Chapter Text
“Miss Hamilton, I’m going to accidentally get mascara in your eyes if you keep looking down at your phone,” the makeup artist intoned. She wasn’t being stern, but she was under a time crunch: the car would be arriving at the hotel in ten minutes and Charlotte still wasn’t dressed.
“I’m so sorry, Viv,” Charlotte replied, but not before tapping out yet another quick message to James. She tried to do so as fast as she could, finally raising her face back towards Viv and keeping her eyes open so last applications of mascara could be applied. As Viv transformed Charlotte from meek and mild to comely and classic, Charlotte ruminated ironically on the fact that, despite being made over from head to toe, her meek mildness would not go away.
She could always count on James to help with that.
And if he couldn’t get to her in person to deliver his laundry list of problems with her, he’d resort to mobile communication. He always preferred to pick his fights via text, jamming her screen with scathing comment after abusive retort. This evening, it was the usual complaints on his end.
You work too much.
Tom is more important to you than us, isn’t he?
How many more years do you think you can do this? You’re not getting any younger.
Twenty-nine is the expiration date for girls like you.
And there it was. Girls like you.
She knew what he really meant by that statement.
Throwing her phone onto the bed, Charlotte nodded wearily when Viv asked if she was okay to get dressed. The anxious knot that never really left Charlotte’s stomach tightened at the thought of James’ next reply. She told herself she would ignore him for the remainder of the evening, but she was never that strong. It was always Charlotte striving to calm him down, trying to right the wrongs James constantly accused her of.
Between the two of them, Viv and Charlotte carefully trussed her up into her sapphire evening gown and adorned her with shoes, clutch, and jewelry. Viv fiddled with Charlotte’s thick, dark hair, coaxing luscious waves to drape along her bare shoulders. It took all of Charlotte’s strength to wait for Viv to finish when she heard another chime from her mobile.
He just won’t let it lie, she thought to herself. Ignore him.
But she knew she couldn’t. If she could just get him calmed down enough so that she could focus on having a nice time this evening without ruining things for Tom…
As soon as Viv gave her the okay, Charlotte hurried over to her discarded phone. Opening her messages, she reread the last text she’d sent to James, yet another polite plea for him to calm down, saying she would call him as soon as the dinner was over in a few hours. He hadn’t responded kindly, not that he ever did.
Don’t tell me to calm down when you spend all your time being HIS lapdog. I have EVERY right to be upset about that. I don’t need this anymore and I certainly don’t need you. Frigid bitch.
Tears burned, then threatened to ruin her makeup and gown, as she tried hastily to come up with a defense to send to James. If she could only reason with him and then perhaps make arrangements to fly to the States for a few days…
We are done. Don’t call me.
Charlotte stifled a cry at James’ final text. He always did this to her – always when she was about to do something important for her job. If she didn’t know any better – and there was a good chance she didn’t – she would have thought that James always picked these moments to try and throw her off her game, turn her into a sobbing mess so that she would embarrass herself publicly or get fired. It was always when she was working with Tom. She could count on less than one hand the number of times in the last few years that James was happy for her, supportive of her partnership with Tom.
James Osprey ruined nearly all of the professional triumphs she shared with Tom Hiddleston.
This time, it seemed, James had had enough. She’d been with James half as long as she’d worked for Tom, but the way James spoke to Charlotte and the manner in which he treated her (more and more cruelly as time went on) suggested he’d had a claim over her for an eternity, instead of just two short years. Considering he spent most of his time in surgery, mending other peoples’ hearts, it wasn’t really fair to lay all the blame at Charlotte’s feet for working too much and making no time for their relationship.
His dalliance with the nurse from pediatrics hadn’t helped, either.
By the time Charlotte found out about said nurse, James had broken her self-esteem so irreparably that she elected to stay with him, convinced no one else would want her. James none too gently reminded her of that fact frequently. Especially when he knew she was with Tom.
She was startled out of her anxious emotional reverie by Tom calling to her through the shared door that separated their hotel suites. “Where’s my best girl? I need help straightening my bowtie.”
Taking a moment to calm her breathing and make sure that no tears would escape her welling eyes, Charlotte deleted James’ texts from her mobile, stuffing the item into her evening bag with a harsh sigh. She thanked Viv profusely for her good work in a somewhat choked voice. “You always manage to turn me into something beautiful and presentable, Viv,” she cracked a small smile as Viv rushed over to embrace her in return.
