by Holly Rayner
At around four in the morning, she leaned over her bed, with half a mind to call Sean in the dark of the night—demanding that he tell her why he was ignoring her, why he wouldn’t say a single word about their baby. Perhaps the note hadn’t been obvious enough? Perhaps ‘NINE MONTHS’ NOTICE’ was too… abstract?
No, surely not.
Charlotte dressed herself in her running clothes at around five and found herself tracing her old route, alternating between a run and a walk. She could keep her body trim throughout the pregnancy, she knew; she’d already begun to read the literature. In her mind, she’d already begun to think of herself as a mother.
She dressed quickly and rubbed coconut oil over her stomach, knowing stretch marks were coming, and then she grabbed her bicycle and rode slowly to work. Other cyclists whizzed past, but with her helmet over her head, she maintained her pace, conscious of the precious cargo she now carried.
She entered her office, feeling a little brighter than the day before, and immediately dove into work. She knew Katrina wouldn’t arrive for another hour, and that Lyle wouldn’t be in for a while yet. She was setting an example. If she was going to take pregnancy leave, she needed to affirm her stance at the office.
A few moments later, she heard an angry rap at her door. Alarmed, she jerked her head up, dropping her pen. “Who is it?” she called.
It was Lyle who appeared on the other side. He bolted into the office, slamming the door behind him. His face was red, blotched. He was sweating.
“Lyle—are you all right?” she asked him, standing. The tension in the room was staggering.
“How dare you,” he said. His voice shook. He reached into his pocket and brought out a ripped piece of paper, swaying it through the air like a flag. “How dare you do this to our firm? You, of all people, Charlotte?”
Charlotte frowned, panicking. She scurried around her desk and grabbed the paper, staring at her own handwriting.
“NINE MONTHS’ NOTICE.”
“Oh my God,” Charlotte said, her voice quivering. “How did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter how I got it,” Lyle said. He seemed akin to a bear, growling at her. “What matters is how unprofessionally you acted with the most important client we’ve ever had. Literally, Charlotte. And you don’t even bother protecting yourself!”
Charlotte felt tears sting her eyes, then. She leaned heavily against her desk, feeling defeated. Outside, the gorgeous Seattle skyline seemed to wink goodbye. She knew she would be forced to bid a somber adieu to the office she’d loved and worked so hard at; she knew that the ladder she’d climbed would come tumbling down.
“What do you suggest we do?” Charlotte whispered. She couldn’t look at him.
“As a result of this truly unprofessional turn, Charlotte, I’ve decided to put you on leave, effective immediately. I’ve also had to inform Charles Ellis of your behavior, and he is none too pleased, believe me.”
Charlotte suddenly felt that Lyle was going too far. She stared at him, wanting to say so.
Lyle seemed to sense it in himself, as well. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak like this. It’s just—Charlotte. I had such hopes for your future. I had such belief that you could do whatever it was you wanted. You were going to take over this company, once Katrina grew bored of it. And then, I assumed you were going to take on the world.” He shrugged. “Not just get pregnant because of some one-night stand.”
In that moment, Charlotte understood. She’d let Lyle down. Her boss cared deeply for her, and had been essential in her rise from the bottom to near the top of the chain. And now, she’d been discovered as being careless, reckless, and willing to destroy the firm’s reputation, to boot.
“I’m so, so sorry, Lyle,” Charlotte said, her voice catching. “I’ll pack up my things now.” She turned toward the window and walked toward it, feeling the weight of her stomach pulling her down. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Lyle didn’t leave, not right away. He seemed to pace in the back of her office, by the door, before finally moving himself into the hallway. He hadn’t found another word to say. Not a word of congratulations, and certainly not an ounce of assurance that she could have her job back.
Charlotte broke down the moment Lyle closed the door behind him. She felt the tears coming quickly, much like the rain in the gloomy Seattle sky. Her life was over. All she’d worked for throughout Yale, throughout her career, had been for nothing.
