Dating You / Hating You by Christina Lauren
chapter eight
evie
At five to ten, my desk phone rings. I keep my eyes on the monitor in front of me and exhale in relief when, after a second ring, it goes silent. Good, I think, finishing an email. I don’t want to talk to anyone today anyway.
There’s a knock less than a minute later, and I look up to see Jess standing in the doorway.
She nods toward the unanswered phone. “Despite the dark window”—she motions to the pane of glass next to my door—“I knew you were in here.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her guiltily. “Would you think less of me if I told you I was scared?”
She laughs as she steps inside, closing the door behind her. “Now that we have computer access, most people are on LinkedIn or Googling How to Survive a Merger.”
I press send before looking back up. “Though I don’t know what we’re all hiding for. Nobody’s even seen Brad, and yesterday was such a confusing shit show, I should feel confident that today can’t top it.”
Jess clears her throat and I narrow my eyes at her, wary.
“What?”
“Well, the reason I called . . .” She winces a little. The gold studs in her ears twinkle back at me beneath the fluorescent lights as she grips the back of the chair she’s leaning on. “He’s here. When you didn’t answer he called me. He wants to see you.”
“Brad?”
“Brad.”
I slump in my chair. “Well, fudge.”
“He’s been calling people in all morning and it looks like it’s your turn. Or you know, ‘Up to bat!’ as he would say.”
I groan. So he is staying.
• • •
Everyone looks up as I walk past on my way to Brad’s office. If he’s been calling people in all morning, who knows what they’ve seen? Relief? Tantrums? Tears? Anything is possible.
I rarely question my appearance anymore—a gift that seems to have arrived with the transition into my thirties—but with all eyes on me, I feel like an awkward model on a catwalk. I really should have worn my padded bra.
In my peripheral vision, a few heads turn, their attention lingering on something at the other end of the hall. I follow their gaze.
Carter.
His suit is charcoal gray and looks like it was made for him by magical tailor elves. It hugs his shoulders, tapers at his waist, frames his body perfectly. I tug at the hem of my shift dress, suddenly feeling frumpy.
His long legs close the distance between us in just a few strides. “Hey.”
I try to keep my gaze in the safe zone: on his tie. It’s blue with tiny green flecks and I already know that if I look up, I’ll see the way it brings out the color in his eyes.
Yup . . . it does.
“Hi.” I am hyperaware of all eyes on us. I mean, why wouldn’t they be watching this train wreck? I would. Not that they know I had his penis in my hand a few days ago, and now we apparently work together, but it’s probably written all over my face—
Or maybe they aren’t watching because of me at all. Maybe they’re watching us because Carter is a new, gorgeous guy in the department.
I feel an odd mix of possessiveness and unease.
“I’m just on my way to Brad’s office.” I’m eager to put some space between us and the office full of onlookers. “How did it go with you?”
“I don’t know yet,” he says. “Our eight a.m. was delayed. I’m on my way there now. Kylie was just taking me.”
And it’s only now that I notice Brad’s assistant, Kylie, standing a few paces away, nonchalantly checking out Carter’s ass. When she catches my eye, she steps closer. Carter smiles down at her. She smiles back, a hint of pink blooming on her neck and cheeks.
A direct hit. An eerie sense of foreboding prods at my brain.
Kylie clears her throat and walks ahead of us, stopping outside the door to Brad’s corner office.
“You can go on in.” She gives Carter a smile that lingers just past too long and verges on weird. Or maybe it’s only weird because I’m here, staring like she’s committing some grave offense by looking at him. “He’s expecting you both.”
“I’m sorry, Kylie,” I say, “did you say he’s expecting us both? As in . . . together?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know why?” My brain cycles back to the image of my hands in Carter’s pants. His come on my—
I shake my head. Brad would have no way of knowing any of that, but it’s the only connection I can make.
“Nope.” She looks at each of us in turn. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem at all.” Carter motions for me to lead the way. “Thanks, Kylie.”
“Any time.” She offers him an encouraging thumbs-up before whispering, “You’ll do great!”
You have got to be kidding me.
With an awkward cough, Carter glances down to the floor as I pass, and we both step into Brad’s office.
Brad Kingman has that air about him—you know the one, where it’s clear he thinks he’s a little better, a lot smarter, and leagues more connected in this town than you are. He also does that thing all the best intimidating people do where he stares directly at you when he’s speaking. When you talk—if you’re important enough for him to actually listen—he’ll make you feel like the most fascinating person in the world. But be ready: If you call, you’d better know what you want to say. If you come to his office, get it out—and quickly. He doesn’t do polite small talk and doesn’t schmooze.
