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They dove into bed with each other, making passionate, end-of-the-world love, with only Charlotte recognizing what had occurred. She humped him wildly from above, her lips parting, and his wide girth filling her, pushing up against the softness of her G-spot. He placed two fingers against the small clit, expounding on her pleasure centers and pushing a long, easy moan from her throat.
This is what she’d given up her career for, she told herself as she fell into a chorus of orgasms. This had to be worth it. This had to be everything.
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.
