65. Chapter 65
Chapter 65
Charlotte
‘ Y ou sent it?’
‘I sent it,’ I answered, holding the phone to my ear and wedging my bag between my hip and the wall so that I could search for my keys. I bit down on a grin as Becky’s celebratory screech pierced the quiet hallway.
‘And you really told Karl Duffel to go fuck himself?’ Becky cackled with uncontainable glee.
‘Yes,’ I laughed, twisting my key in the lock and letting myself into the apartment.
‘Ah man,’ Becky’s cackle faded into tired laughter. ‘What I wouldn’t give to have been a fly on the wall of that room.’
‘I don’t know Becks.’ I shook my head warily, letting out a heavy sigh as the events of the day pulled my shoulders down.
‘It wasn’t exactly professional.’ Becky snorted, but I pressed on. ‘He basically confirmed he wouldn’t stand as a reference for any future jobs I’d apply for and it’s not like I have any other work experience. My whole career was built by that firm…’ my voice trailed off into a whisper as coils of fear and dread wound their way around my heart.
‘Oh no, Charlotte Hall,’ Becky scolded fiercely, ‘don’t start with that shit. I can’t afford another trip down to London!’
I stood, frozen in place, as the door snicked shut at my back.
‘ You built your career,’ Becky pressed, her volume rising as she picked up steam. ‘You did that. Your career and your success do not belong to the firm and honestly, after how they’ve treated you, you owe them nothing.’
‘But how do I get a job if I have no references?’
‘Karl is one person in a firm of five thousand.’ I could fully imagine the eye-roll that surely accompanied the sassy tone that coloured Becky’s words. ‘You’re telling me that there’s not one other person who you could think of to vouch for you?’
My mind flashed to Nicole’s friendly smile at the Christmas party and my shoulders eased a little, allowing some space between them and my ears as I made my way towards the sofa.
‘I just can’t help feeling like I’ve thrown away what I’ve been working my whole life for. This was our dream,’ I whispered, my voice cracking as the image of Mum’s face at the career fair flooded my vision.
‘Babe,’ Becky said softly, ‘your mum’s dream was for you to be happy and fulfilled.’ My chin dipped, my head hanging forward and my eyes swimming in tears. ‘Can you honestly tell me you’ve been either of those things at Jones & Morgan?’
‘No,’ I whispered, shaking my head and wiping at my flooding lash-line.
‘Then you haven’t thrown anything away,’ Becky promised. ‘If anything, you’ve only opened yourself up to new and better things, things that your mum would have wanted for you.’
‘But I’m unemployed,’ I whined, the tide of my anxiety refusing to ebb in the face of reason.
‘Don’t be dramatic,’ Becky snorted, the sound causing the corners of my mouth to tip upwards. ‘You’ve got three months left in that hellhole and you can spend that time looking for something else. I bet you’d have all kinds of recruiters lining up to help you if you wanted to stay in legal.’
Pulling my phone away from my ear, I glanced at the home screen—more specifically at the thirty-two notifications lighting up the top corner of the LinkedIn icon.
‘You’re right,’ I admitted, lifting my phone back to my ear and allowing myself a small, relieved smile.
‘So do you?’
‘Do I what?’ I frowned, leaning back into the sofa cushions.
‘Want to stay in legal.’
‘I think so,’ I replied after a moment’s thought. ‘I enjoy the work—a lot, but I wouldn’t want to work at a place like Jones & Morgan again.’
‘Fair enough, but trust me, you have lots of options.’ I grimaced, unsure of whether or not Becky’s words were true or merely stemmed from friendly loyalty. ‘It’s true!’ Becky said sternly, already sensing my doubt. ‘You just don’t know it yet because you’ve never allowed yourself to look and consider them.’
‘Thanks Becks.’
We’d ended the call shortly after that.
***
The apartment felt so quiet in the wake of the weekend, and, unless he was hungry or had got stuck behind the bed again, Oscar wasn’t particularly loquacious.
Speaking of… a soft meowing drew my attention away from the cabinet and towards my golden-eyed friend as he made his way across the room.
‘Hello you,’ I said, reaching for my phone and checking the time. ‘It’s a bit early for dinner.’
Oscar ignored me, padding up to the sofa before he hopped up and started pawing at one of the sofa cushions. Tsking, I leaned forward and pulled the cushion out of reach of his paws.
‘Honestly, Oz. Every time?’ I chided, but reached over to pet him anyway. My fingers moving rhythmically over the soft fur of his chest, my mind wandering back to the phone in my hand and the unopened link in a now archived text thread.