But when Carter steps through the door, it’s like a Brad Kingman I’ve never seen before stands to greet him.
“Carter,” he says, grinning widely. He rounds the desk, reaching out to offer a hand. “It’s good to meet you, son.”
Son?
Carter’s posture tweaks initially as he’s taken aback, but he recovers quickly. “It’s good to meet you, too,” he says, shoulders straight, chin up, and grip strong as he shakes Brad’s proffered hand. He looks calm.
Good, he’s done his homework.
Brad claps him on the back and motions for him to take a seat before turning his attention to me. “Evie. It’s been quite a madhouse around here, hasn’t it?”
He pulls out a chair for me and I give him a smile in return. “It sure has.”
Circling back around his expansive walnut desk, Brad takes a moment to look at each of us in turn. “Have you met?”
I glance at Carter, offering a wan smile. “Yeah, we know each other.”
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Brad says, “this is a team. Carter, I want you to know that Evie here has become my right-hand kid. Any questions you have, anything you need, Evie is the girl to talk to. Understand?”
I feel my cheeks warm under the simultaneous compliment and condescension of right-hand kid and the girl to talk to.
“Absolutely,” Carter says, glancing at me a little uneasily. “She’s been nothing but helpful so far.”
Brad raps the knuckles of one hand against the desk and leans back in his chair. “That’s good to hear. Now, if I had to guess what’s cycling through your heads this morning, I suspect there’s a bit of confusion about what’s going on—am I right?”
“Pretty much,” Carter says with a small laugh.
“I get that. I do get that.” Brad straightens, hands folded in front of him. “Evie here will tell you that I am all about playing as a team, Carter. And here at Price & Dickle we are only as strong as our weakest player. Isn’t that right, Evie?”
I say through clenched teeth, “That’s right, Brad.”
“Which means we need every player to be able to knock it out of the park. I brought the two of you in here together for a couple reasons. The first is that between the three of us, I think you two are the best we’ve got. I’ve heard a lot about you, Carter. It’s why I snagged you from TV-Lit—you belong in Features. You two can bring our department back into the game.”
He pulls two files from the bottom of a stack and opens the first.
“You started as a finance clerk at a boutique agency in New York?” he asks, and Carter nods. “And what did you learn from that?”
Carter shifts in his seat, glancing at me before returning his attention to Brad. I didn’t know this.
Obviously, there’s going to be quite a bit I don’t know. So this is a first: getting to know a potential boyfriend through a thinly veiled grilling session in our boss’s office.
“Well, of course I heard a lot of gossip,” Carter admits, smiling easily. “There are agents who act like anyone not involved in a negotiation isn’t really there. Because of that, I overheard conversations I probably shouldn’t have.”
To my own ear it sounds like he’s underselling for some reason, still keeping his cards close. If I’m right, Brad knows it, too.
“That’s it?” Brad asks.
Carter hesitates for a moment. “It’s a good way to learn how people handle pressure, observing it from the outside. You learn to catalog everyone’s reaction, anticipate who will do what when the shit hits the fan.”
Brad smiles, and because I know Brad, I can tell he’s amused by Carter’s casual swearing. By contrast, he would wince and chastise me for doing the same. I feel queasy. I knew Carter was charming but secretly hoped it had something to do with my wanting to bang him. Apparently not, because he’s playing Brad perfectly, too.
“Start at the bottom and take what you learn to the top,” Brad says, nodding.
Carter grins, and charisma seeps into the room. “Something like that.”
Brad scribbles down a couple of notes and turns to me. “Now, Evie here, she could talk a grenade out of exploding. That’s a skill you want to learn, Carter. Lots of people can be decent agents, but it takes a special one to spot talent, and an even better one to keep it. There’s been a stumble or two . . .” He pauses meaningfully. “But for the most part, she’s proven she belongs with the big boys. Hell, she’s trained some of the best agents in this town.”
I bite my tongue. It’s unlike Brad to hand out praise so baldly, and I brace myself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Now, like I said, I think you two are the best we have, but I’ll be honest. I don’t know if we can keep you both—”
“What? ” we both say in unison.
Brad holds up his hands, motioning for us to let him finish. “Your compensation is comparable—which is why I have you both in here—and I don’t know if P&D will have the room to renew both contracts. At least not here in LA.”
We stare ahead, stunned. I can feel my face going red, my stomach twisting into knots. I’m five years older than Carter and have been doing this job in one form or another since I was nineteen. Judging from what I’ve seen, Carter is probably a great agent, but he’s only lived in LA for two years and is new to features. Like, today new. In what universe is our compensation comparable? Because he’s a man? Who knew a penis was worth so much?
