Dating You / Hating You by Christina Lauren
chapter eleven
evie
Date:Fri, Oct 30 at 4:12 PM
From:Kylie Salisbury
To:Carter Aaron; Evelyn Abbey
Subject:Department Retreat
Hi Evie, Carter,
Brad has asked that the two of you be in charge of the annual department retreat up in Big Bear. It is back on the calendar for January 14–16. As Evie knows, I’ve organized it the last two years, so let me know when is a good time for the three of us to sit down and go over the format, activities, and any other relevant details.
Best,
Kylie
I’ve read the email about seven times and still am not sure I understand it. I walk into Daryl’s office and have her confirm I’ve read it correctly. I call Amelia in to have her verify that I am not, in fact, reading this wrong.
Wasn’t this canceled? Is it back on—but this time with senior agents in charge of the itinerary? Am I having a stroke?
Apparently, I’m not. On top of everything else on our plates, Carter and I have been given an assistant’s task: organize the departmental retreat.
Brad is a piece of work.
Since this isn’t coming from Brad himself, I have no way of knowing the subtext, but I’m sure there is one. It’s possible Kylie dropped the ball somewhere, but it’s more possible that this is Brad’s first twist in the P&D Hunger Games.
I lean against Daryl’s door, rubbing my face.
“This means I’m going to have to talk to him,” I say. Two weeks ago this wouldn’t have seemed like such a bad thing because (let’s be honest) I wanted to talk my way into his pants. But after Carter’s pouty blow-off—Let’s have dinner, oh wait, you got a better list than I did, no dinner for you!—I’m beginning to think the best strategy is just to never, ever interact with him at the office again.
Which . . . surprisingly, wouldn’t be that hard. With new clients and new coworkers on top of my normal schedule, I’ve been completely swamped. In the past week and a half, I’ve arrived at work by eight and stayed long after the office is empty, had nine lunch meetings, eleven meetings after work over drinks, and wall-to-wall clients during work hours. I’ve barely seen Carter. Except for when I watch him leave his office and find a way to enjoy the view from behind all the way down the hall . . .
I have a short break between a lunch meeting and an off-site and hope I can catch him for a few minutes. Because the odds of me wrestling him out of anger or lust are roughly equivalent, I decide to call in Daryl’s IOU for ditching me at Steph’s party and make her act as chaperone, possibly witness.
I am the best of friends.
We stop outside his office door, and I lift my fist, giving a single tentative knock.
Normally, Carter isn’t really a closed-door kind of guy. From what I’ve seen so far, he’s always in the hall talking to people, or has two or three other agents in his office. I get that it’s just a way we do business differently—I tend to be to the point, friendly but brief, whereas he chats and wanders. Everyone likes Carter. I know he’s been crazy busy this week, too, but he always seems to have a moment to say hi to someone, to stop and socialize for a spell.
I realize this makes our styles complementary, and I get a warm little pull in my stomach.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could collaborate?
Wouldn’t it be nice if he didn’t immediately turn into a threatened, competitive jackass?
“Stop it,” Daryl says, and I look over to her.
“Stop what?”
“You’re fidgeting. You’re supposed to be a badass here. Badasses don’t fidget. And don’t give me that face; this is exactly why you brought me.”
“Okay, right right.” I close my eyes, summoning my inner badass. “I’m Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2. Sigourney Weaver in Aliens—because let’s be honest, that’s really where she came into her own. Fascinating that it’s the sequels where those two really—”
“Will you focus?”
When he calls out, “Come in,” I’m a little taken aback at the way his voice sounds—deep and quiet, not at all his normal easygoing tone. It reminds me of how he sounded against me, on my bed, and I want to walk repeatedly into the nearest wall.
This whole situation would be about a million times easier if I didn’t want to kiss him as much as I want to shove him.
Pushing open the door, I look up to find him sitting at his desk, hair messy, glasses crooked. He’s oddly rumpled.
