Manaconda 2: The Second Coming(13)
I nodded and made quick notes with my stylus. “How about Courtney?”
Carter nodded. “Yeah, she’d work. I’ll contact her.”
“No, that’s okay, I’ll email her.”
“Cool. That gives me time to take care of your email. It blew up again. Seriously, can we go get Hunter back—”
“No.”
“But he was so good for business.”
“No.”
“And Felicity didn’t get a chance to meet him. Just one charity dinner or something?”
I didn’t bother looking up from my iPad. I knew not to give Carter any sort of tidbit of attention on this subject. Then came the inquisition.
All I wanted to do was forget it ever happened. It was bad enough that I had to go talk to Lila and Indie today. I’d been able to dodge most of the requests for a meeting, but I didn’t want to look unprofessional.
Especially since Ripper Records had given me a good leg up with my business. Donovan Lewis wasn’t a man you wanted to go up against. He wasn’t the type to blacklist, but he did the next best thing—not mention your name anywhere.
Oh, he gave a polite response when asked directly. I’d seen it happen with agents and executives from smaller businesses looking for help from Donovan Lewis Global. Burning a bridge with Donovan wasn’t a good business practice. At all.
Donovan didn’t need to badmouth anyone. His silence said so much more. So, I was going to that dinner meeting. No matter how much I didn’t want to.
I stood up from my dining room table. Carter and I used it as for meetings more often than not. It just wasn’t worth keeping an office for what we did. Everything was mobile.
“All right, you can work remotely tonight. Meet up for ten tomorrow?”
“Slave driver.” Carter smoothed down his blue tie with a faint plaid design. It should have clashed with his chartreuse dress shirt, but it didn’t. Because he was Carter.
“Yeah, that’s me. You get to sleep and everything.”
“Unlike you.”
“Carter.”
“Look, I appreciate the whole tough upper lip thing, but maybe if you just—”
“Not open for discussion.”
“You’re miserable.”
“Have I made your life hell?”
“No, but you don’t want to go drink at the wine bar anymore, you turn down every invitation to our house, you haven’t even made fun of my ties this week.”
“Your ties are glorious.”
“I know they are, but you hate plaid. I’ve worn plaid three days in a row.”
“I do not hate plaid. I lust after Jensen Ackles like any other red blooded woman—Dean Winchester lives in it.”
“That’s different. Even I’d fuck Dean Winchester.”
“Nice.”
“That dude is an alpha’s alpha with a side of testosterone.”
“Truth.”
“But I wore pink plaid and you said nothing.”
“You did?”
Carter swiped a hand down his face. “You wound me. Like on a soul-deep level.”
I knew what he was doing. And I even appreciated it on some level. But I really didn’t want to talk about Hunter. I wanted to get over him. “I’m going to be fine.”
“I know you will be, but you don’t have to be. You’re being stubborn.”
“No, I’m being smart.”
Carter pulled me up out of my chair and into his arms. “Scared.”
The familiar tang of licorice and spicy Dior cologne he always wore seeped into my brain. My eyes burned. “Smart,” I whispered. I laid my cheek against his shoulder. Just for a second. That’s all I needed. Then I could go and work like I was supposed to.
Because that’s what strong, independent women did. They didn’t cry over rock stars. They got their shit taken care of.
I sniffed. “Where do I have to meet Bethany?”
“At her new digs in West Hollywood.”
“What the hell? Why West Hollywood?”
“She likes to think she’s trendy?”
I hid a smile. “Text—”
“Already in your phone.”
“Bless you.”
Carter packed up his electronics in his messenger bag and slung it over his neck and across his body. “Want me here tomorrow?”
“Yes, probably.”
“Ok. I’ll see you then. Have fun with Babbles.”
“Goodbye, Carter.”
He walked to the door, pausing at the threshold. “What? You know you call her that in your head.”
“No, I do not.” Only because I was terribly afraid I’d actually slip and call her that to her face. I played with my shirttail. “Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”