Nineteen
Nursing a wineglass for something to do with her hands, Charlie silently counts to one hundred, looking anywhere but across the lavishly decorated room to where Wes stands with a group of his mother’s colleagues. But like an addict, she’s unable to stay away from the most potent drug.
Fir trees draped in white lights, silver baubles, and tinsel line the perimeter of the room.
Glittering snowflakes dangle from the ceiling and hang on the walls, and tables covered in hors d’oeuvres are scattered throughout the room.
Guests mingle, laughing, enjoying the free alcohol, while instrumental holiday music plays softly from hidden speakers.
“I’ll just be a moment,” Wes murmured a few minutes earlier, placing a hand on her lower back. “Will you be okay?”
His need for reassurance grounded her in the room full of important people, glamorous in their holiday best. She nodded, and her eyes followed him as he crossed the room, drinking in their fill of the sharp black dinner jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, the crisp white button-down tucked into perfectly tailored black slacks at his narrow waist. The black tie she wants to wrap around her hand and yank, pulling his mouth to hers.
He’s distractingly debonair, nearly taking her breath away.
When he catches her eye, he flashes her a secret smile that feels like it’s just for them.
Foolish, Charlie.
It feels too familiar. Too dangerous.
Besides, she’s here to network for the expo.
She sips her champagne, the bubbles crisp and refreshing on her tongue, her body overheated from a combination of Wes’s attention, nerves, and the lights in the room.
“It’s pretentious, right?”
A stunning young woman wearing a sleeveless knee-length silver dress appears beside her. Her long blond hair cascades down her back, red-painted lips curved in a vaguely familiar smile Charlie can’t place.
“It’s a lovely party,” Charlie says politely.
The girl laughs, a dimple emerging in her left cheek. “That’s sweet of you, but you can admit it’s stuffy and uptight. The best part was Betsy, but even she had to run her set by the organizers beforehand.”
She waves over a tall, dark-skinned woman dressed in a sparkling plum-colored jumpsuit.
Betsy Jacobs is an up-and-coming comedian who went viral earlier that year for her impressive roast of a very well-known former professional baseball player.
She opened the party that evening with a thirty-minute stand-up set.
“Betsy, this is Charlie Rogers,” the girl says.
Charlie startles, bewildered that this girl knows her name.
“Charlie, this is Betsy. Betsy was just telling me how much she enjoyed Dr. Angelo shooting down Theo’s assumptions about people who use vibrators.
” The girl points to Charlie with a wink.
“Charlie is the one who facilitated all that.”
Betsy holds out her hand, and Charlie shakes it while trying to wrap her mind around what, exactly, is happening.
“That was seriously the best thing that could have happened to him,” Betsy says, grinning broadly. “Men have so many bullshit ideas. What’s the status of the clinic? Places like that are so important. Is Victoria here? I’d love to speak with her.”
Charlie stares at the comedian.
Network, Charlie, she silently pleads.
She glances at the young woman, who smiles coyly behind her champagne flute.
“Thank you. She’s not here tonight, unfortunately.
We’ve received a great response from the pod, but there’s still a lot to do before we’re in the clear, so we’re actually planning a fundraiser in a few months.
It’ll double as a sexual health fair to promote wellness and education. ”
“Oh, amazing!” Betsy cries. “Let me give you my card. I’d love to help in any way I can.
” Unclasping a small clutch the same color as her jumpsuit, she retrieves a simple business card and extends it to Charlie.
“I think there are a lot of people who would be willing to help out if it meant keeping a place like that open.”
Charlie stares at the card, her thoughts spinning. It’s simple white card stock with Betsy’s name, number, email address, and the title professional roaster, which she’s pretty sure is meant to be a joke. Her body suddenly feels too small for the emotions whirring inside her.
Breathe, Charlie.
“Thank you.” She lifts her gaze, forcing herself to act like a normal human. “That would be amazing.” She glances at the other young woman, who beams at Betsy.
Betsy pats her shoulder. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow and we’ll discuss more details, hm? It was lovely meeting you.” She turns to the young woman. “Emilia, I’ll chat with you later. I’m going to go accost Senator Cane about his stance on climate change.”
She slinks off, leaving a bemused Charlie in her wake.
“Sorry to ambush you like that,” the young woman—Emilia—says. “Wes told me to introduce you to her. She couldn’t stop praising Victoria, and I knew she’d be thrilled to meet you.”
Charlie looks at the girl, pieces coming together in her brain.
“Wes said—” she begins, when a warm hand appears on her back.
“What did I say?” His eyes twinkle in the bright lights.