And it was all because she’d seen Sean Lawson, all those years ago, at that Yale speech. Despite knowing he had been a driving force behind her success, she yearned to take it all back. She yearned to nuzzle into her childhood bed, in the second floor of her old house, and sleep until she felt nothing at all.
Maybe, when she ran out of money, she’d have to do that anyway.
Chapter 13
She found her composure nearly a half hour later. Charlotte scrubbed her face with a Kleenex, enjoying the roughness of the paper against her skin—it reminded her that she was still alive. Despite losing her job. Despite becoming pregnant.
Her eyes shifted down to her desk, where the paper she’d scribbled on previously still sat, with its cryptic message. She shook her head at her ludicrous idea, conceived in a moment of panic. If only she’d waited a few more days to speak to him in private. If only she hadn’t allowed her scattered mind to get ahead of itself.
As she crumpled into her seat, ready to begin packing her desk up, a question hit her like a figurative smack on her forehead. She paused, her fingers around a folder.
How in the world had Lyle gotten the note she’d written out for Sean? She’d written it and then dipped it into her folder, which she’d then taken to her office. She’d left that folder in her office overnight. And then—voila—Lyle had delivered the note back to her. Someone else must have retrieved it in the interim.
Something was definitely amiss.
As the realization dawned on Charlotte, she began to pace her office, her brain whirring.
Obviously, Katrina had noticed Charlotte when she’d scribbled the note and gestured for Sean to see it. Obviously, she’d sensed something was off—and she’d gone into her office to investigate. Charlotte didn’t lock her office door, and hadn’t ever seen a reason to, since the office was generally locked from people who didn’t work there. She hadn’t assumed any of her coworkers would want to betray her. She’d known Katrina disliked her. But why did she want to ruin her—and like this?
Of course, Katrina had been gunning for the Sean Lawson case from the beginning. And when Charlotte hadn’t opted wholly for Katrina’s strategy, she’d wanted to interfere somehow. It had been up to Charlotte not to make any mistakes. It had been up to Charlotte to keep herself safe, out of harm’s way.
Charlotte spent several hours brooding at her desk, watching as the rest of the interns, the attorneys, and Lyle’s tech-guru associates busied themselves like bees in the hive of the office. She felt like a spy, watching over them, wanting to alert them of the germ in their system: Katrina. Each time Katrina marched past, her eyes flashed toward Charlotte’s window, and Charlotte backed away, feeling that her gaze was a bullet.
It was around five o’clock by the time Charlotte had packed up her things, finally ready to flee the building. She’d halted her continuous crying; she’d found purpose in organizing her files in order to hand them over to Lyle. She’d made a certain level of peace with it all, if only because she knew she had to take care of herself. She had to keep her stress levels low. She had a baby on the way.
But as she stacked her final files, her eyes drifted toward her office window. She caught sight of Katrina, draping her purse over her shoulder, over her jacket. She was leaving—and nearly an hour before she usually did. This wasn’t the rarest of occurrences for Katrina, but she normally looked nonchalant when doing so; today, however, she had an air of nervousness, shiftiness, almost.
Charlotte frowned, her stomach
flipping. This was sour. Something was off.
As Katrina bolted toward the elevator, Charlotte snuck from her office as well, slipping her arms into her jacket and casting furtive glances around, hoping to avoid Lyle. She knew he’d tell her she should have been out of the office hours ago, and she didn’t have the patience or energy to go through that again.
As she bounded toward the elevator, determined to follow Katrina, a quiet intern—one who’d generally offered to fetch her coffee when none of the others had—reached out her hand and patted her shoulder.
Charlotte lurched back, surprised. “What is it?” she asked. Her need to follow Katrina to the bitter end was bumping in her heart.
The girl looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” she said weakly. “I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for what they’re doing to you. With your baby on the way and everything.” She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry. My friends all say I’m too emotional.”
Charlotte didn’t have time for this, but she swept a warm smile over her face, and gave the girl a quick, one-armed hug.
