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“Wow. Someone’s depressed today,” Randy said, elbowing her softly in the upper arm. “If you want to talk today, let me know. I know transitioning in this city can be rough as fuck.”
“Tell me about it,” Charlotte murmured, feeling the heaviness of the past week shift on her shoulders. “I feel like I just want to sleep for the next three weeks.”
“They call it the city that never sleeps for a reason,” Randy said.
Charlotte worked swiftly throughout the morning, actually getting a bit of writing done, due to the fact that she wasn’t distracted by the intensity of Quentin’s presence. But still, she kept her eyes to the hallway, hunting for his return. Should she approach him, demanding why he’d toyed with her? She imagined this other reality, in which she was a strong, outrageous woman, blaring words of regret and anger at her boss.
Ha. She was nothing but a meek mouse.
Sometime after lunch, she inched from her seat, glancing around the intern office. Pamela had yanked her red curls into a ponytail, finding solace in her tomboy nature. She scribbled roughly across a notebook, intent on “beating” Charlotte in the idea realm, whenever they eventually had the writer’s meeting.
Charlotte left and wandered down the hall, catching sight of Quentin’s office, which was still empty. Maggie was positioned outside of it, magazine spreads splayed out in front of her, her eyes dancing across the images. Charlotte approached her quietly, standing like a ghost.
Finally, Maggie flinched, realizing someone was beside her. She blinked wildly, trying to make sense of Charlotte’s face. “Shit,” she murmured, snapping the magazine pages closed. “You could have said something.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Charlotte said. She gestured toward Quentin’s office, trying to sound strong. “Where is the editor today?”
Maggie glanced toward the empty room, her face aghast. “He’s just stepped out for a meeting,” she said, her voice uncertain and wavering.
“But he hasn’t been here all day,” Charlotte stammered.
“He has,” Maggie said. “I had a lunch meeting with him.”
“Where did you go?” Charlotte challenged.
“That’s not your business,” Maggie began, before hesitating. “I mean, we went to the Trojan Horse. Up the road. Delicious Greek salad.”
“Huh.” Charlotte didn’t know whether or not to believe Maggie. Perhaps Quentin had already told Maggie that he’d been sleeping with Charlotte, and that Charlotte was to be let go soon. But why would they allow her to be on the premises, in the first place? Her eyes flashed. “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Not really,” Maggie said. “He tends to take a while with these big clients. They like to wine and dine, all that.”
“It’s only two in the afternoon,” Charlotte offered, arguing once more.
“Well. You know the rock star life,” Maggie insisted, turning away from Charlotte. The tension between them grew. “Anyway, I have to get back to this. Please, head back to your desk.”
Charlotte tossed her long brunette curls and trudged back to her intern office, angry. If she was about to be fired, she wished someone would just tell her. If she was going to be ignored for the next several months, as intern of a man she could have loved, she wished someone would just tell her.
If she was going to go up in flames; if the love she’d begun to harbor was about to collapse around her, then she damn well wanted to know.
Ultimately, she didn’t have a good feeling.
Returning to her desk, Randy leaned toward her, whispering into her ear, “Hey. Drinks tonight? I can tell you need some TLC.”
Charlotte nodded slowly, robotically, taking solace in this stranger. “I would kill for about three bottles of wine right now,” she murmured.
“That’s the spirit,” Randy said back.
18
Quentin continued to shove meetings back, telling Maggie he wouldn’t be in the office till at least the following day. Her insistent text messages, all declaring, “WE PRINT IN A WEEK, YOU IDIOT!” went ignored. He was tucked away in Morgan’s hospital room, nibbling at kid cereal and watching modern-day cartoons, which were, in his opinion, complete drivel. But Morgan seemed to dig them.
Kate came in and out, knowing that Morgan was most comfortable with just her father. She brought teddy bears and other toys, along with a card signed by all the members in Morgan’s class, including her arch-nemesis, the other pianist, Monica.
“Ugh. She’s happy I’m not there,” Morgan said, tossing the card to the side.
Quentin couldn’t handle it. He laughed outrageously, overblown with emotions. His daughter was going to be safe. And best of all, her spunk was electric.
“The hospital food sucks,” Morgan said, when they finally allowed her to eat dinner, late that night. “I want macaroni and cheese. I would KILL for it!”
“Ha. Don’t say kill,” Quentin said, chuckling. He lifted his phone, eyeing the sad-looking toast on her plate. “Do you think they’ll kick me out if I order you macaroni and cheese?”
