by Holly Rayner
Charlotte didn’t move. She sensed that she’d just been thrown off the cliff, even after climbing for years. She could feel the metaphorical wind rushing past her ears.
“Isn’t that right, Lyle?” Katrina asked, her tone smug.
Lyle tugged at his shirt collar, looking down at the table once more. The moments ticked on, leaving Charlotte in their wake.
“It’s true, what she’s saying,” Lyle finally said, his voice weak, quivering as it slunk from him.
“But Katrina has only just been promoted,” Charlotte argued, feeling passion rile up within her. “She’s been my senior for just two weeks, and she’s arguably less prepared than I am. In nearly every aspect.” Charlotte blinked back tears, her face turning red. Suddenly, she felt like a child in a playground who’d been knocked to the pavement, bleeding from a knee.
Lyle turned his gaze back toward Katrina. His posture was rigid, strained. It was clear his mind was whirring. He didn’t want to upset Charles—his boss, and Katrina’s father. Not in a million years. It was the reason he’d supported her promotion; it was the reason he gave her the better cases. Charlotte had often seen him staying after-hours, typing on Katrina’s computer to help her with her work, as she sat slumped over in the side chair.
It appalled Charlotte. It made her stomach flip over. As a young, bright-eyed eighteen-year-old, she hadn’t thought the world could be so unfair. But she was ten years older, now.
Lyle glimpsed the sadness in Charlotte’s eyes. He looked away from her, clearly trying to come up with a solution. “Tell you what, ladies. Let’s try a compromise, shall we?” He scratched at his neck, uneasy. “It’s clear that Charlotte has some base-level knowledge regarding the client which may be advantageous as we develop the case. I don’t think we can refute that, can we, Katrina?”
“Hmm?” Katrina murmured, peering down at her nails.
“That’s right,” Lyle continued, as if nothing had happened. “In light of this, I am assigning Katrina the position of lead attorney on the Lawson case, while you, Charlotte, will work closely with Katrina, offering your support. In addition, you’ll take on a few of Katrina’s smaller cases, in order to assist with her workload. How does that sound?”
Lyle seemed pleased with himself. He sat back in his chair and smiled awkwardly, waiting for their assured excitement. But the words were still running through Charlotte’s head, and Katrina was already halfway down her Instagram feed, quietly awaiting the end of the meeting.
It was Charlotte’s turn to speak. Frustration brimmed within her, but she felt her mouth give in to deference. “Yes. Absolutely. That’s fine.”
“Great,” Lyle said, leaping on the affirmation far too quickly. He clicked the mouse on his laptop, assessing his calendar. “How does a first meeting sound for…tomorrow? Nine thirty?”
“No can do, boss,” Katrina said. “I have a hair appointment tomorrow morning.”
“Right,” Lyle deadpanned. “Perhaps Wednesday, then?”
But Katrina just shook her head. “See if he can do Thursday at ten. That work for you, Charlotte?” she asked, her voice playful, false. “I’ll throw some of my more basic cases your way in the meantime, and I’ll get started on prep work for your dear old friend Sean. Sound good?”
Charlotte gritted her teeth and bowed her head, agreeing without words. She listened half-heartedly as Lyle closed the meeting, sending them both off to their separate offices. When she reached hers, she tasted her now-cold coffee and nearly spit it out again. She marched to the kitchen sink and emptied the mug out before returning to the coffee maker. She stabbed the start button, tapping an angry foot against the tile floor. Around her, printers whirred and interns marched.
One particular intern, belonging to Katrina, was leaning against the refrigerator in the kitchen, cackling with her peer; the two looked like a scene out of Mean Girls. They looked young—no older than 22, Charlotte thought—and full of unwarranted arrogance. Charlotte had encountered and dealt with plenty of big egos in the law world, but she wasn’t in the mood to feed any this morning.
Katrina snapped her fingers toward her intern. “I need some coffee. Not this hell water. Go to the nearest Starbucks. And grab me…a scone, as well. The orange flavor. You know the one.”
Making no effort to conceal the rolling of her eyes, the girl swept lazy legs out of the kitchen and toward the elevator, her friend looking at her with longing. Anyone who was allowed to leave the building outside of lunchbreak had a coveted position. And generally speaking, Katrina’s intern was always off on runs to nab her new lotions or purses, her groceries, her gluten free snacks, and anything else that sprang to mind.
“Well,” Katrina said, tossing her brown curls. “That was pretty rough in there. You begging for my job.” She squinted her eyes toward Charlotte, her gaze almost threatening. “Really, it’s pathetic. And I’m not going to call it anything else.”
“Then don’t,” Charlotte said, her eyes narrowing, too.
“What was that?” Katrina whispered.
Charlotte shook her head, dropping the topic. She was firm in her belief that if she followed her anger down the rabbit hole, she would eventually come up without a job at Ellis and Associates. She had to keep herself in line.
“I’m going to get a head start on those other projects you sent me,” Charlotte said, starting toward her office, her mug shaking in her angrily trembling hands. “Let me know if you need anything for the Lawson case. Like I said, I have that one cracked.”