“Hey, Evie.” His expression is hard to read. Surprised, maybe. Nervous? A little. Good.
Carter looks behind me to where Daryl has just walked right into my back.
“Thanks for the warning,” she says, rubbing her nose. I should be more careful; she paid a lot of money for that nose.
“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Carter says, and stands to walk around the desk, reaching out to shake Daryl’s hand. “Carter Aaron. New guy.”
“Daryl Jordan. Sagittarius.”
“Aries,” he says with a sly grin. “You know that makes us most compatible out of all the zodiac signs.”
My God in heaven.
Daryl smiles, charmed. “Convenient, considering you’re my new best friend for knowing that.”
I turn to her, eyes wide. Traitor.
“I didn’t peg you for an astrology buff,” I say, not sure which of them I should glare at first. “Big horoscope reader, Carter?”
Your competitive moon is eclipsing my happy place sun, jackhole.
“Not much these days, I’m afraid,” he says, expression serious again. “My mom is really into astrology and used to read us our horoscopes every morning during breakfast. Whenever I hear someone mention it I get a little homesick.”
Son of a—
“That might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Daryl swoons visibly. Bringing her was obviously a mistake. I wonder if anyone would notice if I gently shoved her out of the room.
“Unfortunately, I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like, but I’m hoping soon. For the holidays, at least. Anyway.” He straightens his glasses but doesn’t bother to do anything about his hair. Motioning for us to have a seat, he walks back around to his chair. “I’ve been buried in contracts. What’s up?”
“I gather you’ve seen Kylie’s email?” I ask.
He shakes his head and turns to his monitor.
“How are you liking it here?” Daryl asks. “Getting to know everyone?”
I hear the double click of his mouse and watch him quickly scan the email. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Just making friends, getting the lay of the land. Everyone was a little standoffish at first, but I think I’ve overcome it. Feels like a really good group.”
Just like I did, he rereads the message a few times and then looks up at me. “Is this serious?”
Shrugging, I say, “I assume so.”
“Brad doesn’t think we have enough to do?”
“That, or he thinks Kylie did a shitty job in years past.”
Carter looks up at me disapprovingly. “She’s good, Evie.”
Daryl pinches my arm, and seriously, what the hell? Weren’t we just coming up with hypotheses about why we’ve been asked to do this?
Ignoring Daryl’s attempt to keep me calm, I glare at him. “I’m sure she is, maybe retreats just aren’t her thing?”
He laughs drily, shaking his head as he reads the email again. “You have such a chip on your shoulder about her.”
This takes me a few breaths to process. In the two whole weeks he’s been here, when has he ever witnessed me having a problem with Kylie? And why does he feel the need to defend her to me? My instinct is to pick up his stapler and launch it at his head. But a good agent keeps a lid on their temper unless it’s really necessary to unleash the fury. A great agent doesn’t have a temper, but can unleash the fury when necessary.
The difference is everything. I’m still working on being great.
“Okay, then,” I say calmly, brushing off Daryl’s grip. “I can tell you’re overwhelmed with work. I’m happy to organize this alone, if you prefer.”
Daryl shakes her head. “Evie, I don’t think he’s saying he—”
“I’m not overwhelmed,” Carter cuts in.
“Of course you’re not,” I say meaningfully, and his cheeks go pink at the implication that he’s got a light list.
I glance around his office. It’s certainly more lived in than it was. His walls are covered with framed photos of landmarks on the East Coast, pictures of him with clients, his diploma, a framed copy of his first signed contract. There’s a plant in the corner, and instead of a couch he has two chairs with colorful pillows, a giant ottoman in between. It looks cozy and warm, somewhere you’d sit and chat, make friends, maybe sign a contract or two.
Why does he have to be so damn smooth with everything?
I can tell he’s not going to say anything now that I’ve just dropped a bomb of snark, and Daryl seems to have given up hope of running interference. “Anyway,” I say as breezily as possible, “I just came down here to see if you wanted to go chat with Kylie really quick about the retreat.”
