“Oliver—”
“Did I interrupt something?” Matt asks, glancing back and forth between us, the picture of fake concern.
I force a smile. “We were just talking about Oliver potentially starting his own foundation.”
“Right,” Oliver says, clearing his throat. He shifts behind Matt, moving toward the door. “We can pick it back up later.”
Oliver stops in the door frame, rolls his eyes, and winks. Matt can’t see it, but it’s all I need to know that he isn’t upset with me.
And then he’s gone, and I hate watching him leave. And I really hate being stuck for lunch with Matt.
Matt drops into Oliver’s empty seat like nothing happened and starts pulling lunch out of the bag. “There you go,” he says, handing me a wrappedsandwich. “BLT—heavy on the B, light on everything else.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. I take a bite of the sandwich. Damn it, it’s good. I hate that it’s good.
“So,” Matt says, laying out his lunch like it’s some romantic picnic for one, “for the gala, I’m thinking we bring the whole documentary crew in. Full set up. Multiple camera angles. Interviews. The works.”
I fold my hands, forcing a polite smile. “This event is for charity, Matt. There’s already going to be media coverage. You can bring a few of your people, but we don’t need to turn it into a full circus.”
Matt waves that off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Come on, Addison.Elevate.Remember that Christmas party we worked on when you were still at Peabody?”
I blink slowly. “Yeah,” I say, biting back the memory. “I remember it.”
“That night was amazing. Everyone talked about how incredible that party was. And you and me—we managed all of it, like a real power couple.”
I tighten my grip on my drink, willing myself to keep my mouth shut. I’m not sure we remember the same event. What I remember is our CEO pulling me aside to compliment the event, and then Matt sulking for a week, snapping at me anytime he could that I’d made him look small. He said I was starved for attention and not a team player.
“I guess I remember that party differently,” I say, coolly.
He shrugs, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about and doesn’t give a shit. “I guess I choose to remember the good times.”
Of course he does, because he’s the one who benefitted from them.
What good times?
Maybe those moments of love bombing seemed great at the time. Maybe they seemed like the “good times.” But now? Now I realize times werenevergood.
I push my sandwich away, my appetite suddenly gone.
“Fine,” he says. His jaw ticks, but he covers it with a smug grin. “We can do it your way.”
That was too easy. He’s up to something.
“Good,” I say, standing up to make it clear this meeting is over. “Makes sense, considering I’m the one who actually works here. You’re just… what was it? Happy to assist?”
And that does it. I see the slight twitch of his smile, the way his fingers flex on this drink. He doesn’t say anything, just stands up, and lets out a chuckle that doesn’t even reach his eyes.
“I just want to help you, Addison,” he says smoothly. “But… whateveryouthink is best.”
I nod and open my file cabinet. I pretend to look for something, just to make it clear that I have other things to do. He heads out of my office with a smug little nod and disappears down the hall.
I know exactly what he’s up to.
He’s waiting to watch me fail.
37
set piece