“Miss Hamilton, if only everyone were as beautiful and presentable on the outside and inside as you are.” Viv patted Charlotte on the shoulders, moving to sweep a lock of hair back from her face to show off the Bulgari earrings. Charlotte laughed lightly, but anger suddenly replaced her sorrow.
“Yes, well, tell that to my ex-boyfriend.”
Hopefully he’ll see reason and call me later tonight, Charlotte prayed.
She had hoped the news would shock Viv, outrage her into saying something rude about Osprey and his manipulative ways. But as Charlotte made her way to the entrance of Tom’s suite, Viv just chuckled quietly. “It’s about damn time,” she winked at Charlotte.
Not knowing what to make of Viv’s strange reaction, Charlotte lifted up the gown of her skirt and stepped over the threshold into Tom’s hotel suite, taking in the bustle of the area. Stylists, tailors, and makeup artists all scurried around the room, putting finishing touches on Tom’s hair, face, and tux. Despite him being her absolute best friend, and despite knowing all of the man’s goofy quirks, Charlotte’s breath still caught in her throat every time she locked eyes with Tom Hiddleston. It never, never helped a situation when he was clothed professionally for a night out. Ill-fitting jeans and white tees were one thing, but the man was absolutely made for McQueen, D&G, and Armani.
His smile enveloped her as soon as she made her way into the room. She smiled back, feeling her knotted stomach relaxing slightly, as she took in his black-clad frame. He was perfectly coiffed from the waves of his copper hair to his perfectly trimmed beard. Even his shoes glistened in the ambient lighting of the hotel room. She swallowed down the butterflies that sometimes flitted around in her chest when Tom was around.
“There she is, there she is!” Tom announced heartily. “My best girl! Give us a twirl, my little Lotte.” He motioned with an index finger for Charlotte to turn, winking as he did so.
Feeling a blush creeping along her décolletage, Charlotte did as she was bid, turning slowly in a 360-degree rotation so Tom could take in Viv’s excellent work. When she’d completed her circle, she did a little mock-curtsy as Tom applauded and stood, walking on long, gangly legs toward her.
“As always, you’re simply radiant, Charlotte,” he pecked her on the cheek. “Now straighten my tie, woman!” He laughed.
“Thanks, Tom. Are you about ready?” Charlotte asked, pulling the fabric of his bowtie taut and straightening it at his throat. She was aware that most of the room was staring at them. People tended to do that a lot with Charlotte and Tom, as if they were waiting for something private to happen between the two of them. It was an unusually close assistant-talent relationship, to be sure.
“Yes, sweet. Did you take your medication so all the decadent food won’t harm your stomach?” Tom asked. He was gathering his phone and wallet, taking stock of all the items that needed to be pocketed. Charlotte nodded when he looked at her. Then she replied with a reminder of her own.
“Please remember to phone your mum later and ask about the color scheme for Emma’s baby shower, yes? I want to make sure the cake coordinates perfectly.”
“Of course I will, Lotte. Mum is so thrilled to be planning Em’s shower with you. They both love you so,” he beamed at her. “C’mon, doll. The red carpet is calling our names.”
Hearing about members of Tom’s immediate family loving her had Charlotte nervously smoothing the folds of her dress, thinking about James’ behavior earlier. He always insisted she was unlovable, an inconvenience, selfish.
And now he’s rid himself of you, she mused resignedly. Surely Tom’s family didn’t think those things? Surely Tom himself didn’t? But it was hard to say. James was a smart man and knew a lot about the world – about how people worked. His predictions about Charlotte were rarely wrong. He’d told her on more than one occasion that Tom was merely using her friendship, pretending to like her so she’d do more work for him and essentially make his life easier so he could play hotshot movie star. Charlotte never got those vibes from Tom, but she could also tell that Tom loved to play the Hollywood game. He reveled in his hard-won fame. He was always so nice to everyone that sometimes she second-guessed his friendliness toward her.
It was just another example of James Osprey poisoning her life.
Realizing Tom’s outstretched hand was waiting for hers, Charlotte shook her head free of James and clasped palms with Tom, doing their ritual two-squeeze “let’s go” signal. She swept as gracefully as she could ahead of Tom while he held the suite door open for her, whistling lowly as she passed him.
“Viv’s outdone herself this time, Lotte. You’re going to have every man in there eating out of your hand! James should be nervous,” Tom teased. He led her to the bank of elevators with a protective hand at the small of her back, his head held high. She loved him like this – sure of himself, respectful yet in control.
Her quiet reply made his control falter, though. Visibly.