“Brad—” Carter begins, expression grim. I clench my fists at my sides and force myself to take a deep breath.
“It’s not definite that one of you will be shifted over,” Brad says, “but I’ll be honest: it’s likely. We’re all going to have to do the work and see what fits best for the new, combined Features team.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “P&D is one of the most successful agencies in the country. How can it not keep us both?” I glance to Carter and back again. “Brad, look at my numbers, I outperform—”
“Minus your little speed bump with Field Day,” he says with a superior nod, and I straighten in my chair. Fuck him for bringing that up right now. “Listen, kiddo, the simple fact is that the movie business is down. Expenses are up. Cuts are made in this type of situation, and that’s just the way it is. You two aren’t the only ones this is affecting.”
I glance at Carter. He’s staring directly at Brad. “When you said, ‘Not here in LA,’ ” Carter begins carefully, “are you saying that if one of our contracts isn’t renewed, there’s a chance that individual would be offered a position in New York?”
Brad nods. “For sure there is a position in LA, and a spot in New York is always a possibility. Ideally there would be two positions here, but it’s too early to speculate on that. On any of it, really.”
We both sit there, silent. I stare at a glossy whorl of walnut that stands out in the section of wood grain just in front of me. It’s the size of my fist but takes up only the smallest fraction of the surface of Brad’s enormous executive desk. I wish I could press my finger to it, swirl, and flush this entire exchange down the toilet.
“What I want both of you to do for the short term,” Brad says, pulling my eyes back to his face, “is to put this situation out of your heads. You each have a contract that P&D will see through, and then we’ll examine it again. Evie, you’ve got five months left on your current contract. Carter, you’re due to re-sign in six. At the time of renewal it’s possible there will only be room for one. But you’re not competing. Not exactly.”
The words not exactly fall like bricks dropped from twenty feet up.
“Meet with some of the agents, the support staff—on both sides,” Brad continues with practiced obliviousness. “Talk to the team we have here visiting from New York. Get a sense for how your lists are going to react and how you can retain them—we’ll be talking about that a little later in the week.” He turns to me. “Evie, I don’t think retentions will be as big an issue for you, since your clients were already P&D—so what I would love is for you to show Carter around, show him how we do things. Maybe introduce him to some of your colleagues and contacts.”
I feel sick. Just like with John Fineman, Brad is having me pass along some of my hard-earned connections to a coworker. But not just any coworker: to Carter, my new almost-boyfriend, with whom I’m not exactly competing for a job.
“Of course,” I say, because what else can I do?
“Carter,” Brad says, turning, “you have enough charisma to take over this entire town, and I think you’ll do it. Listen to Evie, learn the ropes; she knows what she’s talking about.” He looks between us. “At least for the time being,” he says, leaning back in his chair again, “I think you will make an amazing team. Try to see it that way.”
He smiles, leans forward with his hands steepled beneath his chin, and gives us the patented icy blue stare.
Brad Kingman has excused us.
• • •
Out in the hallway Carter and I each study the floor, the wall, the table desks in the distance. The number of things we could say about the situation seems infinite. But oddly, as much as I’ve enjoyed his company and his kisses and his penis, Carter is the last person I want to talk to about this right now.
I can tell he’s tense. I can tell we’re both tense, but I need to process a little bit in my own head before I help him process it, too.
He lets out a quiet whistle. “This is unreal.”
“I agree.” I have to pull my eyes away from the tension in his jaw.
“When I heard we’d merged, my biggest fear was just that it would be hard to work with my new girlfriend.”
My heart swoops low in my chest when he says this.
“But now, it’s like . . .” He shakes his head, running a hand through his thick hair. “I need this job. I moved here for this job.”
“My entire life is here,” I remind him. “I’ve worked for P&D for five years. I realize the situation really sucks for you, but I’ve built connections here. I’ve built a career here.”
You have enough charisma to take over this entire town, and I think you’ll do it.
Brad’s words to Carter bounce around the inside of my skull, and I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides. Brad wants Carter to take over the entire town; where exactly does that leave me?
Carter glances over to me, and for a flash I can see annoyance in his green eyes. But he quickly tucks it away.
“This is probably not the time to talk about it.” He closes his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths. “Look. This is the worst thing that could have happened between us, and I realize that.” He puts a warm hand on my forearm. “But we’re going to figure it out, don’t worry.”
