She also knew that Sutton would be personal with her assistants. Not unprofessionally, but there was no way Sutton would work with anyone and not be on friendly terms with them.
It had made Charlotte want to be better in that way Sutton had, where she never made Charlotte feel bad or like she was doing something wrong. She was just soSutton—genuinely sweet and well-meaning and caring—that it made Charlotte ache to be on her level.
She cleared her throat. “And will you be heading home?” she asked, racking her brain for the right answer. “To… Rhode Island?”
It was a relief to recall that information.
Autumn turned to look at Charlotte then, eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion. “Um. No. I’ll be staying here. In D.C.”
Charlotte nodded, not loving the feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to be the kind of boss whose employee wasshockedwhen they asked what they’d be doing over the holidays. “Right. Any plans?”
The crease between Autumn’s eyebrows deepened exponentially. “Not particularly.” A second beat by before she admitted, “Reading, mostly. Catching up on some shows. Just relaxing.”
Charlotte accepted that admission with another nod.
Autumn carefully studied Charlotte before slowly asking, “What about you? Do you have any plans for the holidays?”
Charlotte felt her stomach flip-flop at the question, thinking about what exactly she had planned, and a small smile crept onto her face. “I have a few ideas.”
Autumn’s own mouth slipped into the smallest of smiles as she turned to look out the car window. “It doesn’t seem we’re heading toward the office. Or to your home.”
Charlotte’s stomach fluttered once more at the observation. Autumn was correct. Typically, after they attended an event, they either went back to work or Charlotte would have Hamish drop them off, heading to whichever one of their homes was closest first. Today, that would have meant Charlotte’s.
“You would be correct. I have other Christmas Eve plans,” she informed her assistant.
Autumn frowned, looking back down at her now-dark tablet. “I don’t have anything on your schedule?”
“It’s personal,” she said as she grabbed the tote bag she’d placed in the car this morning.
Although she hadn’t wanted to be at “brunch” all afternoon, she wasn’t stupid; she knew Deena Rogers, and she knew there would be a good chance she’d be spending more time there than she’d have cared to.
When Sutton had told her last week about not having Lucy with her on Christmas Day for the first time, Charlotte had felt that sadness prick deeply in her own chest. Sutton’s sorrow had resonated through her voice and in her eyes, even as she’d valiantly tried to sound as upbeat as possible, describing the activities she was planning for herself and Lucy on Christmas Eve morning.
Sutton had been awake last night, wrapping some gifts for Lucy, and had called Charlotte. “I’m sure you would never guess, but the RealJam Guitar is not the easiest shape for wrapping,” she’d said sardonically as soon as Charlotte had answered the phone.
Charlotte laughed as she sat up in bed. “I would never have guessed.”
Sutton took in another breath, clearly ready to say something before she’d paused and asked, “Sorry—were you busy? Or going to sleep? I didn’t even think about how late it is. I let Lucy stay up a bit and watch Christmas movies, and I just got her into bed a little while ago and cleaned up the house.”
Charlotte had spared a look at her phone; itwaspast eleven. She had been lying in bed, reading through a few reports, likely going to sleep shortly, but hearing Sutton’s voice for the first time all day had been the most perfect jolt before going to sleep. Electric and soothing, all at once.
“No, I wasn’t busy,” she confirmed, closing her laptop. “And I’m awake.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she’d affirmed. There was nothing she wanted more than to talk to Sutton in that moment.
In most moments, if she was being honest.
It didn’t matter that they’d seen each other the day before. Sutton had finished grading all of her finals, and Lucy had been out with Regan and Emma doing her “Christmas shopping,” where she picked out a gift for Sutton and her aunts treated her to hot chocolate and an annual trip to see Santa. Sutton had spent her free hours by showing up at Charlotte’s, tearing her clothing off, and touching her until Charlotte had begged for mercy.
It didn’t matter that she and Sutton had texted back and forth for a few hours earlier in the day.
It was never enough; she constantly craved more.
They talked until nearly one, when they’d both fallen asleep on the phone with barely enough energy to say good night.
The most memorable part of the call, for Charlotte, had been the period where Sutton had told her what she’d be doing the following day.
