by Kira Blakely
“And you’ll get it, Charlotte. You were the best writer at our university. It’s not like you’ll lose those skills, just because you’re in the big city now.”
“Just let me panic about this for a bit,” Charlotte said, easing her rolling suitcase to a halt in front of the high-rise apartment building. “Shit. This is it.”
“Wow,” Rachel breathed, gazing at her reflection in the wide windows of the foyer. “Your aunt lives here? Full time?”
“She married a doctor. He died and left her a ton of money, so she bought this place,” Charlotte said, shrugging. “But she spends half the year in Florida.”
“Why on earth would you go to Florida, when you could live here?” Rachel asked, exasperated. “I think I might crash with you, instead of the other way around. And you’re less than five minutes’ walk from the park. Damn, Charlotte. One of the best internships in the city, and this place. Most people don’t get this lucky.”
“Don’t be too jealous, yet,” Charlotte said, yanking the door open. “I only get it till March, at which point I’m sure I’ll be living in a shoebox in Queens. Just watch me. I’ll decline into nothingness in no time.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rachel said, giggling.
The elevator was at the other end of the hallway. Charlotte stabbed the UP button, her thoughts brimming with the events of the day. She’d started her internship at MMM, shown her hot boss the curvature of her ass like some office slut, and was now moving into her “own” apartment, already pre-furnished with top-tier interior design in mind. She shuddered, remembering the horrible doldrums of her last summer in Ohio, when she’d continued half-heartedly dating her ex-boyfriend from college, until she’d received the good news of the internship.
Finally, things were happening. Finally, the world was moving.
Inside the elevator, Charlotte pressed the button for her floor, brimming with excitement. But as the elevator doors began their natural close, a mad rush of feet sounded from the hall. Conscious that new neighbors wanted the elevator space, she brought her arm through the crack, holding it for them.
Suddenly, a man and a little girl, both holding dripping ice cream cones, appeared in front of them. The girl was vibrant, blonde, her smile crackling up at them and revealing that she’d recently lost a front tooth. Strawberry ice cream dripped from her nose.
And beside her stood a tall, muscled man, with dark hair down to his ears and horn-rimmed glasses hiding his dark eyes. His five-o-clock shadow covered his chin and high cheekbones. He looked smart, sophisticated, dominant.
Jesus. It was her editor. It was Quentin McDonnell.
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. The little girl hopped into the elevator, peering up at them. She giggled slightly, becoming a bright burst of energy as the elevator door closed behind the four of them, locking them in. “You guys sure have a lot of stuff.”
“She’s moving in here,” Rachel said, smiling and rolling her head toward Charlotte. Her eyes danced up to Quentin, who looked awestruck, like he’d seen a ghost.
“I’m Morgan. My daddy lives here,” Morgan said, gesturing to him. “And I live both here and down the road, with my mommy. We just got ice cream. You guys should try it. It’s absolutely the best.”
Charlotte’s eyes were centered on the ground, at her pointed, black shoes, feeling the embarrassment draw up from her stomach, through her neck, into her heated cheeks. She exhaled roughly, sensing Quentin’s eyes upon her. She felt under a microscope, analyzed from the front, rather than the back, this time.
Rachel and Morgan continued to chatter beside them, leaving Charlotte and Quentin in a kind of shell of silence, which brimmed with sexual tension and desire. Charlotte hadn’t been able to get this man out of her head since the morning. And now, he was her neighbor.
“Oh, wait. Which floor did you need?” Rachel asked, piping up and shattering the silence on the other end of the elevator.
“Nine,” Quentin said, his eyes dark and centered on Charlotte’s. “Looks like you’ve already pressed it.”
5
Quentin watched his daughter nibble the last of her strawberry cone as the elevator swept past the second floor. He clung to his stupidly, recognizing that he looked like a fatigued dad, rather than a wayward, drugged, sexual musician. But with Charlotte’s angelic face before him, her pink lips pressed together expectantly, she reeked of inexperience.
“So, you’re helping move her in, then?” he asked the friend, instead of Charlotte. “That’s a kind move on your part.”