Katrina let out a brief, ominous cackle before Charlotte closed the door, shutting herself in her haven of silence, of her work—which she usually loved, except for times like these. Outside, the July sun had grown higher in the sky, signaling the beginning of a perfect summer’s day. She longed to be out in it, stretching in the bright light.
Charlotte collapsed in her chair, putting the terrible meeting out of her mind, and focusing instead on the fact that she’d be meeting Sean Lawson himself in just a few days’ time. His image still grinned at her from her computer screen, where daydreams of this upcoming reality had flitted through her mind just that morning.
Beside her, her cellphone lit up, buzzing slightly on the wood of the desk. She lifted it, noting the message from her best friend, which she read in her head in Chelsea’s bubbly voice:
So, what has Katrina done today?
Charlotte stifled a giggle, brimming with relief that somebody out there was thinking about her. Chelsea had been her roommate for her first few years in Seattle, and the girl knew everything about her: about her relationship with her parents (sometimes complicated), her obsession with Sean Lawson (generally fantastical), and her love of her job (with the exception of Katrina Ellis).
Despite having recently moved to separate apartments in Capitol Hill, Charlotte and Chelsea still spent long nights at each other’s homes, wistful for the times when they’d been broke, drowning in student debt, and blissfully happy.
Charlotte hummed, her fingers tapping excitedly on the screen.
You’ll never guess who I’m meeting on Thursday…
Britney Spears. Beyoncé. The Queen??? Chelsea replied, using a plethora of emoticons.
Charlotte chortled, covering her mouth. Somehow, she sensed that Katrina could tell when she was goofing off in her office, as if she had spies lurking.
Close. *pause for dramatic effect* SEAN. LAWSON, she replied.
Chelsea’s immediate responses were dominated by exclamation and question marks, sizzling with expectation. Girl. You have to look gooooood, were the closing words before they agreed to meet for lunch in several hours to dig into the details—and the great new burrito bowls from the place on the corner. Chelsea worked downtown as an architect, and the pair often found themselves at lunch in tall heels and power-women business suits, flipping their styled hair, all the while knowing they’d seen the other through heartbreak in old pajamas, holding a tub of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.
Charlotte sat back in her chair, skimming through an email from Katrina that delivered each individual detail about her “lesser” accounts. She could barely focus on these other cases. It seemed the cufflink that she’d carried across the country would finally make it home, and she could hardly wait.
THREE
Charlotte woke early on Thursday morning, stretching her toes to the edge of the bed and popping them out from under the covers into the cool morning air. She swung her legs over the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew, somewhere in the city, Sean Lawson was waking, brushing his teeth, sipping his coffee. Little did he know, he was about to meet his biggest fan.
Having dressed quickly, Charlotte shoved her feet into her tennis shoes and rushed out the door for her usual three-mile run. Her muscles sizzled with strength and her arms swung quickly, propelling her forward. She’d grown into a fine runner during college, when she’d discovered that studying gave her a kind of anxiety she couldn’t shake without a bit of sweat. With endorphins revving in her blood stream, she’d been able to ace her exams, pass the bar in Washington state, and maintain her slim figure into year 28.
She gasped over her knees upon her return, searching for regular breath—no more from the run than the nerves. She took a cool shower, scrubbing at her scalp and reciting the milestones of Sean Lawson’s career in her mind. She chose her favorite business suit, a matching black pinstripe blazer and skirt that was perfectly tailored to her curves, paired with a crisp, sky-blue blouse to bring out her eyes. She donned a bit of extra makeup, smoothing that pesky eyebrow hair that never grew in the right direction, and grinned at her reflection. She felt great. She was ready to meet her hero.
Of course, true to herself and her morals, Charlotte booked it to the office on her bike, finding herself hitting every green light, and her hair staying mostly tame. She clicked the lock into place and darted up to the top floor. Life, during these moments, seemed blissful, like a dream.
But the moment she entered the office, panic smacked her in the face.
“Charlotte. Can I speak with you my office?” Lyle said, his voice stern. He gestured toward his door, and Charlotte followed him, frowning, still carrying her bicycle helmet.
Entering Lyle’s office, she sat in the cushy leather armchair and leaned slightly forward. Lyle was clearly panicking—sweat was gathering on his brow, and he swiped a Kleenex over his rosy cheekbones, staring wide-eyed at his computer. “Listen, Charlotte. This Sean Lawson case, as you know, is our most important. One of the most important we’ve ever taken on, actually. And this morning—well.” He gulped. “Katrina called in sick.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “She’s sick? How can she be sick at a time like this?” Her mind began to race. “I mean, she knows how important this is. Doesn’t she?”
Lyle shrugged helplessly. “She has food poisoning, apparently. She went to that new Indian place in Capitol Hill and—bam.” He shook his head, as if discussing a death. “Anyway. I need you to take the meeting by yourself.”
Charlotte’s heart leaped. She felt vibrant, electric, for all of a moment before the true weight of this problem smacked her: she was woefully underprepared for this kind of meeting.