“That Charlie looks stunning,” Emilia quips with a wink.
When he catches her eye, something crackles between them. “Obviously.”
Charlie’s skin burns. She gulps her champagne so fast she nearly chokes.
The dark-green, curve-hugging silk number that ends just above the knee is Syeda’s.
The sweetheart neckline reveals more cleavage than Charlie usually shows, and the back swoops low before rising to cap sleeves.
A pair of nude pumps completes the ensemble.
It took her a full hour to decide how to ask Sy if she could borrow an outfit.
“It’s his mother’s holiday party,” she explained as she stuck a pair of silver pendant earrings through her ears, averting her gaze from the reflection of Sy’s dark eyes in her bedroom mirror. “I’m going to network. Quinn seems to think there will be people interested in the expo.”
“So a work party,” Sy said slowly. “Looking like that.”
Charlie stuck out her tongue, knowing her friend was only concerned for her well-being. “You’re always insisting I go out!”
Sy shot her a small, rueful smile. “Just be careful, love.”
When her Uber dropped her off outside the hotel where the party was taking place, Wes was waiting for her in front of the valet. The flash of surprise that crossed his face when she emerged from the car made the dress and heels worth it.
“You clean up well,” he said.
“The same could be said of you,” she replied with too much bravado while trying to keep her mind from running wild with visions of him pressing her against the wall and kissing her while he looked like a secret agent in an action movie.
Gesturing now between Charlie and Emilia, he says, “Rogers, this is my little sister, Emilia. Emmy, Charlie Rogers.”
Emilia grins, and Charlie sees the startling resemblance. Their smiles are the same, warm and bright, their dimples a matching set.
Emilia gives a mock curtsy. “The more prestigious and attractive Quinn child.”
Wes scoffs, but his lips twitch. “Have you introduced her to Mom?’
“No.” Emilia grimaces. “I’m avoiding that situation for now. But Charlie got Betsy’s card.”
“Perfect.” Wes squeezes Charlie’s elbow before dropping his hand. “I was hoping that would happen. Maybe she’ll perform at the expo.”
Charlie’s pulse riots, a thrill of excitement settling through her. Betsy’s business card feels like a golden ticket, another step on her way to making the expo a reality.
She smiles. “Maybe.”
“So,” Wes rumbles in her ear. When she turns her head, he’s so close she nearly brushes her nose against his. “Do you want to meet my mother?”
The excitement from her interaction with Betsy ebbs, uncertainty rising to overtake it. She pictures Senator Rebecca Belvedere-Quinn standing up for her constituents, standing up to callous politicians who spit hateful lies and cruel, misogynistic remarks.
Courage, Charlie, she tells herself. For one night, she’s not just a college senior from the Midwest. She’s an intelligent young woman with the LSAT scores to prove it who will do anything to save the clinic that once saved her.
She returns Wes’s grin. “I’d love to.”
Wes guides her across the room, his hand on her low back once more. She uses this as reassurance, standing straighter in a way she hopes conveys confidence and poise.
“Mom?” Wes taps a petite woman with a short blonde bob who’s dressed in a glittering long-sleeved black dress. She turns, flashing her son a warm smile. “This is Charlie Rogers.”
“Charlie!” She holds out a hand, and when she smiles, it is Wes’s smile Charlie sees again, complete with the same dimple—a family trait. “So wonderful to finally meet you! Wes has shared so much about you.”
Charlie shakes her proffered hand, unable to keep from glancing sidelong at Wes. He doesn’t look at her.
“All lies, I’m sure.” Charlie smiles. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Senator Quinn.”
Wes’s mother laughs. “Call me Rebecca. Wes mentioned that you’re the girl who’s going to revolutionize sex education. God knows this country needs more people like you.” She places a hand on the arm of the well-dressed man standing beside her. “Have you met my husband, Gabriel?”
Gabriel Quinn, clean-shaven and dressed in an immaculate black tux, is holding a tumbler of amber liquid and speaking quietly to a silver-haired gentleman. At his wife’s prompting, he pauses, turning his attention to her.
“Briefly,” Charlie says, a hard knot forming in her gut at the memory of the last—and only—time she met him. “When Wes gave me a tour of his firm a few weeks ago.”
“Ah.” A flicker of faint recognition appears in his eye. “Yes. Carly?”
“Charlie,” she corrects quietly.
“Rogers and I are studying for the LSAT together,” Wes cuts in, and she commends herself for not shooting him a look at the slight fabrication. Clearly, he still doesn’t want his father to know she’s tutoring him.