“Well, I owe her,” Rachel said, giving Quentin a bright, flirty smile. She wasn’t unattractive, with her bright red hair in curls down her shoulders. She had the same wholesome look as Charlotte. “She helped me pack up when I moved out here a while ago.”
“Just four months ago,” Charlotte piped up, her cheeks glowing with red. “Not that long, is what I mean.”
“Right,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “Well, I already feel like I’m becoming one of you.”
“The city gets into your blood pretty quickly,” Quentin said, speaking companionably. He eyed Charlotte tentatively, sensing his groin pulse up in his crotch. He could smell her. He felt wolf-like, a predator, zoning in on her. He’d scouted her without even trying. “Which apartment are you in?”
“Marcia. Marcia Barracks,” Charlotte whispered, her voice catching. “She’s my aunt. She goes to Florida every winter.”
Quentin nodded. “Morgan used to go there to water her plants in the wintertime.”
“That place smells weird. Like cats,” Morgan agreed.
Charlotte flashed a toothy grin at the young girl. She looked like she could inhale her tongue with nerves. Quentin craved making a woman feel this way. He’d watched them dive after him, during his shows around ten years before. He’d flaunted it, bragging about the women who’d done anything he asked.
And now, Charlotte was his employee, bound to do whatever he asked, regardless.
But that no-fraternization clause was there for a reason.
“I was just at piano lessons,” Morgan said, striking through his reverie. She lifted her backpack and drew out a whole book of songs she was practicing, flipping it toward Charlotte.
Charlotte grasped the book, her eyes glowing with recognition. “I used to have this very book when I was first playing,” she said quietly.
“You play?” Morgan asked, her voice high-pitched.
“I did. Until I was maybe eighteen,” Charlotte answered. “But then I focused on writing.”
“Kind of like Daddy,” Morgan said, gesturing wildly. “He used to be in a band or whatever, but now he just writes. Boring.”
Charlotte’s eyes flickered up toward Quentin as the elevator halted at the top floor, dinging the doors open. Quentin gave her a half smile before guiding his daughter into the hallway and tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash. Rachel and Charlotte walked out after them, yanking their suitcases along. This would be their release point. But something in Charlotte’s eyes forced his shoes on the ground, keeping him glued, towering over her. She bit her soft lip with white teeth, her eyes growing steamy, her eyelids heavy.
“Rachel, I suppose, I should introduce you,” Charlotte said suddenly.
Rachel’s eyes swept from Quentin back to her friend, looking quizzical. “You know each other?”
“Well, only sort of. We met today,” Quentin said. He swept his hand forward, taking control. “I’m Quentin McDonnell. Editor-in-Chief at MMM. Where Charlotte’s interning right now. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”
“Had my first day today,” Charlotte breathed, her eyes turning down to the floor.
If Quentin didn’t know any better, he’d say that he could literally feel Charlotte’s heart jolting in her chest. She was like a rabbit, with a buzzing little heart—buzzing so hard it could go out at any moment, like a light bulb.
“Wow. And you were in that band,” Rachel said, pointing her finger rudely. “Orpheus Arise.”
> “Yes,” Quentin said.
“Dad. I don’t want to talk about your band again,” Morgan whined from below, yanking at his hand. “And I’m starving.”
Quentin sniffed, turning his head toward his daughter. “Didn’t you just eat ice cream?”
“That’s not food, Dad,” Morgan said, her voice saucy. God, she was like her mother—a know-it-all, dressed up in a gorgeous little girl’s body. “Mom says I can’t eat sweets for dinner.”
“Does she, eh?” Quentin said, sensing Charlotte draw away from him. She turned back down the hall, toward her aunt’s apartment. She lifted the keys from her pocket, ready to scamper away. “All right, then. I suppose it’s time to say goodbye,” he said, bowing his head to both Rachel and Charlotte. “Say bye, Morgan.”
“Bye!” Morgan cried, before rushing the opposite direction down the hallway, toward their door. Quentin allowed his eyes to linger on Charlotte’s thin, taut body, on her breasts, and on that angelic, nervous face for a single moment more before turning, allowing the tension to release. He bounded down the hall, sensing the girls watching him from behind. He lifted his own keys from his pocket with a flourish, lifting his chin high and allowing a casual whistle to escape from between his lips.
