Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
Back in a Media Lab conference room, I’m about to make my first pitch meeting since returning to work—a return that took longer than expected thanks to an extended out-of-office. A time during which a lot happened, but to keep things short and sweet—I was promoted.
It happened the Monday after I spent the rest of the weekend holed up in Rafael’s apartment (because I missed it, and admitting that is not a symptom of a terminal fever; extra perk—Gemma couldn’t make surprise visits there).
Upon my return, Dana promoted me, minimal questions asked.
The promotion came with a raise, an office, and ten account managers, including Gemma, who had taken on several of my clients while I was gone.
Today she’s with me in this very important pitch meeting, dressed in a navy jumpsuit that makes her auburn ponytail pop.
She’s on her third cup of coffee while I haven’t even touched mine.
Coffee makes me jittery … and jitters are the last thing I need when there’s a fifty-page presentation and a ten-item checklist I need to get through during this meeting.
If we land this account, it could bring Media Lab a few million dollars over the next five years, possibly more as the business scales. Crucial doesn’t begin to cover what this means for me.
Dressed in pale pink and plum, I’m standing at the head of the massive conference table, a wall-sized TV monitor at my back.
An assortment of fruit and pastries graces the center of the table, water bottles and glasses at each of the six seats around it.
Gemma and her assistant, Finn, sit on one side, while Dana taps furiously at her phone on the other.
Her jet-black hair matches her blazer, and her equally inky nails swipe furiously at her phone.
“You might want to stop chewing those pretty nails, Pope,” she says, not bothering to glance up.
I drop my hand from between my lips, embarrassed I’ve been called out.
Truth is—I’m nervous AF. I’ve been in this conference room countless times, pitching numerous clients, strategizing marketing plans for several accounts, and contemplating Rafael’s downfall.
We spent hours collaborating on accounts and sharing late-night takeout.
After our fallout, we sat across from each other, holding silent staring contests or vying to share the most input.
We’ve been chided for our behavior, and we’ve been celebrated for our successes.
There’s so much history inside the walls of this conference room that it makes me unreasonably emotional.
On top of it, this pitch meeting is the first one after my accident, but it may as well be my first one ever.
My throat’s dry, my hands clammy, and I think I need another layer of deodorant.
Eager for a diversion, I turn my gaze from Dana’s fervent swiping to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
It’s a sunny day, even for late September, and the trees in the park below are changing color.
Through the gaps in the buildings ahead of us, I catch glimpses of the lake.
Not long after we decided we had a lot of lost time to recover, Rafael and I went back to the beach to recheck item #72 off my bucket list—only this time we followed the rules and skinny-dipped.
We spent hours enjoying the lake, and while it was a few degrees above chilly, I’m still partly shocked the water wasn’t boiling by the time we got out.
Heat licks along my neck at the memory, and my thighs clench in response.
“They’re here!” The office assistant’s perky voice snaps my attention to the door.
I instinctively straighten and smooth down my outfit as nerves skate along my back.
I press a cold hand to my cheeks as everyone stands.
Gemma frowns at me, and I mouth I’m okay before she can engage Mama Bear, who is still very much a thing.
I catch Dana’s gaze next, but hers is the opposite of Mama Bear, which, I suppose, is a determined hunter, because it tells me to not screw up or else. I give her and Gemma a thumbs-up.
Nothing to worry about.
Nothing.
Lupe walks in first, her caramel curls bouncing as she struts into the room. Her megawatt smile is hard to resist. Even Dana’s lips quirk in response as she holds her hand out for an intro.
I watch the door, waiting. Rafael strolls in, his eyes finding mine like magnets. The brief gaze makes me grip the edge of the table. “Hi,” he says, grinning. The Dimple makes an appearance.
“Hi,” I respond, my voice a little more strangled than firm. “Welcome back.”
“Yes, welcome back, Rafael.” Dana smiles brightly (and authentically) as she shakes his hand. “It’s nice to see you.” While Dana hasn’t been into men in at least three decades, genuine joy creases her face when Rafael pulls her into a hug.
“You can miss people, Dana. It’s a normal reaction,” he says, his eyes locking with mine, his gaze searing and doing things to me that scream NSFW. I blink away the thoughts.
Dana allows herself to be held for all of two seconds before she pulls away and fixes her hair.
“You rascal,” she chides, sliding back into her seat.
Rafael makes the rounds until he reaches me.
He takes my hand, his touch warm and grounding.
My toes curl. My breath stutters. And my cheeks blaze like I’ve sprinted.
I want to tug him closer—but I don’t because I’m the consummate professional …
and because Gemma and Lupe are the only ones who know there’s an us.
“Can’t wait to see what you have planned for La Clandestina, Ms. Pope,” Rafael says. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist.
My breath catches, goosebumps trailing up my arm. “It won’t disappoint.”
His eyes spark with heat and mischief. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a guarantee,” I say, so breathless it sounds like my words are clipped.
“Please, I thought we were past this,” Dana intones from her seat. “Let’s play nice, Pope. We’re trying to win the account, for hell’s sake.”
Rafael and I exchange knowing glances. “I aim to please,” I respond, my voice sweet and sunny, with just enough edge to tease out Rafael’s smirk.
And because I can’t help myself—and everyone seems temporarily distracted—I swipe my planner off the table. As expected, Rafael reaches down for it. I follow, crouching beside him.
His eyes crash into mine at the same time my lips press against his—soft and fast, but enough to knock the air out of both of us. I feel his surprise in the stillness of his hands, the way his breath catches. And then I pull away.
“Magnets in the floor,” I say with a wink, reaching for my planner.
“Evie.”
“Rafael.”
I straighten, heart pounding.
Item #100: Live a little. Each day.
Check.