“Oh, I don’t think James much cares at this point,” Charlotte breathed, watching the floor as she stepped gingerly into the elevator. Tom followed her in, flanked by his security. He looked questioningly into Charlotte’s gray eyes, which were again threatening to well up with unshed tears.
“What happened this time…?” Tom began. Charlotte shook her head quickly, closing her eyes and holding up her palms in a frantic gesture that Tom figured meant please don’t ask right now. She focused on steadying her breathing, trying to calm her heart rate and churning stomach the entire elevator ride down to the lobby. Had she looked at Tom during their descent, she would have recognized concern coloring his face, that telltale eyebrow of his raised in silent query. Instead, she took a deep breath; eyes closed, she inhaled Tom’s scent, letting the clean, masculine aroma of her dearest friend enshroud her.
Charlotte remained silent and contemplative the entire walk through the lobby to the Jag waiting in valet parking. The combination of making sure she kept her dress from tangling in her stilettos and forcing the tears to dissipate in her eyes momentarily distracted her from James’ ugly final words to her.
Frigid bitch. We are done. Don’t call me.
She was settled down by the time she carefully folded herself into the backseat of the Jag, feeling a small sense of accomplishment at being able to control her emotions. No tears meant that James didn’t have complete power over her, but he still retained enough that she found herself pathetically trying to plan a line of communication to get him to talk to her – to get him to take her back.
Yes, she thought again, a trip to the States will make him see I’m serious about working things out. We can have a vacation together. Go someplace he'll love.
Buckling her seatbelt, Charlotte focused her mind on positive thoughts as she rifled through her clutch for her phone. She would look up airfares immediately. It would help pass the time as she and Tom commuted to their awards dinner at The Victoria & Albert. Frantically scrolling on her phone, Charlotte was stopped, mid-swipe, when Tom leaned into her left ear and cleared his throat.
“Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing,” he scolded good-naturedly. Before she could protest, Tom gently pried the mobile from her grip and deposited it safely in his trouser pocket. When she went to reach for her device, Tom gently grabbed her hand between his two large palms, giving her little fingers the two-squeeze again.
“James can wait, Lotte. I’m sure whatever awful thing he’s said to you justifies you ignoring him for the time being,” Tom explained, “at least for tonight. Enjoy dinner with me. Please? You know we make the best pair…” He gave her the puppy dog eyes. He knew she hated them and that she would acquiesce to whatever he wanted if he used those eyes.
Tearing her hand from his grasp, she swatted at Tom playfully, rolling her eyes. “You are the worst with that sad face, Hiddles,” Charlotte mocked, knowing he hated the moniker about as much as she hated his facial bribery. “This means I get your helping of pudding tonight, okay? If I promise not to be mopey and stupid.” His wide grin caused her to smile involuntarily.
Seeing it, Tom lightly pinched Charlotte’s dimples between his fingers. She squealed and pulled away as he threw his head back and laughed animatedly. “Of course you can have it,” he chuckled. “You’re my best girl.”
How she adored when he called her that. It made her feel special; important. He certainly treated her as such. Early in their working relationship, before they’d become nearly inseparable friends, Tom had promised her that if she devoted all her energies to working with him, he would devote all of his to being there for her in much the same way. They were promises they’d both kept. The outcome was a mutual working relationship and a close friendship that rivaled many of the actor-PA partnerships in the industry, some that had been forged decades ago. Tom and Charlotte had built their successful little world in less than half of one decade.
She was his best girl. He was her…well, she didn’t have a name for him. But Tom was many things to her. Client and business partner, yes. But also friend, confidante, travel buddy, fellow reader of too many books, dance partner…the list stretched quite long when she truly acknowledged how important he was in her day to day existence. And he had more than a few times taken her mind off of the havoc that James caused within her head – and heart. Tonight was no exception. Yes, she was his best girl. And he was her Tom.
He’d distracted her with talk of plans for Emma’s baby shower for the majority of the drive to the V&A, asking questions about the “spectacular” cake Charlotte was arranging for the occasion. She was only too happy to discuss details with him.
“I swear, Charlotte, for all the thought you’ve put into this…you and Em could very well be sisters,” Tom chuckled, fidgeting with his cummerbund and bowtie in equal measure. Feeling relieved – if just for the evening – of thoughts about James, Charlotte was riding the high that being with Tom sometimes afforded her, turning into her sometimes-flirtatious self.
“Why, Mister Hiddleston,” she batted her lashes at him comically, placing a tiny palm on one of his outstretched knees, “then we would be related, and our love would be…incestuous…” she drawled the word seductively, wiggling her eyebrows at Tom and squeezing his knee until he was a blushing, laughing mess. He poked her gently in the side, egging her on.