Pushing back from his desk to stand, he wordlessly gestures for me to lead us onward.
• • •
At least we don’t have to reinvent the wheel—Kylie doesn’t really give us anything I didn’t already know: It’s a retreat for the Features department and support staff. We drink, we do team-building activities, we drink. We listen to Brad tell boring stories where he is the starring attraction, we drink. Basically, it’s a giant drink fest with a few team-building games thrown in, which seems easy enough to organize—especially given that we’ll have an events coordinator on-site. I’m now taking my peeved with a side of relieved.
I can’t help but notice that Kylie directs nearly all of her attention to Carter while she recounts the activities she’s put together the last two years. But . . . I can’t blame her, either. I also quite enjoy looking at Carter. But since Carter has pointed out that I have such a chip on my shoulder about Kylie—I mean, what even—I work to look as unaffected by her obvious crush on him as possible. Under normal circumstances, I would ask questions and redirect her attention back to the two of us, but since this situation is completely abnormal, and as long as there is food and booze at this event no one is going to care about other specifics, I can’t be bothered to get too worked up.
It all seems pretty straightforward, and we’re about to walk back to our respective offices when Kylie stops us with a whispered, “Guys.”
We turn back to face her.
She looks almost apologetic and glances around us to make sure no one is listening. “That was all the regular stuff, but just remember: this is Brad’s favorite weekend all year. Add to that the merge, and that people are paying attention to how he runs things, and he really expects it to be . . . like, a big deal. Okay?” Her wobbly smile tells us that she’s relieved she’s not in charge anymore, and it will be a bloodbath if we mess it up.
Carter must sense it, too, because he stops me on our way back down the hall. “Would you have any time to talk this out?” he says in a rush, looking the slightest bit queasy. “I know we’re both busy, but she made it sound like this was pretty intense, and I’ve never been to one of Brad’s retreats. I can clear my afternoon if I need to. If you can, of course.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I’m heading out early to catch someone on set. I’ll finish up around seven or so.” I pause, then wonder if I’m going to regret what I say next. “We could meet after? Unless you have something to do.”
“After is perfect. I’ll clear my schedule and meet you wherever you are.”
For a moment I think about having him just meet me at my place, but then I realize what a giant mistake that would be. “How about BOA, seven thirty?” I suggest instead.
He’s already putting it into his phone. “Seven thirty. I’ll get us a reservation and see you there. Thanks, Evie.”
• • •
Carter is seated when I arrive, and the hostess walks me to the table. He’s changed out of his work clothes and now has on a white button-down shirt and soft, dark jeans. The effect on me is immediate; because he looks like any other guy out on the street, it’s both easier and harder to be with him right now. Easier because I don’t feel the need to try to match his charisma like I do every day at the office. Harder because he looks so much like the Potential Boyfriend version of Carter. It sucks that the dynamic between us is so strained now.
I sit, unfolding my napkin and placing it on my lap.
We both thank the waiter when he fills our water glasses.
To my surprise, Carter declines any sort of cocktail . . . so I do, too.
The waiter lists the specials and says he’ll be back once we’ve had time to look over the menu. The silence stretches between us. The contrast between this dinner and our first together is pretty stark. And the longer we’re quiet, the harder it is to find a single word to say.
I could really use that cocktail.
The sun is setting through the windows and I look out at the street, marveling at how quiet this intersection gets when the offices shut down for the night.
I glance over to see him watching me, and he quickly looks away, back down to scan the menu. His eyes are so bright behind the glasses. I think I forgot how green they are, how perfect his mouth is.
“So,” he says, and I realize it’s my turn to be caught staring.
“So.”
His attention is so steady. I wish I had a Carter Thought Decoder Ring. His lips tilt up into a knowing half smile. “How’re things?”
I burst out laughing and his smile grows, morphing into the real deal, the goofy, crooked smile, not the flashy work one.
“We probably should have ordered drinks,” he says.