“Thanks for all you’ve done for me,” Charlotte said, hoping the girl didn’t sense how far away she was. And then, she swung back toward the elevator, her heels clacking wildly on the floor. She knew that everyone still in the office was watching her go. They all knew her secret.
She stabbed the elevator button, and it opened immediately, streaming her down to the ground floor. She caught a glimpse of Katrina in the parking lot behind the building, at her car door. She was chatting on the phone, and her flirtatious voice swirled into Charlotte’s ears, making her cringe.
Charlotte knew she needed to follow Katrina. But how? She’d ridden her bicycle to the office that morning, hopeful the endorphins would rally her brain, but that would be no match for Katrina’s car.
She ducked behind a pillar in the foyer, keeping Katrina in sight. She dialed Chelsea quickly, feeling the moments tick away. She hoped Katrina would continue her flirtatious conversation just a little bit longer.
“Chels?” she whispered. “Is your car parked at your office?”
“Sure is,” Chelsea said, her voice coy. “Why are you asking?”
“Listen. I don’t have time to explain. But I need to borrow it as soon as possible. Do you understand?”
“All right—”
“Actually, if you could just hop into your car and drive it to me right now—”
“Say no more,” Chelsea said. She clicked the phone off, and Charlotte sat in stunned silence, her heart racing. She prayed for Katrina to remain as long as possible, and luckily Chelsea’s office was only three blocks away.
A moment later, Charlotte watched as Katrina tossed her phone into the passenger seat, clearly finished with her conversation. She flipped her hair, twirling the curls, and then popped into the driver’s seat, opening the windows. She revved the engine, taking her time, and propelled the volume of her stereo up. The noise was obtrusive, loud during an otherwise foggy and dreary day.
“Come on, Chelsea,” Charlotte thought, growing nervous as Katrina began to back from her spot.
But then, Chelsea’s little white car pulled up on the outside of the parking lot, out of sight of Katrina, who was parked all the way on the other side. Chelsea gave Charlotte a slight wave and popped from the front seat.
Charlotte ran and caught the keys as they were thrown in an arc through the air. “Thanks, babe,” she said, her eyes wide. “You can walk back?”
“It’s three blocks,” Chelsea said with a wink. “You’ll update me on what this is all about soon, won’t you?”
“If I live through this,” Charlotte said cryptically, as she bounced into the front seat, just as she saw Katrina’s vehicle zoom from the parking lot and onto the main road.
“All right, James Bond,” Chelsea called out, but Charlotte had already revved from her position in the ‘No Parking’ zone.
She skated out onto the main road. Katrina’s car was just three vehicles ahead of her, stopped at the red light. Charlotte wanted to fist bump the air, confident in the smoothness of her chase, but she held back, her fingers tense around the steering wheel.
“Calm down,” Charlotte whispered to herself. “You’re not there yet.”
Charlotte tailed Katrina from downtown and out east, past Capitol Hill and to the outskirts of the city, where she didn’t recognize the street names any more. She ensured she stayed several cars behind her, out of sight, and was grateful that Katrina wouldn’t recognize Chelsea’s car if she saw it.
Beyond anything, Katrina’s personality was the greatest aid to the chase. She was bouncing her head to the music, thrusting her hand into the chill, foggy air, and generally driving without notice of others. Several drivers honked at her as she weaved between lanes.
Charlotte had no sense for where they were driving. For all she knew, they were driving all the way to Boise. Maybe Katrina had committed a crime and decided to skip town. Or maybe, maybe, this had something to do with the Lawson case, and everything to do with Charlotte being suspended that day.
Katrina’s car made a surprise left turn at a diner far out of town. Charlotte didn’t think they were in Seattle limits anymore.
She watched Katrina park her vehicle, and then drove around the block once, to avoid any suspicion. She parked far from Katrina’s flashy red sports car, and donned a sweatshirt from Chelsea’s passenger seat, flipping the hood over her head. She ducked into the back of the car and found a pair of Chelsea’s old tennis shoes, and stuck them on, tossing her heels in the trunk. They made too much noise, and didn’t allow for running—if it came to that.
