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“It’s whenever you schedule it,” Quentin said.
“But they’re friends with you,” Charlotte said pointedly.
“I’ll come with you, if you want,” Quentin said. “But I won’t say anything except hello, goodbye, refill our drinks. I’m there with the money. Nothing else.”
Charlotte’s chest tightened. Silence stretched between them, but it was not unkind or weighted with any kind of disdain.
“I think I’m just nervous.”
“That’s natural.” He swept his chair out from beneath his desk and patted his lap, drawing her closer to him. She slipped off her shoes and straddled him, drawing her crotch close to his bulging one. She kissed the tip of his nose tenderly, her heart bursting with lust in seeming fireworks against her ribcage.
“I’ll see you tonight?” she breathed.
“Only if you set up this damn interview,” Quentin said, squeezing her ass playfully.
“Fine,” Charlotte said, sounding half-whiny, but knowing, inwardly, it was time for her to step up her professional game.
Returning to her desk, she typed up a careful email to Keith, the lead singer of Thick Soled, conscious that asking him to do a second interview for a magazine was a big thing—one that robbed him of time he thought he’d already given.
Keith,
Hey, there. My name’s Charlotte Barracks, and I’m taking the lead on our Thick Soled feature, ultimately angling it toward our more nostalgic audience, given that you clearly take great stock in old indie and grunge. For this purpose, I’d love the chance to interview you next week, at a time that’s convenient for you. Quentin says he’s got the drinks, as long as you show.
All the best,
C”
Confident, Charlotte shot the email across the Internet and then leaped from her seat, confidence sizzling through her. Randy gave her a confused roll of his eyes, becoming more accustomed to Charlotte’s quirks.
“Girl, you’re nuts,” he murmured, tossing his head. “If you weren’t so damn good at this, and so hilarious, I’d move over by Pamela.”
Pamela shot her eyes toward them both like daggers, anger causing her lips to part. She’d been a fanatic since Charlotte had been fired and rehired, slicing into the coffee line in front of Charlotte and even mocking her proposals at the writers’ meeting. For the record, Randy and the others had shot back at Pamela, telling her that Charlotte’s ideas were grand and forward-thinking, unlike Pamela’s tired, oft-done features. It seemed the writers were taking sides, standing aligned with Charlotte, confident that she was their champion intern.
Charlotte didn’t know what she would do if they ever found out about her and Quentin.
“Shhh,” Charlotte breathed, hushing Randy. “Don’t tempt her.”
Keith emailed back just before Charlotte left for the day, setting up an interview for the following Wednesday afternoon. This meant that the article wouldn’t be ready till the release of the magazine a few weeks from then, which would require some reconfiguring of the writing schedule. Quentin affirmed that this was “no big deal” and often happened, emailing Maggie with the change of schedule. “Charlotte’s taking the lead on the Thick Soled piece, meaning we’ll need to give her adequate time to prepare. I think we’ll move up the piece about the Atlanta music scene. Brent’s writing is always smooth.”
Of course, the moment Maggie understood that Charlotte was taking on a feature, alone, she appeared at her desk, without so much as an email notice, and demanded Charlotte come to her office immediately. Charlotte rose, again feeling the aching eyes of the interns on her back, recognizing that, somehow, she was in trouble. She felt the warning signs, saw the bright lights. “Turn back,” her muscles screamed.
Maggie opened the door to her small, closet-sized office, which she hardly used and certainly never invited anyone into—except, apparently, when she was firing them. She pressed her lips tightly together, looking like a strange, turtle-like creature, her anger pulsing out from every orifice.
“Quentin’s informed me that you’re taking your first lead,” she said, her voice curt.
“I am,” Charlotte said, not sitting.
“Please. Have a seat,” Maggie said, gesturing.
“I’d rather stand.”
“Right. Well. I wanted to… give you your due congratulations, for the feature. It is a marvelous idea, and it seems you’ll take it where it needs to go. But I wanted to give you advice.”
Charlotte’s toes curled in her shoes, feeling suddenly trapped. Her inhales came sparingly, making her dizzy.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“Well, first of all, darling, I know just how you feel about Quentin,” Maggie said, her eyes flashing. “I can see it in every crevice of your body. You’re attracted to him, and you’re not the first one. No.”
Charlotte’s lips parted, suddenly. She throttled with panic.
“But that’s not to say he’ll take to you, Charlotte. I know you’re a gorgeous girl. Everyone can see it. But he’s already fired you once, remember. I had to fight, tooth and nail, to get you back on the payroll.”
