chapter thirteen

evie

“Evie, you’re going to break this machine,” Daryl laments, putting her hand on my quad to slow down my leg extensions. “What is with you?”

I offer up a breathless: “Carter.”

Standing from the machine, I grab my water and take a few deep drinks. Sweat pours off me, and everything burns. I am a beast this morning, but it feels amazing. I realize it’s either kill myself here at the gym, or go to work and punch someone in the solar plexus.

I should probably be mortified about getting up and walking out of our meeting yesterday, but screw him and his perfect forearms and cute crooked smile and diva brother.

I’m so tired of wanting to shove him into the wall and then shove my hand down his pants.

I am so over all of it.

“Not to poke the bear,” she says, “because I can see you’re just a little on edge today, but to be clear: we don’t like Carter anymore, right?”

“No, we do not like Carter anymore.” I use a towel to wipe the sweat from my forehead. “And I’d appreciate if you could remember that next time you’re supposed to be my wing-woman. You told me to be a badass and then melted as soon as he turned on the charm. Remember when you wanted to get back at Brant and I went to your cousin’s wedding as your lesbian fiancée? I kissed you—with tongue. That was me being Team Daryl.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry, you’re right. But to be fair, you really should have given me an adorkable warning, because . . . well, shit, Evie,” she says. “He’s completely fuckable.”

“Not helping!”

“I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but look how much he riles you up. I knew you were bossy, but who knew you had such a power-play fetish?”

“A what?” I stumble after her over to the free weights.

“You heard me.”

“Do I even want to know?” Amelia asks, racking her weights and looking between us.

I shake my head, watching as she moves to the squat frame.

Daryl leans against the metal bar, watching me. “Evie’s in denial, trying to convince herself that she hates Carter.”

“Ohhhh. I like Carter,” Amelia bends her back, lowering for a dead lift. Coming back up, she says, “He came in to sign some tax forms. I didn’t think the rest of the HR women were going to let him leave, and that’s saying something. That one is a charmer.”

“You realize he’s my nemesis, right?” I say.

When she finishes her reps, Amelia guides me into position for my squats, with the bar against my shoulders and behind my neck. “Your ‘nemesis.’ You are so cute.”

“Are you poisoned by his charm, too?”

She smiles at me. “Shut up and squat.” She startles as if she’s just remembered something. “Oh! You will never believe who Brad just signed.”

I stop, locking the bar into place and meeting her eyes in the mirror. “If you say Gabe Vestes I’m going to scream.”

“That’s right. The same Gabe you mentioned having lunch with Brad right before the merge went public. I don’t know exactly who’s doing what, but something tells me Brad has his hands in a couple cookie jars.”

“I knew something was off about that. Brad got caught calling him a no-talent hack when I was still at Alterman; it didn’t make sense that they’d suddenly decided to mend their fences.” I step away from the squat frame and turn to face them both. “Likely Brad knew about the merger beforehand—and if he knew which of the CTM agents were getting the boot, he’d know to swoop in and make friends with Gabe again.”

“Just another shady move,” Amelia says.

“Why do you think he took Kylie off retreat planning?” Daryl asks, sitting on the bench next to us.

Amelia considers this. “Maybe he’s keeping her busy in other ways.” She grins at us. “Maybe they’re having an affair.”

I shiver, repulsed. “I’d like to think Kylie has a little more sense than that.”

See, Carter? I don’t think the absolute worst of her after all.

“And better taste.” Amelia looks at her watch. “I have a payroll meeting I can’t be late for.”

A smart woman would leave a workout like the one I’ve just had and go get something healthy for breakfast. An egg-white omelet, maybe. Or something whole grain. A smoothie.

Apparently, I am not a smart woman. I go straight to Sidecar Doughnuts and order three butter-and-salts and a giant latte. But I am smart enough to leave two of the doughnuts on my desk, bringing only one to the team breakfast meeting scheduled for eight a.m. in the conference room.

Coffee: check. Sugar and carbs: check.

Adjusted attitude: in progress.

My stomach—and attitude—plummet when I walk in and find Carter already there. I was really hoping I’d have at least a few minutes more to rally. He glances up, does a slight double take, and attempts a smile that looks a lot like a sneer before looking back down at his phone.

After yesterday, I don’t even know how to handle myself in a room alone with him. My heart is pounding, my lady parts on high alert, and my free hand gets all tight-fisty and punchy at my side. Confusing as hell. Plus, I’m suddenly very aware of the doughnut I’m holding, and the fact that Carter is having nothing but sparkling water for a breakfast meeting. Water. I hate him.

He’s flanked by two empty chairs, but I ignore them, pointedly taking a seat on the other side of the table. Battle lines drawn.

I can hear the buzzing hum of the overhead lights. Carter’s pen makes an exaggerated scritch-scritch sound in a notebook as he pulls his attention away from his phone long enough to seemingly jot down a flurry of ideas. I’d bet solid money he’s really just scribbling down the alphabet or a manifesto about all the ways he plans to be underhanded in the coming months.

The room fills as the rest of the department slowly filters in. Breakfast meetings are the worst; no human alive is in a hurry to spend an hour first thing in the morning with Brad.

We all look toward the door at the sound of our boss’s booming voice and see Kylie jogging in her four-inch stiletto heels to keep up behind him. With barely a glance at me, Brad looks down at my doughnut and wordlessly swipes it directly from the tabletop into the trash can just beside my feet.