Chapter 26

Charlotte snuck from Quentin’s bed early the next morning, kissing his soft, warm lips before slipping back into her apartment and scrubbing herself clean. Clamping her eyes closed, the image of Pamela, staring at her, stampeded through her brain. She couldn’t have imagined it.

“Damn,” she whispered, her voice raspy and echoing in the shower. Just when Quentin had told her he was falling in love with her. Just when everything seemed to be falling into place.

“What the fuck was Pamela even doing at that party, anyway?” she murmured to herself, toweling off. Pamela had seemed like a snooty nerd, perhaps ultimately writing the classical music or jazz beat, rather than the chic rock and grunge beats.

Although she’d plotted to arrive at the office a bit before everyone else—hoping to get ahead of the rumor mill—she realized, halfway down the street, that she’d forgotten her notebook and recorder, both with information she required to write the feature. She raced back, removing her black heels and feeling the gritty sidewalk beneath her feet. Mid-internal cursing, she gave Angus a hearty wave, then pushed up to her apartment, already recognizing the harried nature of the day.

It wasn’t going to get any easier.

Charlotte arrived at work about five minutes after she was meant to, finding that the interns were bent intently over their computers. Charlotte tried to dart to her computer, unnoticed, but soon found that, one-by-one, each of the interns turned their eyes toward her. Each eyeball seemed to burn red with anger, with envy.

“There she is,” Pamela said, her voice saucy. “The woman of the hour.”

Charlotte pressed her lips together, her heart hammering in her chest. She tucked toward her desk, only to find that the chair had been removed. She waved a firm palm toward Randy, who kept his headphones in his ears. A heaviness fell upon her shoulders. The entire crew was ignoring her. Even her friend.

“Randy, hey,” she whispered, her voice hesitant, weak. She nudged him slightly, watching as he slipped a single earbud from his ears. “Randy, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh. It’s not?” Randy asked her, sounding sarcastic. “Because I don’t know how it could be anything else.”

“Can you just let me explain?” Charlotte murmured. “Please? Don’t you owe me that?”

“Charlotte, I barely know you,” Randy snapped, stabbing his earbud back in his ear.

“None of us do,” Pamela said, smirking from the side. “You really put on a good face, though, didn’t you? There for a while, of course. Nothing lasts. Especially not that little relationship you think you have.”

Charlotte’s nostrils flared.

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” she began, unsure of where she was leading. Pamela had, of course, seen precisely what she thought she did. She’d seen an intern making out with the editor-in-chief of their magazine. She’d seen privilege. She’d seen a liar.

“Oh, honey. Don’t even try,” Pamela said. “The only thing I’m really worried about is what Maggie’s going to say when I send this email.”

“Please. Don’t,” Charlotte whispered, her voice rough.

“Oh, I’m not going to yet,” Pamela said. “I want to watch you suffer in shame for a few days before it all falls apart. I want to see you cower in this room, crying, even. I want to make sure you feel like the piece of shit you are, and then I want to turn you in. I’m sure you know all about the non-fraternization policy. And if you don’t, I’m sure Maggie will fill you in.”

Several of the interns shifted uncomfortably, jittery with Pamela’s spat-out words and clear anger.

“Guys, is it really that big of a deal?” Charlotte murmured, trying to find someone, anyone, to hold her up. “If you’d just let me tell you how it all happened, I think you’d understand.”

But the writers returned to their computers, beginning to type furiously. She was a tumor, a rat, something best avoided, best not discussed. She collapsed at the side wall, leaning heavily against the white-wash, and opening her computer. Slipping her headphones on, she dove into a raucous world of 2000s grunge music, trying to get in the right headspace to write the feature.

But it soon seemed impossible. Her mind raced. She understood that the world was crumbling around her.

Angered, she stood and burst from the room, stomping toward Quentin’s office. She entered without knocking, watching as his downcast eyes turned to hers lovingly, saying all the things she wanted them to say. In response, she slammed the door and began to gasp with hysterics.

Quentin burst from his desk chair, reaching her quickly and wrapping his arms around her thin, bird-like shoulders. He shot his palm down to the small of her back, trying to hold onto her, stop her shaking.

“What is it?” he asked her tenderly. “You can talk to me. Something’s been up since last night…”

Charlotte’s tears blurred her eyes. Swallowing sharply, she finally found words. “Quentin, it’s been such a wonderful time, getting to know you. But Pamela—she saw us last night. She saw us kissing. And now, she’s going to hold it over my head for a few days, and then she’s going to tell Maggie.”

Quentin huffed, slipping his fingers through his dark hair. “Fuck.”

“I know,” Charlotte murmured, her head spinning. “I should probably just leave. Maybe Pamela won’t have a vendetta against you and spare you. This can’t get to the owners.”

“How about you let me worry about Pamela and the owners?” Quentin said firmly, pressing his lips together. “In the meantime, you have a job to do.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte whispered.

“You have to write your feature. More than ever, now, you have to focus on it. It has to be the best fucking thing you’ve ever written. You need to show these assholes how good you are. That this magazine doesn’t even deserve how good you are.” He smacked his fist against his other palm, giving her a fiery look. “And you can leave. Go home. Do it there, or anywhere. This is a poisonous place for you right now, and I blame myself for that.”

Quentin took a dramatic step forward and placed his palms on either side of her cheeks, his breath hot. “I’ll see you when you’re done,” he whispered simply.

Charlotte nodded, biting her bottom lip. With a dramatic motion, she swept from the office and went to gather her things, listening as several of the interns muttered things under their breath at her. “Sell out.” “Slut.” “Groupie.”

At the doorway, she turned quickly toward Randy, who was still bent over his computer. His eyes flickered toward her for the first time since the morning. They were heavy with disappointment. Charlotte’s lips parted, yearning to state another apology, anything to link them together. But she felt the moment slip away.