Their repartee continued until they arrived at the entrance to the museum. Charlotte began to check herself one last time, knowing cameras would await both of them once they vacated the Jag. She unbuckled herself as the car came to a stop, and was about to open her car door when Tom leaned over toward her, a serious look on his face. “Wait, darling.” He cupped a hand around the side of Charlotte’s face and leaned in close to her, filling her nose with his delicious scent once more. She fought the urge to run her fingers through his deep auburn tresses, instead searching his face for some clue as to what she was supposed to wait for.
She grasped her evening bag with both hands just to give her fingers something else to do. With a pained expression on his face, Tom finished his request.
“Please don’t ever call yourself stupid again. My best girl is nothing of the sort, okay?” He tucked a strand of hair behind Charlotte’s ear before letting her know he’d open her door for her, that she should just sit tight.
“Okay,” she breathed, to no one but the driver. She had agreed, but she knew in her heart she would still feel stupid a lot of the time. James had always been good at pointing out her less-than-smart moments.
Don’t think about him right now, she scolded herself. Don’t be stup–
She shook her head, chocolate waves brushing her shoulders. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself and turned as the car door opened fluidly. The elegant hand that extended to her, complete with the French cuffs and onyx cufflinks, served as a reminder that she had more important things to focus on than James.
Tom is worth my full attention this evening, Charlotte reasoned. And indeed he was.
He helped her out of the car, his eyes never leaving her, a proud smile on his face as she exited the vehicle to the shouts of fans and photographers alike. Tucking her hand in Tom’s proffered arm and squeezing twice, Charlotte strutted her way down the red carpet at his side. It was a dance they’d done before, many times. People speculated as to why Tom Hiddleston only ever brought his family members or his assistant, Charlotte Hamilton, to his functions, but he never felt the need to explain his motives.
Charlotte had only ever enquired about it once, after a jaunt to a particularly swanky affair, and Tom’s answer had been simple.
“I only ever have people beside me whom I trust implicitly.”
There wasn’t much room for discussion at his admission, and at the time, Charlotte was too stunned by the honesty of his words to pursue the conversation any further. But in recent months, Tom’s involvement with Jacqueline caused Charlotte to wonder just how many more functions she would be allowed to attend. Surely the girlfriend would take precedence?
If today had been a day for Charlotte’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – to be upset about her pairing with Tom, surely Jacqueline Silver would also have words for Tom later on, especially after the press photos came out.
Tom helping Charlotte out of the car.
Tom holding Charlotte’s hand and giving her his arm down the carpet.
It was no secret that Jacqueline (“Never call me Jackie!”) loathed Charlotte from day one. In fact, Jacqueline Silver could have given James Osprey a run for his money in terms of making Charlotte feel like complete and utter shit. Two completely different people – an American jazz singer and a British heart surgeon – both invested in the systematic destruction of Charlotte Hamilton’s self-esteem.
Not tonight, thought Charlotte. If this is the last hurrah with my Tom, I’m going to savor it.
Thinking that the evening out could possibly be her last for the foreseeable future, Charlotte decided to perk up and smiled generously for the cameras, waving to fans and exchanging lighthearted banter with Tom as they progressed along the carpet, stopping at various media outlets to discuss Tom’s recent work and upcoming projects.
While she normally would have stayed with Tom to see him through the entirety of his interviews, Charlotte eventually caught the eye of Aminta Brightman, who waved her over for a few moments to catch up.
“How are you, my lovely protégée?” gushed Aminta, kissing Charlotte on both cheeks. She had been a colleague of Charlotte’s at her old public relations firm, a sort of mentor whose expertise and training practically led Charlotte to Tom’s doorstep four years ago.
“I’m well, ‘minta,” Charlotte replied. “Quite a nice evening, isn’t it?” Aminta nodded, taking in their surroundings. The older woman was always very observant, her keen eyes sweeping around any area she inhabited. “The best PAs anticipate things before they’re needed,” Aminta had explained to Charlotte early on. It was a rule that Charlotte lived by, and looking back at the formative years of her career, especially with Tom, it had served her very well.
“Tom is treating you all right, then?” Aminta queried, mirth shining in her eyes. Charlotte flushed slightly, smiling and looking down at her shoes momentarily.
“As usual, yes,” she whispered.
“Smart man. Best thing I ever did was send you to his agency,” Aminta mused aloud. “That man adores you.”