For some reason his reassurance bothers me even more. It’s true this isn’t a great situation for either of us, but I don’t need him to patronize me and tell me that everything will be okay when he knows exactly as much as I do. And I especially don’t need him to try to reassure me after he’s just told me how much he needs to be the one to keep his job.
We drift apart without more conversation, moving in opposite directions away from Brad’s office: I head to get a drink of water from the break room while Carter walks toward the restrooms.
I know I should eat the Luna bar I put in my purse this morning, but my stomach seems to have closed up shop for the day.
• • •
In order to help with the transition, P&D brought in a few team members from New York. And just like Brad suggested, early that afternoon I have a one-on-one with a senior agent I’ve met on several occasions, a woman I deeply admire. Her name is Joanne Simms, and she’s a shark. She started in Features and has moved over to the television side, but she knows everyone. At first blush, she’s the sweetest human you could possibly meet. But in negotiations the gloves come off. She’s my Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes. If you’re in her parking spot, she will ram her car into your car without a second thought. And then maybe set it on fire.
Her temporary office is in the corner and has a beautiful view of downtown and the mountains beyond. This office was recently occupied by Tom Hetchum, head of Legal at P&D. Tom is no longer with us.
Joanne beckons me in, and while she finishes up a call, I stand near the window, trying to calm my racing heart. I love the view of LA from this side of the building. It reminds me how many people there are here, how many opportunities, how much space there is for everyone in the sprawling mass of buildings. I’m not an optimist, but I’m not exactly a pessimist, either. I’m a wait-and-see-when-you-have-more-info-ist. My opinions spend ninety percent of their time in a holding pattern before swooping in like a hawk.
And right now my opinions need Joanne to get off the phone and tell me this is all bullshit and everything will be fine.
In the end, she doesn’t tell me that. But there’s a hopeful vibe to the meeting, anyway. Joanne is hilarious, she loves her job, she loves what she does. And she’s a woman who never lets the old boys’ game get in her way. She is exactly what I want to be.
We talk about her list, about the kind of list I have and where I’d like to see it go. We talk about the clients I’ll likely inherit from the agents who were let go, and how to manage my current clients’ panic along with the panic of those actors passed off to someone new. We have a conversation that feels a lot like long-term planning, and although I won’t get to work with Joanne much because she’s in New York and in television, just knowing she’ll be around for a while is reassuring.
At the end of the meeting I feel a million times better about my place here, and I generally feel like Carter and I can find a way to make this work. At the very least, I feel confident that I’m needed—and that upper management at P&D knows that.
The hallways are quiet as I leave Joanne’s office, and I have a moment of peace to myself to sit and think about this morning. I saw Carter heading into John Fineman’s office earlier, and instinctively I want to wait for him. I feel so much better after talking to Joanne, and I want to infuse a conversation with Carter with some of that hopefulness. But when I see him emerge, I immediately sense his meeting did not go as well. His position is admittedly more precarious than mine, and I do really like him. I don’t want him moving to New York any more than I want to move there myself.
“How did it go with John?” I ask.
He smiles a little drily. “I think that was the most talking I’ve ever done in a one-on-one meeting before.”
I laugh. “John is not known for his conversation skills. I sat next to him at a company Christmas dinner and let’s just say it’s amazing he does any deals. He’s not known for being very . . . sociable.” I feel a little like I’m marking my territory here, emphasizing my familiarity with people he’s only just meeting. I know I should pull back and be more of a team player—Carter is the new guy, after all. So I go for encouragement: “I’m sure you were great. I bet everyone loves you.”
Carter studies me for a few breaths, and I get the distinct impression that he knows exactly what I’m doing. “It looks like things went well with Joanne.”
I nod, smiling. “When are you meeting with her?”
“Later this week.”
“Do you want to grab some lunch?” I ask. “I could fill you in on what’s what here. Who’s sleeping with who and where the good coffee is hidden.”
He looks away, unsmiling as he squints at a point in the distance down the hall. “I think I’m just going to grab a sandwich and catch up on all the emails I need to deal with,” he says. “I’ve got a million things to handle right now. Maybe some other time?”
I know people. I can easily spot the careful stepping back. “Okay.”
I watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
And then he looks up and gives me a pained smile. “I’ll see you later?”
He turns to head down the hall and his posture immediately changes. His shoulders are straight, and his ass looks amazing in his dark dress pants. Heads turn. A few interns lean in and discuss him when he’s walked past, their expressions eager, admiring. It’s as if the star quarterback has just strolled down the hall. My high from my meeting with Joanne deflates as I see exactly what they see: confidence, charisma . . .
Competition.