He hadn’t felt this light, this young, in years. In his imagination, he spun back down the hallway and pressed Charlotte against the wall, pressing his mouth into her neck and inhaling the scent of her. He’d bang her throughout the night, until she cried out with a mix of pleasure and pain. He’d have no responsibility; he wouldn’t be forced to remember her name. He’d be gone from her life for good, after that, leaving only bruises. Leaving only scars in her heart.
But he wasn’t that man anymore. He couldn’t be.
6
Charlotte’s anxious, shivering fingers slid the key into the door of her aunt’s apartment. Her ears rang with panic. When she opened the door, the scent of cats blasted over them, making Rachel cough. “Jesus. That kid wasn’t lying.”
“Ha.” Charlotte bounded into the apartment, trying to ignite her energy. She collapsed roughly on a cozy, flowered chair in the corner, blinking heavily around her as Rachel snipped the door closed. “Wow. That was fucking weird.”
“You’re shaken up, aren’t you?” Rachel asked, laughing. She walked toward the balcony, opening the door wide to rid the apartment of the stench. Leafing a lighter from her inner pocket, she lit a candle on the center table, fueling apple crisp flavor into the air. “You were just spewing all about how hot he was. How weird. It’s like you summoned him here.”
Charlotte’s heart continued to flutter. “I need a drink,” she whispered, boosting herself from the chair and marching to the liquor cabinet, which her aunt kept well-stocked. She leafed through the spirits, hunting through the gleaming glass bottles, before settling on a French red wine. The kitchen, tiny compared to the rest of the apartment, featured a large, antique cabinet, with a wine bottle opener situated on a rack at the top. She snuck it from its position, cranking the metal into the cork and popping it into the air.
“That’s a sound I like to hear!” Rachel cried from the far room before marching in, joining her. She slipped off her heels, revealing blistered feet beneath.
“Jesus, Rachel,” Charlotte said, pointing. “Your feet. They didn’t look like that in college.”
“I know,” Rachel said sadly, reaching over Charlotte and pouring herself a glass of wine. “It’s all the walking in this city. Sometimes I really miss my little red van. Remember all the good times we had in that thing?”
“You mean, when we were literally living in the middle of nowhere, Ohio?” Charlotte joked, joining Rachel in taking off her shoes. Her forehead relaxed; her shoulders slumped. “Boy. I’m going to have feet to match yours, soon.”
“Welcome to the club,” Rachel said, filling a second glass. The girls lifted their reds and clinked them, sipping languidly, their eyes closing. “Seriously,” Rachel continued, swiping the back of her hand across her lips. “I know I talk a lot of shit. I know I act all arrogant about New York. But really, my life is going to get one hundred percent better with you here.” She grabbed Charlotte’s slim hand with her free one. “And it will get two hundred percent better for you if you just have the balls to sleep with your boss.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. She burst past Rachel and sped out to the balcony, her ears ringing with the words. Rachel joined her at the bannister, and the girls held their wine glasses over the balcony, their eyes turned toward the green of the park.
“I can’t sleep with him,” Charlotte murmured, her pussy clenching beneath her with need. Her heartbeat quickened, just considering it. “There’s a no-fraternization policy at work. And like my new friend, Randy, at work says, I can’t fuck that up, just by sleeping with a boss who will surely forget about me the minute he gets my panties down.”
“Girl, I’ve never seen anyone look at you that way. Definitely not your ex-boyfriend, that idiot Tyler. And not anyone else,” Rachel said.
“Well, me and Tyler were pretty fucked up from the beginning,” Charlotte said, sniffing, a smile drawing between her cheeks. “I was never that into it. But everyone else had a boyfriend. Remember?”
“Sure,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “I had that idiot from Calculus. What was his name?”
“Marcus. How could you forget?” Charlotte said, laughing. “You were literally fucking him constantly our sophomore year.”