Charlotte blustered, laughing slightly to mask her embarrassment. “Well, now I wouldn’t take it that far! He’s my best friend,” she insisted.
Why was she feeling so defensive all of a sudden? Aminta spun Charlotte back in Tom’s direction, murmuring in her ear as Tom’s gaze caught sight of Charlotte’s face. He brightened immediately upon finding her.
“That’s a good place to start, Hamilton.”
With a motherly swat on Charlotte’s butt, Aminta sent Charlotte back to her charge, who winked at her and held out his arm for her to take once more. Strange as it was, Charlotte always felt a slight release of pressure when she made renewed contact with Tom, as if her body was immediately put at ease by his presence.
“I see Aminta found you, lovely. How is she?” Tom queried, ignoring the catcalls from fans and the shouted requests from photographers crowding the perimeter of the carpet.
“She’s wonderful. Always asks about you, making sure you’re not abusing me too badly,” Charlotte joked. They were almost to the end of the carpet, the noise fading slightly into the background.
Tom turned his gaze on Charlotte, stopping dead in his tracks to turn her whole body toward his. He plastered the most evil look on his face that he could muster, crowding her space and using his tall frame to his advantage as he loomed over her. “I’ll only abuse you when you ask for it,” he chuckled, channeling Loki as best he could with his reddish-brown, wavy hair.
Feigning disgust, Charlotte turned away from Tom to hide her laughter, thinking of her cleverest retort for the God of Mischief who’d suddenly appeared disguised as a famous British actor.
Her comeback was immediately drowned out by a quick succession of gunshots – loud, percussive, and seemingly nearby. Before Charlotte had any time to think, her brain was taking in the scene before her: people running, ducking, falling, and screaming. She would have run into the museum but too many people were jostling her and shoving her in the other direction. Tom was lost to her in the commotion.
The sensation of the hem of her dress ripping was coupled with a wet spray that filled the air just to her right. Looking down at her arm, which lifted up her dress so that she might flee more efficiently, Charlotte put two and two together to realize the wet spray was someone’s blood, and it was now all over the right side of her body.
You need to get inside, she thought in a panic.
That panic ratcheted to another level when she whirled around, still unable to find Tom.
And then the next series of shots rang out.
Animal instinct had Charlotte on hands and knees, crawling across the ground to shield herself as best she could, searching for a way into the safety of the V&A. But was it actually safe?
“TOM!” she screamed, to no avail. The crowd was so large, the collective panic so widespread that her voice evaporated into the chaos as soon as it left her mouth. Eyes darting every which way, trying to find her Tom, Charlotte was soon faced with another sickening obstacle – bodies.
People were dying.
Her ground-level view was turning into the perfect venue for seeing casualties in their grotesque, bloody, immobilized states. Charlotte’s stomach lurched violently as she stumbled to a standing position.
Two more shots rang out.
Where the fuck are the police?! Charlotte screamed silently in her head, ducking and covering the best that she could, attempting to move with the tide of humanity still trying to head somewhere for blessed cover.
She darted through the crowd as efficiently as possible, willing the nausea and blind terror away, when she was suddenly grabbed from behind. Shouting and whirling at the same time, Charlotte blanched when a bloodied Aminta latched onto her, a good chunk of her left cheekbone missing from her face. Muscle and blood oozed from her friend’s wounds, and she was as white as chalk.
Not able to speak, Charlotte gripped Aminta tightly and half-dragged her toward the supposed safety of the museum entrance, which was still bottlenecked with survivors trying to flee the scene.
“Almost…there, ‘minta,” Charlotte gasped, feeling the older woman’s weight become heavy and useless the more blood she lost. Charlotte was starting to wonder how she’d get her to safety, when a final rat-a-tat-tat of bullets pierced the air.
Aminta Brightman dropped with the finality of an anchor plunging into the cold, barren sea as another stray, random bullet punched through her back, then her front. Charlotte screamed, watching as her friend collapsed in a crimson heap.
The red carpet beneath Aminta’s body absorbed her blood until it was a darker shade of red, a more sinister shade of red.
Equal parts guilt and alarm flared in Charlotte’s brain as she made the agonizing decision to leave Aminta and try to make it into the Victoria & Albert.
She ran, ignoring the droplets of other peoples’ lives scattered about her skin. She stumbled, her heel catching on her still-lengthy Givenchy gown, causing her to fall onto the wet carpet with a sickening thud.
The last thing Charlotte Hamilton saw, as someone’s foot clumsily collided with the back of her head, was the swimming and blurry face of her Tom, calling her name.