As Charlotte neared the entrance of the diner, she noted, with a sigh of relief, that the restaurant was completely filled. There were tables and tables of large groups from both the country and the city, and their Friday night chatter echoed against the ceiling. Charlotte entered easily, her hood pushed over her hair, and she nodded to the waitress, who told her dismissively that she could seat herself.
Charlotte slunk down, easing into the crowd, her eyes searching the diner. A band of high school football players were seated at a large table near the window, shoving chocolate pudding into their mouths as quickly as they could. Old people, regulars for maybe thirty years, sat quietly, eating hamburgers without even a hint of pink in the middle. The scene was classic suburban America. It was everything Charlotte had grown up with.
Finally, Charlotte spotted her. Katrina had exited the bathroom door with a slight look of disgust, and was making a beeline across the restaurant, toward a man with dark hair and an immaculate suit, who sat glaring at his smartphone. He looked as out of place as Katrina in the characterless diner.
Spotting her, he stood up, standing tall against Katrina, and kissed her with a little too much enthusiasm for the setting. Katrina fell into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him, massaging his shoulders.
“You good, baby?” she cooed.
Shocked, Charlotte retreated into a booth directly behind them, forcing a menu over her eyes and slumping deeper into her sweatshirt.
She realized, all at once, who that man was. It was Evan Greene—Sean Lawson’s old roommate from college, and the very one who was in the midst of suing him. Charlotte knew he had a wife; Sean had mentioned it previously. And yet, it appeared that Katrina knew him rather intimately indeed.
Chapter 14
Charlotte’s ears craned in attempts to hear the adulterous couple, knowing that their conversation could change her fate entirely. She heard Katrina blathering about her feet aching, about the terrible menu, before Evan asked her, in no uncertain terms, what had happened that day.
“Do we have to get down to it immediately?” Katrina whined, before her voice turned sultry. “I wanted to spend a little bit of time with you first. Before we had to do business.”
“Darling, we can spend time together later. At the hotel,” Evan said, easily resuming his role as ‘boyfriend.’ But Charlotte sense
d his impatience.
“All right,” Katrina sighed. “I guess you want to know what happened to that goody two-shoes, don’t you? Well, I straightened her out. I knew something was going on between her and Sean. She was acting too insane around him for there not to be. Maybe they knew each other at Yale—could that be possible?”
Evan shrugged. “I think she was a bit too young for our class.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Katrina went on, shrugging. “Are you going to get some fries?”
Evan didn’t answer. Charlotte tried to imagine the scene behind her, Evan’s eyes staring, angry, into Katrina’s vacant ones.
“All right. So yeah. I saw her scribble this note to him yesterday. I couldn’t read what it was—just that she looked completely broken when Sean didn’t react to it. So, I went into her office after she left. I searched her documents, her files—everything—and then I found this mysterious, funny little note.”
“You’re too clever for your own good,” Evan said. He was clearly grinning, leaning toward her. The anticipation of her story was building.
“Well. The note said something strange. ‘Nine months’ notice.’ I couldn’t figure out what that could mean, given that this lawsuit won’t go on that long. Until I remembered that she’s been running to the bathroom an awful lot. And she’s put on a ton of weight.”
Evan leaned back, aghast. “She’s pregnant.”
“That’s right!” Katrina exclaimed.
Charlotte balked. Why was Katrina telling Evan about her pregnancy? Why had she searched her office?
“I knew exactly what to do. I brought the note the Lyle and explained that Charlotte had obviously been sleeping with Sean, that this was the only explanation. And Lyle completely lost it. He loved that little try-hard,” Katrina said, her voice mean. “He loved all of her bright plans. And even though he knew he needed to incorporate some of my ideas into the strategy, he always liked Charlotte more. She was his favorite. Until now.”