. My pulse does a little jump, and I guess Daryl was right. I like competing with him. Who knew? And oh my God, we’re talking this out. We’re interacting like adults, in person.
“Besides, I like you. Dummy.”
His hands come forward, finding my hips and pulling me closer so that I’m standing between his legs.
“Just ‘like’?”
“Maybe more.”
He growls a little, leaning to kiss my stomach once through my dress, then again, a little lower. “How can I get you to sign with me?”
“Keep doing that.” As he kisses, and apologizes again, and lets his hands slide around and to my ass, over my thighs—remembering—my fingers find his hair, and I close my eyes, tilting my face to the ceiling.
I don’t care about this office. I don’t care about this agency.
I care about my clients. I care about this man.
“Dan hasn’t signed the contract yet, but he has given me the verbal commitment. He wants to work with me.” Carter hesitates. “He wants me more in a manager role, as well as agent. You know that legally, I can’t do both. Caleb wants to move back to New York. I’d have to figure out how that could work.”
I nod, but he doesn’t see it. My silence doesn’t seem to bother him. He wraps his arms fully around me, squeezing as he presses his face to my hip. But then he seems to remember something and pulls back, looking up at me.
“If you weren’t mad, why did you look so panicked when I came in?”
When I try to smile, it comes out a little broken, so I give up and shrug instead. “I just get the feeling I’m not going to be here very much longer.”
He studies my face, quiet for a few seconds. “Something’s going on with Brad. With you, I mean.”
I laugh. “You think?”
“No, seriously.” Carter sits back and looks past me to make sure his door is firmly closed. “I was thinking about this all weekend. Why does he have it in for you, specifically?”