I am so relieved that his easy frankness is back that I nearly want to launch myself across the table.
“Yeah, like a hundred.” Nervously, I straighten my spoon and knife beside each other on the table. “Carter,” I start, “I’m really glad we did this. I wish we could start over in some ways.”
He nods, swallowing a sip of his water. “Me too. Though maybe not all of it. Some of it wasn’t too bad.”
My face heats at his meaningful smile. “Agree. And the work situation sucks, but I think we can work better together.”
Relief seems to wash over him and he reaches across the table to take my hand. “I agree. We haven’t been great.”
“I really do think they could have positions for both of us here. The more I look, the more I realize there’s a lot of deadweight in the Features department . . . but it isn’t us.”
“Obviously I haven’t been there as long,” he says with a nod in my direction, and I appreciate the small acknowledgment, “but yeah, I agree.” He leans forward. “Our strengths are so complementary. Rose and Ashton might be better suited for New York. They love to do the theater stuff; it’s just there isn’t that much of it out here. Maybe they would want to be transferred if given the choice?”
“Exactly.”
It loosens something for us to agree on this one tiny point. I feel a fondness seeping back in and his smile is even easier now. The waiter stops at our table to take our orders, and we let go of each other’s hand, but once he’s gone, we immediately look back to each other.
“There’s so much good in all of this,” he says quietly. “I like Features, I like you. I hate the situation, but I sort of like being at P&D.”
“I’m glad. And I like you, too.”
“I had a really good time that night,” he says, and he leans in, taking my hand again. “I don’t think I ever got to tell you that.”
This makes me laugh, and his eyes widen in surprise and amusement at the sound of it. “I had an inkling.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry if it felt underhanded that I volunteered to take Dan.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I like Dan, and we’ve worked well together in the past, but your list needs it more.”
His eyebrow twitches and I realize how unfiltered that came out. What is it about Carter that brings out my competitive side so immediately?
“I really didn’t mean that to sound rude,” I say, wanting him to believe me. “I’m just being honest. I think you can sign him, easily. With Dan, you just need to call him up and ask him what he’s looking for.”
He lets go of my hand to take a quick sip of water, shaking his head. With the loss of contact, the intimacy of the vibe at the table is immediately flipped on its head. “Dan will talk about it when he’s ready,” he says. “I know a bit about how he works. He wants to feel like he’s in control, and calling him will just make me seem pushy.”
Carter has amazing instincts, but right now he’s wrong. He just is. Dan likes being chased a little. I’ve worked with him and I know: he doesn’t like to be the one making calls, he wants to be the one choosing whether or not to answer.
“I just really think—”
“Christ, Evie, just let me do my job, okay?” he snaps.
I open my mouth, and a few garbled sounds come out before I mumble a quiet “Sure, of course.”
I can see immediately that he regrets his tone. But it’s too late. The tension is back with a vengeance.
Our food comes, and we bend to our plates, eating in silence.
Carter puts his fork down after a few bites, leaning in. “Evie . . .”
“No, seriously, it’s okay.” I put on my best smile, because I really don’t want him to feel micromanaged by me. This is an impossible situation: If I help him, I could lose a job. If he doesn’t fight for a better list, he could. And there is basically no way we can solve this with kissing, no matter how much I’d like to. “You’re right. I was being pushy. You do your thing.”
Carter nods, and I decide to move on. “Now, let’s talk about that retreat.”
• • •
Dinner turned out as well as could be hoped. We have a solid plan for the event in January, and we each have a list of piddly homework items we need to find time for before we meet up again. As we walk out, one comment leads to another and Carter is telling me a story about how Michael got Steph a kinky cast-making kit for their anniversary so they could craft a mold of his penis and build her a toy for whenever she travels. Instead, she thought he was subtly telling her he had cancer and had found a way for her to remember him when he was gone.
I laugh so hard Carter wraps his hand around my forearm and keeps it there for a moment to make sure I’m steady. I hate how funny he is, and I hate how much I want him to keep touching me. I hate this entire situation.