“Oh, yeah,” Rachel murmured fondly. “I was really horny that year. I was losing all that weight and really feeling myself.” She glanced toward Charlotte, allowing her eyes to gloss up and down her figure. “Never did look as hot as you, though. Damn, Charlotte. I mean, no wonder that hot ex-rock star wants you.”
“I told you, Rachel. I mean, beyond the no-fraternization policy, I need to focus on my writing. This is my career. I can’t fuck it up.”
Rachel didn’t argue. She sipped her wine, pressing her lips together, her eyes dancing in the soft light of the coming evening. “All right,” she said finally. “I won’t pester you about this anymore. But you have to admit. Destiny is really throwing you guys at each other.”
“Fuck destiny,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes lazily and tossing her head back, feeling oddly manic, excited, sexual. “I didn’t ask for this. And I’m not going to follow through on it. Because I actually have piece of mind, unlike some people I know.” She nudged Rachel squarely in the ribs with her pointed elbow, giggling.
“That coffee barista had it coming,” Rachel said, sniffing and easing back into the apartment. She twirled, her moves graceful, her feet rubbing against the Middle Eastern rug. “I might call him again. Who knows? It’s New York. Anything can happen.”
“Anything can happen,” Charlotte echoed back, joining her friend and flicking on some music, allowing the wall speakers to boom with her favorite new music. The girls poured more wine and gabbed easily, keeping each other company until Rachel meandered home at around ten that night, leaving Charlotte alone for the first time since she’d arrived in New York, just six days before.
She had to admit, the loneliness was eerie. Padding around her aunt’s apartment, half-drunk, she ripped her striped dress from her lithe form, dropping it at the entrance to the bathroom. She stood, analyzing her body in the mirror and drawing her fingertips across the bones of her chest, rubbing at her brown, pointed nipples, and then running playfully across her stomach.
Doors away, she knew her boss, Quentin, was awake. Probably sitting alone, drinking whiskey. Maybe reading. Surely not daydreaming about her. Surely not knowing she was standing perfectly, crisply naked, her breasts poised and the lips of her pussy separating, showing their perfect, pink insides, and allowing her fingers to press inward, rubbing at the top and finding the small knob, causing her eyes to close sharply. She unleashed a sigh, allowing her head to fall back grandly, her back to stretch.
As she stood, she lifted her foot up on the bathroom counter, reveal
ing her pulsing lips to herself and separating them, stretching herself with pleasure. As she moved a finger deep within herself, pressing it against her tender G-spot, she imagined Quentin arriving to work the next day and demanding that she meet him in his office, immediately. She’d go, following him like a timid dog. And then, once within the office, he’d strip her bare, unleashing her skin. He’d walk in circles around her, his expensive shoes making tapping noises against the bright wooden floors. He’d press her against the desk, inhaling the scent of her, before ripping his belt from his waist and revealing his pulsing, veiny cock, which extended ravenously from his crotch. He’d press her body backward against the desk, allowing her pink lips to part, and he’d pulse himself into her. He’d press heavily against her G-spot and suck on her tits, wrapping his tongue languidly around her brown nipples and against the ridge of them, causing intense pleasure.
And then, he’d become gruff with her, pushing her harder against the desk, causing her to cry out. Her hair would stick to her back, which would be dripping with sweat. And she’d wrap her thin legs around his muscled abdomen, lifting herself into him, always craving more.
In that moment, the doorbell to her aunt’s apartment rang. Charlotte’s eyes popped open and she stared at her naked form in the mirror. She removed her fingers from her warmth, not bothering to clean them before rushing to throw on her dress. Still a bit tipsy, she struggled into the dress, tumbling against the doorframe as she maneuvered toward the front door.
Who the fuck was calling on her after ten at night? The doorman, maybe? Her aunt, back from Florida? Rachel, unable to get home as she’d drunk nearly an entire bottle of wine herself?
Wrapping her hand around the gold-rimmed door handle, she swallowed sharply, realizing she still smelled like her own sex. With a timid sigh, she opened the door just a crack, hoping this would be someone she could shoo away. Hoping she could retreat back to her bedroom and pretend she’d never felt anything sexual in her life.
