Page 6 of Dead Set on You
“I doubt they have it here, but they have good options,” Rafael says, summoning the server with a wave and ignoring me completely.
“Rafael.” I almost grind my teeth into a powder saying his name.
“Evie.” There’s a dare in his tone, and it makes me resent Cyril’s presence, because it’s the only thing keeping my mouth shut.
I watch in disbelief as Rafael orders tequila shots as if the last hour and a half never happened. As if he’s not about to shatter the last thread holding my nerves together—and our boss’s very explicit two-drink rule.
By the time tequila arrives and Cyril slides a glass in front of me, I’m doing breathing acrobatics to “Mamma Mia” as I stare down at the golden liquid, feeling uneasy, nauseous, and on the verge of a first-degree felony.
Of course this was his plan all along.Wait for me to let my guard down, then take one reckless, salt-rimmed swing at the entire evening. Because he knows this about me. He knows exactly what tequila does to my system, my pulse, my control. Knows it short-circuits my focus—and that I’ll spiral before I ever take a sip.
“Evie doesn’t drink tequila,” Rafael says, and my head snaps toward him. I don’t know if it’s another trick or his version ofKeep your enemies close—and memorize their weaknesses.
“It’s not my favorite,” I say tightly, glaring at my nemesis.
Cyril chuckles. “Oh, non, Evie. Life is simply too short for you not to enjoy it a little.”Winning his business is what’s going to help me enjoy life a little.
Rafael holds my gaze, the dare ever present. His plan clear as day.
I bet he thinks I’ll bail, so he can be the “fun” one who charms the client, wins the account, and takes the victory to Media Lab.
Beside him, Cyril watches me with curious amusement. Their energy presses an internal button I can’t deactivate. I wrap my hand around the shot glass and down it in one gulp.
The liquor burns a path down my throat, and I fight a coughing fit as it settles low in my belly.
Cyril chuckles, but Rafael doesn’t join. I flash Rafael a tight smile—the kind that saysNice try.
And it unravels from there.
Two shots in and a third on the table, I’m feeling warm, watery, and struggling to remember my checklist. There’s something on it about keeping Rafael in check, but I’m barely keeping myself in check.
My fury spikes, even through the tequila haze. He’s throwing me off my game, ignoring the plan, and I need to take control before Rafael sabotages the account and my promotion.
I clear my throat, squaring my shoulders.
Rafael catches my gaze and shakes his head.Not yet.
My returning glare tells him to shove it.
“Cyril—” I start.
“Maybe we get some dessert?” Rafael cuts in.
“Or maybe we—”
“Get another bottle?”
Cyril looks between the two of us, his lips parted. But then his phone buzzes.
“I have to get this,” he says, his accent more pronounced. “Désolé.”
“Go ahead,” I say, biding my time as he stands and moves out of earshot. Then I pounce. “Are you insane?” I hiss, leaning across the table.
Rafael leans in too. “Insanity is relative, E.”
I swallow a low growl, hating his light tone and the casual nickname.
“You’re going to screw this up.” Anger clips my words. I can’t even fathom the idea of Rafael ruining our chances now. All those months. All that work. All the plans I’ve put on hold.
