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“You are a man of many, many surprises,” she said, knocking the drink back. “Thank god I know you.”
32
Two weeks later, it was the second week of October, and the last day of Charlotte’s first week at Rolling Stone magazine. Hustling from the offices, where she’d slaved over an article about an up-and-coming band reminiscent of Soft Cell, the ‘80s band, she met up with Randy for a quick drink, telling him the complex hierarchy of the editors and writers of Rolling Stone, and how it felt to finally be taken seriously.
“I know you’ll find your niche somewhere,” she told him firmly, over their second cocktail. “You’re a great writer.”
“It just sucks that you left us with Pamela,” Randy said, teasing her. “Because in the end, she’s treacherous to everyone. Her and Maggie have kind of bonded, maybe it’s their joint red hair—who knows—and Maggie’s been pushing to have Pamela write more for the magazine, even though I think she was hired for sales. It’s a whole, dramatic thing. Of course, Quentin’s stopping it in its tracks.” Randy paused, giving her a quizzical look. “How is it going with you guys, anyway?”
Charlotte couldn’t contain her smile. She leaned forward, her heart pushing against her ribcage, as she described her love for Quentin for the first time.
“I have never felt this way before,” she breathed. “Every night his daughter isn’t with him, I go there and we cook dinner and we laugh or we go out and see music and dance…” She trailed off, her skin glowing. “I can’t believe it all worked out. It felt like it never would, there for a bit.”
“Good thing you’re a baller writer,” Randy said, laughing. “Otherwise you’d still be pining for him from the tiny intern office. Let me ask you another question.”
“ Hmm?”
“What was it like to fuck in his office, knowing you could have been found out any second?” His eyes flashed with humor, making Charlotte’s face brim with red embarrassment.
“I’d like to plead the fifth on that one,” she said, giggling. “Now, this is my last drink. I have to run back to Q’s. We’re having a little dinner with his daughter before she goes to a week-long piano camp.”
“A whole week with Mr. Right,” Randy said, teasing her. “Now doesn’t that sound like a dream?”
It did.
Charlotte kissed Randy on the cheek and left a twenty, paying for them both. She dashed toward the street and hailed a cab, slipping evenly into the broken, leather seats and directing him toward her apartment building. Leaning her head heavily back, she gave thanks to the universe for opening to her. For giving her love.
When she reached Quentin’s door, Morgan flung it open and rushed headlong into her legs, wrapping her arms tightly around them. Morgan’s lips were coated with melted chocolate, making her look adorable, if clumsy. Charlotte lifted her into her arms and swiped her finger across her chocolate cheek, inquiring, “How on earth did this happen?”
“She got into her snack drawer before dinner. That’s how,” Quentin called, flipping burgers on a grill on the small balcony, toward the piano room. It was one of the last gorgeous days of the year, when October allowed blue to flood the sky.
“Ah. I see,” Charlotte said. “Guess that means I get her burger!”
“I don’t eat meat, remember?” Morgan said, sounding haughty. “You heathens.”
“It’s a veggie burger for her,” Quentin said, rolling his eyes. “The phase continues.”
Charlotte dropped a bottle of red on the counter and then entered into his firm embrace, reaching up and kissing him. She sucked at his lip for a moment, allowing her eyes to close. Would any feeling be as beautiful as coming home to this?
“How was the last day of the first week?” he asked her then, smacking her ass.
“Oh, wonderful,” Charlotte said, squealing slightly. She cranked open the wine, pouring them two glasses, before joining him on the balcony for good, listening as Morgan began her pounding. She’d begun Beethoven, and the emotions were strikingly different. “We had a big staff meeting at the end of the day. Lots of ideas swirling around. It made my head spin. But it was electrifying.”
“Yeah. We have those every once in a while,” Quentin answered. “I love how it ignites the writers. We should have them more often. Maggie doesn’t think they work. But she’s got a lot of interesting opinions.” He winked at Charlotte, teasing her, now.
The treachery of their affair seemed like years ago now. Their love blossomed each day, with Quentin sending her emails, music links, and even the new song he was working on, which he’d entitled, “She’s Here.”
Charlotte didn’t want to assume it was about her. But she sensed it.
Quentin, Morgan, and Charlotte sat at the dining room table, with two burgers and a veggie burger before them, all three steaming, with blackened marks from the grill. They ate heartily, speaking companionably, with Quentin refilling their glasses of wine with frequency. Charlotte felt her head spinning with a strange mix of inescapable joy and lust for future fucking.