We pull apart and keep walking away from Sunset, up Doheny. It’s warm, but not with the cloying death haze of early October. I look over at him as he takes a deep, calming breath.
“It’s nice out, isn’t it?” I say.
He looks up at the sky. “I wonder whether I’ll ever live somewhere where I can see all the stars.”
“That’s what vacations are for.”
He grins. “Vacation? Was ist das?”
This makes me laugh. “I know. I guess we can’t really expect much of that this year.”
He gives me a smile that’s both sweet and a little sad, and then shakes himself out of it. Pointing up the hill, he says, “I live just a few blocks up.”
I look over his shoulder and off in that direction. His apartment is that way.
His bed.
I’ve never been to his place. I mean, of course I haven’t: we had a relationship for a weekend, if that. Even though it feels like a much bigger event in my romantic life than it actually was. I can’t decide if that’s internally meaningful in a rallying Don’t give up way, or in a pathetic This is the sad state of your romantic landscape way.
Regardless, he hasn’t said this as a lead-up to asking whether I want to walk up there with him, because we both know there’s no way that can happen, even if we both clearly grapple with the unsaid: Under other circumstances we would totally be banging there tonight. And given what I know—
1. We’re both stressed out of our minds
2. Carter is fun and funny
3. Carter has a great penis
—the sex would undoubtedly be stellar.
But instead, we exchange a lingering hug and part ways on the sidewalk. Watching him disappear up the tree-shrouded hill, I can’t decide if tonight was a step forward or sideways. Should I be grateful for sideways? Carter sparks these enormous emotions in me—most of them good, and then I resent the situation all over again—but then he gets defensive and weird, and I basically want to strangle him. All we can do is try to make the best of things. I like Carter, but simply put: neither of us is doing this job because we like coming in second. Signing Adam Elliott and Sarah Hill was a huge coup for me, and Carter’s got to be feeling the pressure. Of course he wants to land Dan. Maybe I should try to show a little more empathy and eventually, we might even find a way to be friends.
As if the universe finds this all completely hilarious, just as I climb into my car my phone chimes with an email from a VIP sender. It’s from Dave Cyrus, my entertainment contact at the Hollywood Vine.
Date: Fri, Oct 30 at 9:42 PM
From:Dave Cyrus
To:Evelyn Abbey
Subject:Dan Printz
Evie,
Reaching out to hear if Dan is headed onto your list. That’s the buzz, at least. Likely to run with something either way, but if you know something, I’d like to wait for the scoop and run a Hot Buzz feature when he signs on. Let me know.
Dave
With a groan, I let my head fall back against the headrest, closing my eyes. This is huge. Dave has heard from somewhere that Dan is signing with me. A Hot Buzz feature means print edition of the monthly magazine—with the best circulation of any trade journal in the industry—as well as a huge spread in the online edition. It would be great promo for Dan, and an amazing carrot to dangle to get him to join P&D.
I am ninety-eight percent positive I could call Dan right now, find out what he’s thinking he’s going to do, and convince him to join my list.
But I can’t.
Because I am not a backstabbing monster.
Date: Fri, Oct 30 at 9:47 PM
From:Evelyn Abbey
To:Dave Cyrus
Subject:Re: Dan Printz
Dave, it kills me to have to say this, but a colleague is angling to sign Dan, and I couldn’t in good conscience use this to snag him. It would be a huge, huge favor to me if you would extend the same offer to him. His name is Carter Aaron. He’s new to P&D and we were lucky enough to land him in the merge—he’s spectacular. I would owe you big time.
His email is [email protected]
Evie
Date:Fri, Oct 30 at 9:59 PM
From:Dave Cyrus
To:Evelyn Abbey
Subject:Re: Dan Printz
Are you going soft in your old age?
I’m teasing. Sure, I’ll reach out to Carter. Drop me a line when you want to grab a drink.
Dave
