Page 11 of Dead Set on You
A deep, low groan rumbles from the dark bedroom to my right, the one with its French doors pulled open.
I squeak in surprise.
I freeze.
Rafael.
Like a deer in headlights, I stand there, lip caught between my teeth and lungs forgetting their one job.
I should keep moving, forget about the purse and get out of here.
I stall, willing my nerves to calm.
It’s Rafael we’re talking about. And honestly? He’s the one who should be afraid.
With pumps under one arm, I prop the other hand on my hip and decide to wait.
Whatever nonsense excuse he’ll have for how I ended up here, I’ll be ready. Tip-top fighting shape. Evie vs. Rafael.
If he thinks that me fainting is somehow his ticket to the promotion, he has no idea how much I’ve sacrificed to get this far … and how much I’m willing to sacrifice to stay here.
The mental image of me sprawled across a sidewalk makes my face flush with embarrassment.
Okay, maybe I fainted, but he was the one who compromised the account by breaking Dana’s rules. That’s my leverage. My ticket to my own office.
Dana won’t find itcharmingwhen she hears about how he went rogue—ordering tequila shots after she explicitly told us to play nice, stick to the plan, and “work our magic” (whatever that meant) to win over Cyril and OhLaLove.
Rafael reveres Dana almost as much as I do, and he’ll want to avoid that conversation. Maybe he’ll even bereasonablefor once and take himself out of the running for the promotion. And if he doesn’t? I’ll take care of telling Dana for him. I’d enjoy it. Might even toast to it—with tequila, even.
This could be it—my chance to finally land the director promotion and prove that I am, in fact, the better fit. The better leader. The one who stuck to the rules and plans and didn’t crack under pressure, not once in five years. Not that it should have ever been a contest.
But with Rafael, it always is. Has been since the moment our friendship turned into this. Maybe even from that first day, when I let myself think that I could trust him, that my luck was turning.
If it weren’t for Rafael’s uncanny ability to charm people, especially Dana, it never would have taken this long for her and the other Media Lab executives to see that I’m better prepared to take the lead. And now I might have my leverage to take the lead.
This extremely mortifying (yet increasingly favorable) situation might be my chance to fully turn the tide in my direction. It has only taken the last twenty-nine years to get here.
From inside the too-dark bedroom, Rafael’s feet hit the floor.
And just like that, my game plan clicks into place.
A sense of giddy calm settles over me as I slide my feet back into the pumps, smooth down my dress, and toss my hair over my shoulder.
I wait outside his bedroom door.
First, a low groan. Then footsteps thudding against the wood floor.
A jolt of adrenaline kicks in.
A tiny part of me second-guesses confronting him when I’m the one missing details from last night.
But no.
I’m in control.
I think of the Evie Pope on the cover ofPublicity Today—sharp, confident, on the precipice of having it all … if not for the man with the challenging gazes and taunting smirks waking up in the other room. How many times have I worked my ass off only to have him swoop in and win accounts by simplybeing? Too many. He once turned a ten-minute coffee chat with a client into a six-figure retainer—afterI’d spent a month building a pitch deck. Then there was the DeLuca campaign, for which I build an entire strategy from scratch. He cracked one joke about charcuterie boards, and suddenly he was the client’s first choice for lead on the project.
And there’s the Art Betton account. Which I refuse to think about, because I’m not giving Rafael the satisfaction of seeing me unhinged. Not today, at least.