‘I should open it, right?’ I asked, turning to look at Oscar, who was too preoccupied with his paws to notice. ‘It would be rude not to.’
I swear, in that moment, that if Oscar could have rolled his eyes, he would have. Instead, he pulled away from my fingers, opened his mouth and, maintaining eye-contact the entire time, proceeded to hack, cough, and splutter until a truly gruesome glob of something expelled from his lips and landed with a soft plonk in front of him. And then he licked it.
‘God, ew!’ I yelled, prodding his sides until he stopped with an indignant yowl .
Shooting him a look of narrow-eyed disgust, I reached for my phone.
There was nothing for it, I just had to woman-up and do it.
Unlocking the screen, I pulled up the chat thread and clicked the link before I had time to talk myself out of it.
The link opened in the music app and, I was right, it was a playlist. My eyes roved over the screen as I scrolled down to the bottom, recognising some of the artists. Scrolling back to the top, ready to exit the app, I halted at the name of the playlist. October 20 th , the date we’d signed the contract—the same contract that I had buried between the pages of one of the books on my shelves.
Below the date was a note in the description:
Cupcake,
You brought the music into my life, and I hear you in every song.
I’m sorry.
Heart in my throat, I pressed play, leaning back against the sofa as the notes of the first song spilled into the room. I listened, barely breathing, as one song bled into another. Some of them were songs I knew, songs I’d listened to with Aiden or had mentioned in passing, but even the few I didn’t recognise were all about love.
I rose from my spot on the floor, already moving towards the front door as I caught sight of my reflection. What if this didn’t mean what I thought it did? My stomach fluttered and then sank at the idea. What if he wasn’t home?
Frozen by indecision, I was relieved when a light knock sounded at the front door.
‘Hi.’
‘A-Aiden,’ I stuttered, wincing at the way I’d tripped over his name. Way to play it cool.
‘Hi,’ I answered, wincing at the breathless rasp of my voice.
‘I—uh.’ I watched as Aiden’s weight shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’
‘Oh.’ The spark of excitement that had stuttered to life at the sight of him flickered out. ‘I am.’
‘Good, that’s good.’ Aiden nodded in return.
‘Thank you,’ I said after an indeterminate and awkward amount of time had passed. ‘For staying.’
‘Of course,’ Aiden replied, as if him staying had been the most natural thing in the world.
Feeling uncomfortable, I straightened, my eyes drifting to my fingers on the door and wondering if I should close it.
‘Did you quit your job?’ Aiden blurted out.
I cocked my head to one side, my eyes trailing over Aiden’s face. It was as open as I’d ever seen it, his eyes wide and his pupils restless as they darted from me to the door. Was he… nervous?
‘I did,’ I said, drawing the words out as I studied the man in front of me. It was only now that I noticed the tightness around his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. My own eyes widened in surprise—he was nervous.
Why the hell was that so endearing?
‘Why?’
‘It’s a bit of a long story.’
An almost imperceptible shudder shook Aiden’s shoulders, and I dropped my gaze from his face to take in the rest of him, my eyes narrowing in frustration as they raked across the draft-pebbled skin of his arms. What the heck was he wearing?
Wrapping the body of my cardigan more tightly around myself, I gave his t-shirt a dirty look before twisting to look back at the warm glow of my apartment.
‘Do you want to come in?’
He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing several times before uttering a quick ‘yes.’
It was easier to talk when I wasn’t looking directly at him, so once we were safely ensconced in the kitchen, I fixed my gaze on the steady stream of rich brown liquid pouring from the coffee machine, and I told him all about my day.
I could sense him somewhere behind me, keeping a respectful distance that I simultaneously appreciated and disliked.
‘So now I have three months to find something else.’ I said in a light, unaffected tone, offering him one of the mugs.
‘Becky says it’ll be a breeze,’ I continued, not daring to look at him as I turned to open one of the cupboards. There must be some shortbread or something in here somewhere. ‘But I think she’s biased, which I love her for, but it doesn’t exactly assuage my anxiety.’ The sound of plastic packaging rustled through the stillness of the room as I rummaged through the cupboard.
‘Charlotte.’ My neck prickled with awareness as Aiden took a step towards me.
‘Hmmm?’ I turned around, white-knuckling a sleeve of saltine crackers. Maisie Peters’ delicate vocals bled into the room, her tentative opening notes drawing both of our attention to the soft sounds of the playlist, still playing from where I’d left my phone on the floor in front of the sofa.