Page 8 of Dead Set on You
He rolls his shoulders, digging his hands into his pockets, and shakes his head. “No—there wasn’t some special outing. I was simplylisteningto him.”
“Like youlistenedto Art Betton?” I snap, hating the mere mention of the last account we collaborated on, nearly three years into my time at Media Lab. We’d planned then too. For almost a year, working side by side, until his knife slid gently into my back and he took the account from me. “God,” I breathe. “I don’t know why I even expected something different this time around.”
The truth slips out, unchecked, because I drank one too many drinks.
“This is nothing like—”
“It’s exactly like before. The same old Raffy Taffy, coming in with his sweet words and stupid smiles, expecting people to simply fall head over heels for you … because you’reyou,” I say, gesturing at all of him. I sound unhinged, but I don’t care. “You hijacked the meeting—tequila and all. Winged it like you always do, and it worked because italwaysworks out for you.”Like it will with the promotion.I don’t say this, but I know it in my core. Cyril will sing his praises to Media Lab. Rafael will get the promotion. And Evie? I’ll get to try harder next time.
“I—that’s not what I was doing.”
I huff out an angry laugh. “Nice try, bucko.” I close the distance between us, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You can’t fool me. I see right through you.”Jab.“And I know every. Single. One. Of. Your. Weaknesses.” A poke for each word.
Rafael has the nerve to lift a brow. “Is that right, E?”
“Every single one.” I drop my finger. “And I’m going to make sure Dana and the other vice presidents know them too before they make a decision for their new director.”
His expression shifts. “You’re assuming they haven’t?”
My heart lurches. “They haven’t,” I say with feigned confidence, swallowing past the lump in my throat. His eyes tell me something that makes my knees weak. That maybe—somehow—they made an early decision and the promotion is his.
I can’t catch my breath.
I retreat a step and then another. I can’t be around him a second longer.
“Actually, they—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. One more step.
“But you don’t even know what I have to say.”
I make a strangled noise that’s part growl, part primal scream. “Have you thought that maybe I don’t give a damn about what you have to say?”
A look some would call hurt flashes in his eyes. Another ridiculous trick.
I can’t look at him another second.
I turn sharply and walk away.
It’s late and humid. My hair’s sticking to the back of my neck, and my heart’s pummeling my rib cage. I dig my phone out from my purse to call an Uber because I want to be far from Rafael.
“Evie!” Rafael calls, his voice following me when he should be going to his apartment—the one in theotherdirection.
“Leave me alone!” I increase my pace, balancing on Jimmy Choo heels.
“Can you stop for a second? I need to tell you something!” As if I’d give him the pleasure of telling me he’s won.
I flip him off, something I’ve never done before. It’s oh-so-liberating it makes me smile.
Whatever else he’s saying is swept up in the cacophony of cars and the city—and doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to make Cyril my new BFF and get that promotion, even if it means learning French and watching every soccer game in the history of soccer (football).
Rafael shouts my name, but I only increase my pace to get away from him. He doesn’t get a chance to fool me again. Never again.
A car horn blares. Someone shouts a warning.
I look up. A bright light blinds me … and it goes dark.
CHAPTER TWOTHE DAY AFTER
