Dating You / Hating You
Page 66

You up?
This is Carter, btw.
Is my eyeroll font coming through?
I know it’s you.
You have a new job, you didn’t die and take your contact info with you.
I smile at my screen. God, I’ve missed her.
Can you talk?
My phone rings almost immediately.
“Hey, everything okay?” she says before I’ve even had a chance to say hello. “It’s, like, three in the morning. I know why I’m up, but why are you?”
“Was I a terrible boss?”
There’s a pause and the unmistakable sound of her scoffing. “Are you drunk?”
I groan. “I wish.”
“Okay, tell me what’s happening.”
“Just . . . a lot of stuff in my head, I think.”
“I hate those nights where your brain suddenly fires and decides to question every decision you’ve made your entire life.”
“That’s pretty much it. How’s the new job?”
“You know, same shit, different day. My new boss is an idiot. But then again so was my old boss, so points for consistency.”
“Very funny,” I say.
“So what’s got your brain up, work stuff or life stuff?”
“A lot of both. I met someone.”
“Shut up.”
“Yeah. She’s . . . she’s really great. You’d like her. Maybe we can set something up and all have dinner.”
“Wow, Carter. Introducing your new flame to your old assistant. That is serious.”
I chuckle and say, “I don’t think I realized exactly how serious until right now . . .”
“So did I just help you come to some sort of realization? Because my birthday is next month, and you still know my favorite shoe store.”
I laugh. “I think you did.”
“Okay, go to sleep or you’ll be a monster tomorrow, and I’m not there to bring you coffee. Keep me posted, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks, Becca. I miss you, by the way.”
“Miss you, too.”
I end the call and fall asleep between one blink and the next.
• • •
I’m exhausted when my alarm goes off, but I get up and force myself to go for a run anyway.
It’s cool enough for a jacket; the haze of the marine layer is still thick in the air and the sun isn’t high enough to burn it all off yet. I take a different route today, where a long stretch of road hugs the base of the hill and the streets are lined with older apartment buildings and lots of trees. The traffic is heavy in this area, but it’s still early enough that it’s manageable.
I’m back at the apartment in record time, able to shower and change and still grab breakfast before heading out.
There are a few texts waiting, one from Michael and Stephanie about a long-awaited couples dinner this weekend and one from Evie, stressed out about taking her meeting instead of heading straight for the office where Brad could apologize and kiss her ass in front of everyone.
I’m a little worried that’s not actually what’s going to happen, but I do my best to distract her, suggesting she send me pictures of her ass and I’ll describe how I plan on kissing it later, but she doesn’t bite. I can almost feel her anxiety through the phone; I hate that she has to deal with all this. If my head is a mess over what’s happening, I can’t imagine how she must feel.
I’ve had three cups of coffee and am on a tear by the time I make it into work, having concocted an entire monologue to unleash in Brad’s office. I march straight down the hallway, my carefully prepared words shifting carefully into place in my head, and stop short at Kylie’s desk. The windows behind her are dark.
“Hey, Kylie. Is Brad in?” I ask, ignoring the sour bend to my stomach.
She shakes her head and offers me a small, practiced smile. This woman deals with Brad Kingman on a daily basis; something tells me she’s mastered the art of apologizing for her boss. “He won’t be in until later.”
Fuck.
“Do you know when?” I ask, already anticipating the massacre that will take place if Evie catches him before I do.
Kylie taps out a few keystrokes and then looks back up at me. “About an hour or so. He has a meeting at eleven so he’ll be here for that.”
“Can you schedule me in?”
She winces and then frowns. “Nothing today. I can tell him you stopped by?”
“You know, I’ll just keep an eye out,” I tell her, and smile before heading back down the hall.
The tension is thick in the office. By now everyone has heard about the Variety article—and the fallout—and nobody really knows whether to offer congratulations or wince over how bad this could be for everyone involved. I don’t even know myself.
Justin is at his desk when I get there. He hands me a stack of messages, but I wave off any discussion of what else we have going on today; I’m going to need him to get me on the phone with one person after another until I can get this straightened out.
Justin tries to connect me to Dave. Not surprisingly, it goes straight to his voicemail. Because I’m obviously not stressed enough, I log into my computer and check Google, and sure enough the story has been picked up everywhere.
“Hey, Justin?” I call out, and he pokes his head inside. “Can you let me know if you see Brad or Evie come in? Subtly though, okay?”
He nods. “Want me to close this for you?” he asks, standing in the doorway. I shake my head and he steps out, leaving me to my buzzy, anxious solitude.
The thing about having an office with sixteen assistants all corralled into one area is that it gets loud. It feels like the phones never stop ringing—and has everyone always stomped around here like a herd of horses? Add in the sound of typing, the occasional text alerts, a whole lot of water cooler conversation, and my total lack of focus, and I don’t get anything done. Thank God that after only about an hour of this, there’s a knock on my door.
It’s Justin, peeking in and then glancing back over his shoulder, looking entirely too much like he’s up to something.
“Mr. Kingman just got here. Want me to do anything?”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.” I save my document and, hands sweating, step out.
Kylie sees me again and offers a sympathetic smile, one I can only assume means that Brad is in some kind of a mood.
“He’s in there?” I say quietly, and she nods.
He looks up when I clear my throat, and pins me with a look that is only marginally more pleasant than the one he’d give Evie.
“What can I do for you, Aaron? I’m sure I don’t have to explain how busy I am cleaning up all of this.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” I say, moving deeper into his office.
Brad takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk and then sits back, waiting for me to talk.
“I know that things look bad, and the timing of you telling Evie about Dan Printz and the article coming out looks suspicious, but I can guarantee she didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. The two of us have had our differences in the past, but she would never jeopardize her integrity, or that of anyone working here. She knows what’s at stake—as do I—and respects you and the job, our clients and contacts too much.”
“What the hell is going on, Carter?” Brad leans in, eyes narrowing. “Why are you in here telling me this? Are you white-knighting for the girl you’re fucking? Is that it?” My heart claws its way up my chest. “Are we going to have a little talk about the birds and the bees right now?”