Chapter 5 Inconceivable!
My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. I’ve dropped into a lucid dream. Again. There is no way I heard that correctly. Ben’s face appears over my cubicle.
“Lottie,” he hisses. “That’s you.”
I jump to my feet, my heart thrumming wildly in my chest as the floor breaks into a polite, albeit unenthusiastic, round of applause. I find Noah’s steel-tinted gaze across the room, my brow dipping into a confused frown as he beams and claps with the rest of my coworkers.
“Damn,” Ben says, his face cracking with a sly grin. “I guess getting left off the main email chain wasn’t a bad thing. Congratulations.”
I let out a nervous chuckle before bowing my head, nodding at the rest of the room.
“Thank you.”
As the pathetic applause fades, I sink into my chair.
What the hell is happening? My presentation yesterday was, well it was fine.
The recollection is still fever-tinted and fuzzy, but I did my homework.
I knew that proposal inside out, backwards and upside down.
But that was before the betrayal of my intestines.
Ben shrinks back behind his cubicle and I spin in my chair, flopping my head back to stare at the ceiling as it turns above me.
Thoughts flip and flitter with my nerves as I work through how I’m going to bring myself to sit in a room with Noah again.
Do I make a joke about yesterday? Ignore it entirely?
I’m interrupted before I can settle back into my normal state of unbothered.
“Ahem.”
Scrambling to grab the desk and right myself without falling out of the chair, a crimson warmth rises on my cheeks. Spencer and Noah are standing at the entrance of my cubicle. Still slightly dizzy, I break into a full smile.
“Hiya!” I cry out.
It’s too loud and my blush deepens. Until this week, I didn’t even know my body was capable of such deep hues. Noah presses his lips together to conceal a laugh and Spencer gives me a withering look; even Ben has a hard time disguising his chortle from behind our shared wall.
“Good morning and congratulations,” Spencer continues, his tone professional as always. “I’ve assured Noah you will bring an excellent perspective and fresh ideas to the launch. I came to make a formal introduction so you two can get started.”
Understanding this means Noah didn’t mention our disastrous meeting yesterday, I stand, wiping my hand on the dark fabric of my slacks before extending it.
“Charlotte Wilde. It’s a pleasure.”
Noah slips his warm palm into mine. “The pleasure is mine entirely. I look forward to working together on this launch.”
We hold this pose, hands clasped and ignorant of the office around us, for what is probably an uncomfortable amount of time. I should care, but I’m too absorbed in the twinkle of his gray eyes and the playful mischief behind them. What the hell is this fucker thinking?
“Ahem.” Spencer clears his throat again, snapping us out of the moment. I pull my hand back and swallow hard, tucking a phantom hair behind my ear as he addresses Noah. “Didn’t you want to set a meeting for next week?”
“Yes, of course. I would like to sit down and review your proposal together as well as hash out a rough estimate for deadlines. I’d like to pull someone from the marketing team in as well so we can get a good idea of what they already have going and how we can prioritize things.”
“Right,” I say, twisting to grab my planner from the corner of my desk.
Flipping it to the right week, I notice too late the bright pink highlighter lines and doodles I jotted down while daydreaming in a conference call last week.
My Brazilian wax appointment—highlighted with hearts and flowers—stares up at me from the page, my mind reeling as I wonder who I fucked over in a previous life to deserve this kind of humiliation.
Flustered, I flip it and it slips out of my hands, landing on the floor, doodle side up.
Noah bends over and smooths the page before handing it back to me. I clear my throat.
“When did you have in mind?”
“Since Thursday at two is booked, how does twelve thirty sound?”
My jaw drops and I snap it shut so hard my teeth ache. He did not just read that. He totally did. Doing my best to not think about Noah thinking about hair being ripped out from between my ass cheeks, my voice is little more than a squeak.
“Great.”
He nods, the amusement still playing behind his eyes, and Spencer tugs him away to meet some of the other team members. Ben pops up again, his voice a tease.
“That was . . .”
“Don’t.”
“Look, we all think he’s hot—haven’t you seen the group chat?”
I haven’t. I pull myself out of it every time Amy tries to add me, which is at least once a week. Ben continues, unbothered by my lack of an answer.
“If you’re going to survive three months working that close, though, you have got to get your shit together. Because that”—he waves his hand in the general vicinity of me—“was embarrassing.”
He has no idea. But his stiff call out rumbles and twists in my gut as he dips back into his own cube. Uneasy, I sink into my seat, prop my elbows on my desk, and bury my face into my hands.
This has to be some kind of cosmic joke.
I was sure the last forty eight hours pulled me from the running.
Raking over any bit of the presentation, I do my damndest to remember the parts I managed to make it through.
At my best, that presentation was ready to sweep the competition, but yesterday was certainly not my best. I was hungover, on edge from the realization that the asshat from Blue Heron is actually my new-to-town boss, and fighting for my life against my own watery, roaring bowels.
