Page 7 of Dead Set on You
Anxiety sweeps through me like a wave, and I check it immediately. “I get that rules have never been your thing, but we can’t lose the account,” I say—to him, to myself.
“It’s all going to work out,” he says with so much Vela-brand certainty, it makes my fingers curl into the tablecloth. Ofcoursehe thinks it’ll work out. For him.
I swallow past the burn in my throat. “Try taking this seriously for once,” I hiss. “Because we can’t lose this one. I worked too hard.”
I aim for stern, but the tequila ruins it. Too many of my emotions bleed through those few words, and it takes too long to mask them.
Rafael’s gaze softens—another one of his tactics—and when his fingers twitch, they brush mine, heat singing through me. “I wasn’t going to—”
I jerk my hand away.
“I don’t need excuses, Rafael. I need you to do what we came here to do,” I say hotly.
Before he can attempt to Vela his way through this, Cyril appears in my periphery. I push away from the table, breathing through my nose, ignoring Rafael’s phantom touch on my skin.
I rub my hand against my leg, keeping my focus on Cyril, who doesn’t take his seat.
“I apologize, but I have a family emergency. My car is already waiting,” he says.
As one, Rafael and I stand.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, my stomach knotting.
“Merci, Evie,” Cyril says, buttoning his suit jacket. “Before I go, I want to share that you are very good as a team. I know it took many months of work to get to know OhLaLove and what we’re aiming to do, and your preparation and pitch were verycompelling.” The dip in his voice hints at an incomingbut, the kind that sidetracks careers, and I have the insane urge to slap my hand over his mouth and keep him from speaking it into existence.
Instead, I curl my hand into a fist and donotlook at Rafael. If I do, I will break.
“Which is why I look forward to seeing what’s next, working with Media Lab,” Cyril adds. I blink in shock. Cyril smiles. “I’ll have my team coordinate next steps in the morning, and we’ll see where this goes. Who doesn’t want to help people fall in love?”
Rafael chuckles. I suck in a surprised breath.
OhLaLove is mine. Ours.
Relief should crash over me, but all I feel isnot that. Because Rafael did this his way. Not mine. Not the way we planned it from start to finish. And of course—of course—it worked.
Goodbyes are a blur.
By the time Cyril is gone and the bill is settled, my blood is boiling, my ire no longer containable.
Steps outside the restaurant, I spin on Rafael, finger wagging in his direction. “You couldn’t turn it off foronesingle night, could you? Couldn’t follow a plan?”
He flinches in surprise. “Evie, we won.” He says it like that’s supposed to fix everything—him bromancing it with Cyril and completely ignoring the carefully laid out plan I emailed him no less than ten times. Well, not completely. He followed it long enough to trick me.
“Oh,wewon?” I repeat, voice pitching with barely restrained anger.
“Why are you upset?” He tilts his head, eyebrows pulling together.
Ohmygod—why am I upset?
I bark out a harsh laugh and look up at the sky, needing somewhere to direct my fury other than at his stupidly symmetrical face. The tequila makes me dizzy. “You think this was only about winning?”
“I mean … yeah?” His confusion deepens. “That’s our job.”
“To be Rafael Vela!” I throw my hands in the air. “Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Do you ever follow through on plans—ones that are agreed upon? Or even attempt to keep your word?”
Rafael brows furrow. “Help me out here, E. We won. That was the goal. Sometimes plans are shit and you have to pivot.” He shakes his head. “Cyril didn’t want to discuss the account tonight. Didn’t you see that?”
“Oh, did you find that out on some secret golf outing? Or was it a weekend tennis match?” My chest heaves with the effort of keeping it together. “Typical Rafael.”
