“I mean, definitely. She’s way cooler than you,” Morgan said with certainty.
“Oh. Well, that hurts,” he said, grinning.
“She’s just younger, Dad. She gets it.”
“What, exactly, does she ‘get’?” Quentin asked.
“I don’t know. Me, I guess,” Morgan said simply.
Quentin held his daughter’s hand as they bounded across the street. Clouds began to coat the sky, growing gray and filling with rain. He stopped briefly and yanked Morgan’s zipper up her torso, closing her coat tightly. “Brrr,” he said. “It’s getting chilly.”
“So, she’s not coming?” Morgan asked, her bright eyes blinking.
“No. She has plans with a friend tonight,” Quentin answered truthfully. “Remember the girl she was with when we first met her on the elevator?”
“Oh,” Morgan said, her eyes downcast. “I thought we were her friends.”
“We are, honey. She just has to maintain her other life, as well. She’ll be around this weekend. I promise,” Quentin said, not expecting such certainty from his daughter about Charlotte. He rose to his feet and grasped her hand once more, darting them toward their apartment building and saying a brief hello to Angus, who grinned at him mischievously.
Quentin wondered if Angus knew he was sleeping with Charlotte. Then again, of course he did. He was the doorman, rich with secrets. Wasn’t that the purpose of the doorman, in the end?
“I think it’s too late to turn back, now,” Charlotte said softly, speaking with Rachel at the Brooklyn wine bar, tucked near the exposed brick wall. “I mean, I’m falling for him. Head over heels, really. But on the other hand, I know it’s against the rules. Like, I could lose my job. He could, too, I think. We could really fuck everything up.”
Rachel sipped her drink, assessing her friend with non-judgmental, yet thoughtful eyes. “I never did take you for the sleeping with your boss type,” she said, teasing her slightly, playfully. “But it suits you, I think. Your skin is brighter than I’ve ever seen it.”
“Ha,” Charlotte said, taking another sip. “I should have been fucking like this years ago. It just never suited me. I never felt anything for anyone. Until now.”
“And the daughter?”
“I love her,” Charlotte said, her eyes widening. “I love her like a younger sister, or a step-daughter, or…” She trailed off, snapping her palms over her cheeks. “Shit. I’m in too deep, already.”
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Rachel said. “Don’t make yourself feel guilty. You’re in it, you’re falling in love, and there’s not a lot else you can do, unless you want to quit. And I’m guessing that’s not what you want.”
“It’s not,” Charlotte breathed. “I want to write this feature, and I want to be a known music writer. But I also don’t want anyone to know.”
“That you’re sleeping with him, because it invalidates you. And on top of it, you could lose everything. And so could he.”
“I don’t think he even considers it,” Charlotte whispered. “He’s so into it, calling me into his office frequently, not caring if he stares at my ass while we’re there. It’s like he’s lost all sense of himself.”
“I think that’s what happens when people fall in love,” Rachel said, her voice teasing. “And I get it. You’re between a rock and a hard place. But just keep your head up. Roll with the punches. Maybe everything will work out.”
“Ugh. I just don’t know how,” Charlotte murmured. “And the worst of it is… I miss him. I miss him all the time. I want to run to his apartment right now and demand time with him. I want to make out with him on top of our building. Nothing else makes sense. And dammit, Rachel, this is the lead singer of Orpheus Arise, for god’s sake. None of this was in the cards for such a country bumpkin.”
“You’re still a country bumpkin,” Rachel said, winking. “You’ve just earned yourself a bit of sass since then, I’d say. A bit of Manhattan sass. Now, stop freaking out about it, and tell me something good. About the sex.” Her eyebrows rose high, waggling.
Could she even comprehend Charlotte’s panic?
Charlotte left Rachel in Brooklyn just after midnight, taking the train back to the Upper West Side and listening to the second Orpheus Arise album through headphones as the train blasted through the ground. The brooding, angry man in her head buds was the very man she’d slept with only that morning, before they’d both headed to work. He still contained that element of bad boy anger, of something brooding, like a storm, behind his eyes. And it made her pussy loosen, quivering with lust and desire.
She was going to avoid him that night, planning instead to go immediately to bed and wake up in the morning to work on her interview questions for Thick Soled. But as soon as her feet hit the hallway carpet, she pounded directly toward Quentin’s door, anxiety burning in her chest.