The office settles into its usual ambiance and I work to focus on my desktop and not the gaping pit of swirling questions.
Whatever prompted Noah to pick me for this project should be reason enough for me to believe in my own merit.
Never mind his belief; I am damn good at my job.
The last two days have been an outlier in every sense of the word.
Workwise, that is. I’ve always had relatively decent boundaries when it comes to keeping my personal mess separate from my professional success.
And yet, as much as I try to tell myself this is exactly what I wanted—that getting through this project is the key to securing my future—I continue to spiral.
By about ten thirty, I’ve convinced myself that this promotion is either some sort of coded apology from Noah, or a pity offer after yesterday’s happenings.
Hoping to scrape my way back to equilibrium, I fantasize about confronting him and demanding to know why he gave me the job.
I work through each snappy line I’d throw and find great satisfaction in the imagined look on his face when he realizes I’m not the kind to be bought off.
I don’t rely on anyone, let alone men, and aside from the ride he arranged yesterday, I don’t need his favors.
I’m not intimidated by attractive people, nor am I impressed by money or status.
Sure, Noah is a hottie. You’d have to be blind to not see that.
But he’s also just a guy, and I am Charlotte Fucking Wilde.
As if on cue, my inbox dings and I flip windows to find Noah’s name staring at me in bold. All the confidence I mustered in my daydreams fritters away when I slide my mouse over and open the message.
Noah G.
If you have a moment, I’d like to touch base.
No context. Fucking perfect. I let out a sigh and grab a notebook and pen before trudging across the floor. His door is shut and the knock I planned to be precise and resolute is, instead, hollow and weak.
“Come in.”
Pushing into the office, once used as a storage closet, it’s clear he’s made it his own.
The windows behind his desk have one of the best views in the building, and I wonder—not for the first time—why it hasn’t before been claimed by one of the other members of the management team.
There are still some moving boxes on the floor, but the shelves have been filled with books and other personal items. A collection of beautiful, smiling people stares down at me from framed photographs.
Their faces remind me of my late night social media stalk and suddenly I can’t stop thinking about the way his body fills out the soft, forest green sweater he’s currently wearing.
Noah’s brow is creased as he concentrates on something filling his desktop screen.
“Ah, yes. Charlotte. Thank you for making time for me.”
He looks up from the computer, and before I can stop myself I’m blurting out a much less eloquent version of my imagined confrontation.
“What is wrong with you?”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but I can’t stop it. The glacier of thoughts I’ve been chiseling is already an avalanche rushing forth.
“What I mean is, what on earth do you think you're doing, picking me for this project? Because I’ve been sitting out there wracking my brain trying to figure out what would possibly prompt you to pick me over anyone else—especially after everything that’s happened over the last few days.
” While I could stop here and let him explain, I continue to spiral, my words coming faster and faster.
“Is this some sort of pity offer? Or maybe a punishment for my behavior at the bar the other night? Some weird way you want to keep tabs on me to make sure I’m behaving?
Or worse, is it a sort of fucked up down payment for something you think I owe you?
Because I’ve combed over every possible reasoning, and aside from you being certifiable, none of it makes any sense. ”
The tumble of words falls silent, the air between us chilled under an icy mountain of accusations, and Noah presses his fingertips together, resting his elbows on the desk.
His face betrays nothing, and I straighten, realizing that in addition to calling him insane, I’ve accused him of about four different HR violations.
I press my lips into a thin line, wishing I could evaporate, and wait to be fired. Noah takes a deep breath.
“Did you, by chance, entertain the possibility that, despite everything that’s transpired over the past few days—including the events we’ve agreed to forget—you might be the best and most promising candidate for this project?
That your coworkers, while definitely more professional, don’t hold the same kind of passion or drive I’ve seen in you? ”
I click my tongue and rock on my heels. “I did not.”
He nods once and smiles. “Well, in light of the inadvertent miscommunication on my part, I wish to clarify. This position is not, as you put it, a punishment, payment, or form of pity. And should you wish to continue in the role, I do have a few things I’d like to have you handle before our meeting next week. ”
Doing everything short of actually biting my tongue off, I fight to keep my response tight. “Right. Yes. Sorry.”
I clear my throat and take a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk, ready to be the personification of professionalism.
Poising my pen above the paper, I wait for him to continue.
After a few beats of quiet, I risk a glance.
He’s staring with an unreadable expression, his lips tugged up in a half smile.
We hold this gaze for a moment, the tension only breaking when his cell phone trills.
He answers it, holding a finger up in what I take as an invitation to wait.
As he talks on the phone and shuffles papers, I resolve to be the best damn assistant he’s ever had.
Having the reassurance that I earned this job and will earn the bonus I need to buy Nan’s, brings a ray of hope that burns away all the shame surrounding the last two days.
In three months time, I will have everything I need to break out on my own, including the experience of launching a brick and mortar storefront.
Maybe Kara was right. Maybe the universe does have my back.