Page 2 of Dead Set on You
“Ah, yes,” I managed, voice too high-pitched. “Evie Pope.”
I prayed for a quick death.
“Rafael Vela, but most people call me Raf.” His grin stretched and curved, and—oh Mamma Mia—a dimple said hello as his hand reached for mine, engulfed it, warmed it, made me fixate on it.
“Hi, Raf,” I said, still gripping his hand and knowing very much I needed to let go. My social skills were playing a game of hide-and-seek, and someone needed to find them.
Release!I commanded my fingers to disengage from his, to allow the blood to recirculate before I killed him, before I even had a chance to know who he was, what he did, and did he do it well?
Face flushing, I dropped my hand from his with an abrupt jerk, only to send my bag tumbling to the ground, half of its contents clattering and sliding across the marble floor.
And that’s all I needed to snap out of it.
The cold must have iced my brain, because I wasfailingon the most important day of my life, and I couldn’t afford failure. I’d be kicked out of my basement apartment if I failed. I’d have to continue working double shifts at Pauline’s. I’d have to …
Nope. I needed to get my shit together.
Shaking off my fantasy-adjacent stupor, I sank to the ground, mumbling an apology as I reached forJane Eyre, which had slid up against Raf’s shoe.
He crouched beside me. “It happens all the time,” Rafael said, picking up the book—part of bucket list item #16 (read the classics)—and handing it to me.
“People making fools of themselves?” I asked, taking the book, careful to keep our fingers from touching again and making me stupid. I tried not to dwell on his nearness or his scent as I stuffed the book into the bag, atop my boots, not bothering to organize things.
“Yep. Special magnets in the floor. To get shit to fall and break the proverbial ice.” He knocked on the marble floor, face serious.
Oh God.He was attractiveandfunny. I was possibly in trouble.
“Hmmm. I’m afraid I only came prepared for icebreaker questions.” I kept my features serious too. “My dream superpower. Most petrifying memory. That kind of stuff.”
His lips twitched as he held outAnna Karenina. “We have that too. A list of a hundred icebreaker questions we go through, right after the tour.”
“I didn’t know about a tour.” I tried to recall the numerous emails I’d received, printed, and highlighted to ensure I hadn’t missed a detail.
“Standard first-day procedure. Tour. Meet and greets. Soul-baring icebreakers,” Rafael added, reaching for my planner. It was open to this week’s spread: color coded, overly ambitious, and ripe for the reading. I snatched it before he could get a closer look and shoved it into the bag.
“Carl’s out today on account of the storm,” he continued, unfazed. “So the role of tour guide falls to me. I apologize in advance for not knowing nearly as much as Carl about the history of the building or its intricate plumbing system. I’ve only been here six months, but I promise—cross my heart and hope to die—that I’ll try my best to make it bearable.”
I blinked, unsure I’d heard him correctly—the part about being a recent employee and the part about … “Cross your heart?”
“I have nieces. You get sworn to secrecy. Often. May as well call me Homeland Security.” Rafael winked conspiratorially.“Some drawbacks, though. The nail polish. That shit doesn’t come off.” He waggled long, tanned fingers, and while my lady bits urged me to fixate on the veins snaking up along his arms and disappearing beneath his shirt sleeve, I forced my eyes to the purple sparkles glimmering on his neatly trimmed nails. “Comes with the territory.”
“World’s best uncle?” I hoisted the tote onto my shoulder, and we stood at the same time, his back to Liv the Assistant, who scanned Rafael’s backside like a Instagram feed.
“World’sonlyuncle,” he offered, those hands reaching toward me.
My breath hitched, stuttered, and came to a full halt.
“May I?” Rafael gestured to the bag.
I stalled long enough to mentally shake myself, ready to say no, to tell him that I had it. But the mental shake shook out another thought—a new, shiny, impossible thought. What Evie did I want to be at Media Lab (if I didn’t get fired)? The Evie who made lists and plans and tried to keep life as controlled as possible because there was always another shoe that would drop?
Or Evie 2.0? Who was going to live a little. Who was going to make friends. And maybe, possibly, open up and accept help without thinking it was going to bite her in the ass.
“Yeah, sure, that would be great,” I finally said, allowing myself to smile as I let him take the bag.
Rafael lifted it onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. And maybe it was my imagination, but something about handing him the bag made me feel a little lighter on the inside too. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe—just maybe—my fate was changing.
I added ten new items to my bucket list that night.
