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“I know,” Charlotte said, widening her eyes. “It’s really mine. Fuck! It’s hard to believe. This is literally a dream come true.”
The other interns piped up their heads, looking like rodents coming out of holes, and gave her slight grins.
“It rocks, man,” one guy told her, from the corner.
“That section where you describe their sound? Jesus. You wield adjectives like knives,” another said.
“It’s seriously one of the best pieces MMM has published in years. I’ve been seeing it passed around the Internet already. Impressive.”
Charlotte crossed her fingers over her knees, confidence fueling her. “Thank you,” she said, unable to verbalize how amazing she really felt. “This means a lot. And, guys, please know that I didn’t ever set out to wrong you.” She hesitated, her eyes dancing across theirs. She swallowed sharply, waiting.
“Girl, please,” an intern said from the side. “Pamela would throw us all under the bus if she could. Right, Pam?”
Pam didn’t speak. She lurched from her chair, holding her laptop at her chest. Her cheeks flushing with panic, she shoved from the room, unable to face the team that had righted itself , recovering from the near-fatal blows against Charlotte the week before.
“Pssh. She’ll get over it,” Randy said as they watched her run toward the elevator, all flailing limbs. “She’ll be back to piss us off in no time. I think she’ll make a career out of it.”
Suddenly, a shadow appeared in the doorway of the intern offices, causing a shiver to bolt up and down Charlotte’s spine. Quentin, of all people, had arrived, even after avoiding the intern offices for the past several days. The interns hushed, turning their noses back to the magazine, while Quentin continued his blaring gaze, which seemed to suffocate Charlotte, turning her tight throat inward and closing.
No one spoke for what seemed like a small infinity. For Charlotte, she and Quentin were the only humans alive, their hearts beating as one.
No matter how many times she’d said that she and Quentin didn’t belong together; no matter how many times she’d convinced herself that she and Quentin should end it, for good—she knew, now, she’d been wrong. She stood delicately, like a ballerina, and then gathered her laptop and notebook, walking toward him, as if walking toward a bright light.
Finally, she stood before him, in full view of all the other interns. All secrets were out; their dirty laundry was strewn over the office.
“I was hoping to speak with you about the feature in my office,” he said firmly, his eyes dark. “If you have a moment.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, sounding professional.
They were playing the game again, dancing around one another. And her heart quickened, like a rabbit’s, awaiting either the car to roll over her, squishing her, or missing her entirely, allowing her to escape death.
Charlotte entered the warmth of his office, listening to the click of the door behind them. The tension was high, causing her ears to ring, her fingers to burn with desire to touch him. But instead of reaching for her, ramming her against the desk and pummeling his mighty girth between her legs, he sat across from her, his hands wrapping together, and his eyes straight ahead, solid.
“HI,” he said.
“Hello.”
The clock on the wall continued to tick.
“The article is incredible. I’m sure you’ve already sensed it’s a success, but I wanted you to hear it from me. I know you slaved at it for days. You deserve every bit of acclaim. And none of that acclaim belongs to me, no matter what you may think,” Quentin said.
Charlotte felt her heart warm. A slight smile began to creep across her lips, showing her lust for him. But still, the divide had been drawn between them.
“But we can’t be with each other,” she murmured, cutting to the chase. “I know it’s the wrong thing. It’s unfair to the rest of the employees. It’s unfair to you, and to me.”
Quentin leaned back heavily in his chair, assessing her with smart, dark eyes. She could feel the cranking mechanics of his internal mind, trying to pinpoint precisely what to say.
“I don’t want to say that,” Quentin began.
“But we should say it,” Charlotte whispered, feeling a single tear descend down her cheek.
All her life, she’d been hunting for this height of emotion. But it had come at the wrong time. Lifting her shoulders back, she tried to go on with confidence, to halt her girlish crying. But her insides continued to quake.
The phone blared on the desk. Quentin hesitated before lifting it, holding up a single finger and mouthing, “One minute.”
Speaking to his secretary, Charlotte heard him say, “Who is it, Barbara? Tommy?”
A pause.
“Yes. Sure. Connect me.” He spun his chair around, turning his eyes toward the window. Outside, the clouds were parting to reveal a glimmer of late September sun. In Ohio, they could have snow in mere weeks.
