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Not wanting to wake Morgan, she texted him from out front. He opened the door, revealing his sultry, muscled self, with just boxers and no shirt, his feet bare and large, flashing on the hardwood floor. He stared into her eyes, seeming to say a million things with one look.
Finally, Charlotte spoke.
“Are you sure we aren’t going to ruin everything?” she whispered. “I feel like this is our last opportunity to abort mission.”
Quentin tilted his head, almost incredulous. “I don’t want to jump off this ship. Not even if it’s sinking,” he said gruffly. “And it isn’t.”
Charlotte nodded slowly, taking a slight step forward. She felt his hands grip her waist and bring her closer to him. The heat of his groin rose up on her leg, and her pussy gave a heartbeat, a recognition, parting its peachy lips and preparing to feel whole, to be stretched, to be filled.
“Come in here, baby,” Quentin whispered, between soft kisses. “Come sleep with me. I’ll take away all your worries. You don’t need to live with them anymore.”
And somehow, Charlotte believed him, allowing herself to devolve into many layers of emotion and lust, stripping herself bare for him and diving between his sheets, becoming his angelic form, his gorgeous intern, the girl who was risking everything to be with him.
She hoped their delicate balance would never falter.
25
“That interview,” Randy said the following Wednesday morning, hours before Charlotte was meant to leave to meet with Keith from Thick Soled. “That’s soon?”
They were standing at the coffee machine, with Charlotte clinging to her steaming cup and Randy filling his, watching as the dirt-brown trickle came from the tiny slot.
“Today,” Charlotte affirmed. “I’ve been working on the questions literally non-stop.”
“I can tell something’s on your mind,” Randy said, touching his temple. “Can feel the nerves coming off you. You’re all jittery.”
“Ha. I know,” Charlotte said, her voice soft. “I’m an anxious wreck. But once this is over, I can start writing the damn thing. If it’s just me and a computer, then it’s not as intimidating.”
“Ha. You sound like an artist, with some paint and a canvas,” Randy said, teasing her. He lifted his coffee mug and pattered toward the hallway, with Charlotte following like an injured dog. The secret was beginning to eat at her, nibbling at the edge of her heart and causing her shoulders to slump. Her only friends in New York City were a few of her intern friends, along with Randy. And she couldn’t divulge the secret of her love life without destroying her relationship with them.
She felt poisonous.
“Anyway, nobody deserves this like you do,” Randy said, assuring her. “And you’re completely personable. I would open up to you, at least.”
“Ha,” Charlotte said, laughing. “You don’t need much to open up to anyone. You just spew it out, like a drunk girl. Which is something I appreciate, by the way.”
“Good. Because I’ll keep telling you all the horrible stories about my ex-boyfriend until I get you to open up about your love life. I know you’re fucking. I can see it on your skin.”
“People keep telling me my skin looks good,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. “It makes me think my skin didn’t look good before.”
“Before what? Before you met Mr. Right?” Randy asked, teasing.
“No. I mean. No,” Charlotte said, tossing herself into her desk. She gave him a secretive smile, wanting to keep the silliness up. “Now, no more questions. I have to focus.”
“Whatever. Just don’t get married without telling me,” Randy said, joining her. He began to type furiously on his screen, diving from line to line on his notes for the feature he was pitching at the next writers’ meeting.
Charlotte knew it wouldn’t get picked up. It was too imprecise, too last year. Perhaps, when she found time the following day, she could help him stretch it out a bit. She’d become his editor, fueling him as far as she could in the industry. Even if he didn’t have the skills, she wanted him by her side. Their friendship was beginning to mean something, even outside the office.
Charlotte met Quentin outside his office at two that afternoon, armed with a notebook, three pens, and a recorder, which she planned to use during the interview. She grimaced in panic as he joined her, looking cool, suave, unfettered.
“Somebody looks anxious,” he said.
“Let’s just not talk about it,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.
Around them, the other editors and writers gave them sideways glances. Since Maggie’s “chat” with Charlotte the previous week, she’d kept a wide berth, perhaps assuming that Charlotte would go straight to Quentin if she tried to “put her in her place” again. Charlotte was clearly gaining power with Quentin. This much was obvious to anyone.
“Ready?” he asked.
They entered the elevator together, standing at least two feet apart. The air around them sizzled, with Charlotte’s fingers twitching expectantly. The moment the gray doors closed, she felt Quentin’s hand on her ass, swirling her into him. She kissed him languidly, with wet lips, closing her eyes. Her body went lax with longing. His lips parted hers, darting his tongue within her mouth and causing a wayward moan to draw up from her throat.