“I was given all those other cases…” she began, shaking her head. She felt herself slump in her chair. “I can’t lead a meeting like this. Did Katrina send her notes, maybe?”
But Lyle just shook his head. “She said she hadn’t prepared anything, that she was planning on doing it last night.”
“But we got this assignment days ago,” Charlotte whispered, her voice strained. She watched as Lyle shook his head, as they dove into slimy, stinking reality. Charlotte would go into this meeting without ready preparation, sure to embarrass herself in front of the man she’d admired since she was eighteen.
“Whatever,” Charlotte said, brushing it off. She fished her notepad out of her purse, beginning to write furious notes. “I’m assuming we can’t postpone this meeting, due to his schedule.”
“That’s correct,” Lyle said, trying to peer at the notes she was writing. “And I have a meeting with one of our stalwart clients, across town, so I cannot join you. I’m truly sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry to put so much of the future of the company on your shoulders.”
Charlotte shook her head, giving him a bright smile. She forced the clouds to part in her mind. This was just another glass ceiling, another wall she’d have to break through on her path to success. One time, in college, she’d studied the wrong chapter for a test, and only learned about it five hours prior. She’d hustled through every single chapter, reading the words out loud to herself. And she’d nailed it.
“Don’t worry, Lyle. You hired me for a reason,” she said, casually addressing that Katrina had been hired for no reason other than her father’s name.
With that, Charlotte hurried from Lyle’s office to her own. She perched on her chair, her eyes boring into the computer screen, and began to type furiously, zipping through the facts of the case and watching as the minutes ticked to an hour. She was due to meet with Sean Lawson at 10 a.m. in the Lawson Technologies building, which was thankfully just a ten-minute walk away. Through her office window, she saw one of the secretaries preparing a coffee and cookie tray for the staff, for the morning mini-break; for her part, Charlotte couldn’t imagine that she’d ever be hungry again.
Just before she left, she opened the antique pewter box, lifting the cufflink out and putting it in her pocket. Maybe it would bring her good luck. And maybe, if she had enough confidence, she would return it to its rightful owner, thus admitting the strength of her memory of him.
Charlotte marched toward the Lawson Technologies building on Jell-O legs, trying to clear her head. She entered the office building, feeling like she was on display, with the floor-to-ceiling windows lining each of the walls, forcing sunlight into her face. The air felt warm, covering her like a blanket.
She reached the front desk and gave the secretary a warm smile. “Charlotte Waters,” she said. “With Ellis and Associates. I have a meeting with Sean Lawson at 10 a.m.”
The secretary seemed to look Charlotte up and down with a bit of humor, peering at her beneath cat-eye glasses. Charlotte knew this woman had delivered the likes of Mark Zuckerburg, founder of Facebook, to Sean Lawson’s offices, and this nervous-looking blonde lawyer from out East didn’t exactly fit the bill.
Finally, the secretary spoke. “Yes. I’ll show you to the boardroom. If you’ll just follow me.”
She lifted herself from her spinning chair, her wide hips swaying as she sauntered towards the elevator. She cleared her throat and pressed the button, and the pair of them stood, side-by-side, without speaking. Charlotte longed to find something—anything—to say, to make her memorable to this woman who interacted with Sean each and every day.
The secretary showed Charlotte to the boardroom and abandoned her quickly, dropping her off like a scared kid at their first summer camp. Charlotte stood in the bright, natural light and gazed around her, taking a seat first at the head of the table, then at the side. The secretary had told her that Sean would be with her shortly, and not to be concerned if he was tardy. “He has important work to do,” she had said, meaning, “more important than meeting with you.”
The door handle began to spin, and Charlotte leaned forward as time gave way to a beautiful image.
There, in the crack of the door, emerged Sean Lawson. He was carrying a briefcase and wearing a beautiful suit, something that had clearly been picked out by someone who knew more about fashion than Sean Lawson himself. His jawline was cut perfectly, his hair was rugged, rough, as if he’d just been hiking in the woods (and Charlotte knew this was something he enjoyed; she’d read it in a magazine).
And then, he flashed her that familiar, secretive smile—the same one she’d enjoyed all those years before, at Yale. She felt her stomach drop, like she was on the descent of the highest rollercoaster in the world.
FOUR
&n
bsp; Charlotte soon recovered from her shock, walking forward and grasping his hand. “Sean. I’m Charlotte Waters from Ellis and Associates. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
Sean smiled warmly, confidently, and squeezed her hand. “Charlotte. It’s wonderful to have you here.”
This was office speak, Charlotte knew, but because she’d been daydreaming about meeting this man for years, she couldn’t help but feel that each word was loaded with meaning. She gestured toward the table, inviting him to sit—as if this wasn’t an office in which he sat every single day. She felt her heart humming.
“How was your journey?” he asked her.
“Oh, just fine. I wanted to take my bike over, but I didn’t want to mess up my hair for such an important meeting.”
Charlotte balked. Had she actually said that? God, she was a dignified, Yale-educated lawyer—what was coming over her?
