TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO REECE KRUEGER, 11:09 AM: Brunch at Terry’s.
TEXT MESSAGE FROM REECE KRUEGER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 11:10 AM: jealous I miss his fries
TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO REECE KRUEGER, 11:10 AM: I’ll bring back leftovers.
She put her phone down as their drinks and a steaming basket of chips, fries, salsa, and queso arrived. Nina made them wait so that she could take an enticing picture of their meal to send to Eliza.
“This is ridiculous,” Jackie drawled, a strange twist to her voice. Charlotte gave her a look, and she softened, immediately apologetic. “Do you need a fill light?”
“That would be great, there’s a shadow.”
Charlotte watched as her best friend turned on her phone’s flashlight and held it above their appetizer. She knew Jackie well enough to detect jealousy simmering under the surface of her words. But that would mean…
Oh. She bit down on her grin as she put the pieces together. Well, wasn’t this a fun queer love triangle. Or was it a square? Not that Charlotte felt any ownership over Nina. Or her best friend, for that matter.
“You guys will not believe what happened last night at the a cappella party,” Amy said, unaware of the drama brimming under her nose. She licked the salt off her glass, mischief glinting in her eyes.
Charlotte’s phone vibrated in her lap. She bit down on a smile and zoned out while Amy shared a cappella gossip.
TEXT MESSAGE FROM REECE KRUEGER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 11:15 AM: come swim with me? water’s freezing
TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO REECE KRUEGER, 11:16 AM: That sounds terrible.
Jackie slid the nacho fries across the table toward Charlotte. “Eat up, you must be starving.”
Charlotte gave her a silencing look. She adored Nina and Amy, but she didn’t want her and Reece to become a reunion rumor too. The last thing she needed was questions—or worse, opinions—about what it all meant. Or what they would do when the weekend ended. The only way to remain blissfully in the present was to keep their fling safe and private.
She decided the best defense was a good offense. “Amy, I want to hear more about your job. What books are you working on?” Charlotte asked as she scooped a glob of salsa onto a chip. Amy beamed at the invitation to describe her new project.
“Oh, you’d love the novel I’m planning the tour for right now! It’s this YA thriller about lesbian werewolves.”
Jackie gave her best wolfy growl, making Nina snort into her margarita.
“My department head is being so weird about promoting it,” Amy continued. “He keeps saying there’s no audience for queer supernatural stories.”
Charlotte passed the nacho fries basket to Amy. “Has he never met a teenager?”
The meal passed quickly amid a half decade’s worth of updates. They traded war stories about bad bosses and out-of-touch company leadership. In every industry they had run up against the same challenges: “entry-level” jobs that required years of prior experience, and research grants that always seemed to go to a well-connected nephew.
It didn’t matter that all four worked in different fields: They shared the fear that they were scrambling their way up a down escalator. And in a cruel twist, if they got lucky enough to land those dream jobs, they turned out to be nightmares.
As Amy detailed her futile quest to get a raise, Charlotte’s embarrassment about her zigzagging career began to lift. This was the real shit, the unglamorous truth of people’s actual lives. The rosy Instagram filter fell away.
She wasn’t the only one struggling. She wasn’t the only one disappointed by how postcollege life had turned out.
“I’m starting to interview at other houses,” Amy continued. “The only way to make more money is to jump around, but that means leaving behind my authors. But my manager keeps insisting there’s nothing in the budget and this is how it’s done.”
“He sounds like Charlotte’s boss,” Jackie drawled. She speared a fluffy pancake and gave her a sideways look.
Oh great. Here we go again.
Nina fixed Charlotte in her steady gaze. “Yeah? What’s it like at Front End?”
Charlotte looked at the three women around her: Nina’s level stare, Jackie’s frown, Amy’s genuine interest. They’d already heard the celebrity-sparkled version of her life at Front End. She had a choice to make. She could trot out the practiced stories again, or she could let her guard down and confirm what they must already suspect: that she was full of crap.
But she didn’t want another lecture. Not when Reece had sapped the stress from her body. Not when she finally felt calm.
“It’s all right,” she said.
Jackie sipped her Diet Coke, her eyes glinting. Amy’s head tilted to the side like a puppy hearing a new sound for the first time. Nina just stirred her drink and waited.
Charlotte wet her lips and continued. “It’s not what I saw myself doing, but it’s a paycheck.”
“Of course,” Amy trilled. “It must be nice to pay the bills and work on your art on the side.”
Ah. Well, that was an easy assumption to make. Why else would an artist work as an assistant other than to support her true passion? Never mind that Charlotte hadn’t picked up a sketch pad in years, too exhausted in those very few hours “on the side” to even consider it. Never mind that executive assistants were skilled workers with real responsibilities, or that she might have a plan for career growth within Front End.
Because she did! Theoretically.
“Are you still doing portraits?” Nina asked. “You should share more of your work on Instagram, I bet people would love your political caricatures right now.”
Charlotte avoided Nina’s eyes, unable to lie directly to her face. “Sometimes, yeah.”
Jackie put her soda down. “She’s not drawing.”
“Jackie,” Charlotte hissed. She didn’t look at Nina or Amy, instead scowling at the woman beside her in the booth.
Her best friend raised her hands, palms forward. “What, am I wrong?”
