Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7)

by Krista Ritchie

  This can’t work unless we’re all willing to share here, or else Kinney will just feel like the Rainbow Brigade is for her and not us.

  So we’re here knowing we’re going to open up, and that’s when Jack shifts against me. He sits up a little straighter. Runs a hand through his dark hair.

  Should I be worried?

  My eyes tighten on him with more concern.

  “Do you want to start?” Maximoff asks his sister.

  “No,” she says flatly.

  Tom lifts the hammer. “I’ll go first.”

  Kinney looks relieved.

  I pass my Rocky Road pint to Jack. He offers a half-hearted, no thanks, smile. Usually Highland will eat my snacks.

  “So…” Tom scratches his head with the toy. “I still haven’t found the perfect drummer to replace my old one. And the guy that got away is now playing for a mega-popular band that’s blowing up—and that could’ve been me.” He sighs out, and his eyes land on Maximoff. Tom looks like he’s a second from exploding by whatever else he’s holding in. “And I confess that I might’ve had a small, tiny…like so small you can’t even really see it. Is it there? I don’t think so. Yeah, that kind of crush on Farrow—waaaay before you two ever banged.” His face turns into a wince. “Ahhhh, that didn’t feel as good as I’d hoped.”

  Farrow is sucking in a breath that sounds like a cringe.

  I’d be laughing my ass off if I wasn’t worried about my boyfriend. Jack, though, looks more shocked at this revelation. I knew about Tom’s crush.

  Farrow knew.

  And I’m pretty sure he already told his husband too.

  “It’s okay,” Maximoff says, not caught off guard or jarred.

  “Is it?” Tom has sunken forward, forehead on the table.

  “Yeah, it was a long time ago.”

  Tom pops up, eyes on the ceiling. “My heart has definitively stopped beating.”

  “Man, lots of people had crushes on me.” Farrow shrugs, and it’s just so easy. I can’t not take the swing.

  “I didn’t,” I say into a grin. “Not even for a half-a-second.”

  “That’s because you have questionable taste, Oliveira.” He holds out a hand to Jack. “Present company excluded.”

  “Appreciated,” Jack says into a strong swig of root beer. Like he wishes that were actually liquid courage.

  Tom starts to ease back. I wonder how long that has been weighing on him.

  “Who’s next?” Kinney asks.

  Maximoff takes his turn. “I confess that in the twelfth grade, this guy on my swim team told me that being a slut must be hereditary, since I like to get it in the ass just like my mom. I guess he assumed I had already bottomed because I’m bi.”

  Wow, I’m shocked he shared that with anyone but Farrow.

  Kinney looks overwhelmed. “You never told me that.”

  “Kin,” he says. “You were eight.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He nudges her shoulder. “I’m telling you now.”

  She nods a lot, thankful he opened up. My idea is working like a charm so far.

  So I go ahead and speak. “I didn’t have any LGBT friends in high school, so I looked up a lot online. My dad walked in on me searching the web for How to Douche for Idiots. Literally the title.”

  Farrow laughs, which lets the younger ones like Tom and Kinney feel free to laugh. I’m glad. It’s a hilarious story as an adult, but damn was I mortified to hell as a teenager.

  Jack smiles at me, but it fades too fast. And he rests a cement-block hand on my thigh. Trying to be cool, but I’m too perceptive to trick.

  With the quick raise of two fingers, Farrow is next. “The idea of being a part of a clique is not my favorite thing. And being honest, this has always seemed like a clique.” He tilts his head. “Technically, it still is. But I don’t mind this little club. It’s not half-bad.”

  I slow-clap. “That was weak sauce.”

  “Because you can’t stomach hot sauce without shitting yourself.”

  I start to laugh, then mockingly cover Jack’s ears. “Not in front of meu raio de sol.”

  Everyone laughs again, but Jack’s fades into a sadder smile on me, like he’s apologizing already.

  What’s wrong?

  I drop my hands, about to excuse ourselves, but Kinney scoots forward.

  Her turn. “Nothing I do to Tye Smith will help what I feel because all I wish is that I said or did something more in the moment.”

  “You think I always know what to say?” Maximoff tells his sister.

  “You were in shock,” Farrow chimes in.

  Tom nods. “I’ve never seen a vagina in my life, and I still know I’m gay. What he did was wrong.”

  “Elephant in the room,” I cut in, “he could be dropping his pants and pressuring other girls to touch his dick. What he did should meet some sort of school punishment, at the least.”

  She pokes a spoon in chocolate chip cookie dough. “I’m thinking about it.” Her eyes flit to the last person who needs to share.

  Everyone focuses on Jack.

  He exhales a bigger breath, staring more at the Rainbow Brigade button. “I was scared to come here as part of the club. I thought I’d feel…” He shrugs. “Like a poser. You’ve all made sense of your sexuality so much sooner, and I feel like I lose some credibility by coming in late.”

  “You don’t,” Maximoff says strongly.

  “Oscar kept telling me that too,” Jack nods, his eyes on me with a loving, emotional look. And I remember the start of his journey, where he asked for my help. I didn’t know if I’d be the right person for him, but I said I’d try.

  I hold the back of his head, our foreheads pressed together in an intimate beat. My hand slides to his neck, and he says, “Kinney gave me the button, and I was surprised at how much I felt like I belonged.” He inhales. “That’s it.”

  Then why are you more tense now, Highland?

  I hesitate to call him out in front of everyone. Luckily, I don’t have to.

  Jack turns more to me. “Can I have a minute alone with you?” To everyone, he says, “It’s not about the Rainbow Brigade. I just need to talk with Oscar.”

  I nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  Before I scoot, Farrow stands up on the other side. “You two stay.”

  Maximoff slips out next. “We’re gonna watch a TV show upstairs in the loft before we leave.”

  The booth clears in under a minute. They leave the candles, the half-emptied root beers, and melting ice cream pints.

  Rocky Road is sticky on my fingers. I try to wipe off my hands, but I’m really just eyeing Highland at this point. Confused as fuck, worried. Concerned. “What is it?” I ask.

  He grimaces. “Don’t hate me. Promise you won’t hate me, dude.”

  Now I’m terrified. But my lovesick ass says, “I promise I won’t hate you.”

  He runs his hands through his hair, keeps his palms on his head. “It’s…”

  “You’re drawing this out and making this ten-times worse than it probably is.” My heart is stuck in my throat like a boulder.

  He cracks a pained smile. “I should’ve told you so much sooner. I had so many opportunities—and again, I missed them. Let them slip by, and now it feels like an actual conscious secret. Fuck, it is conscious.”

  Blood has drained from my face.

  I think I’m near tears.

  Motherfuck.

  “What is it?” I ask again.

  He cheated on me.

  He doesn’t actually love me.

  He doesn’t want to be with me long-term.

  He’s married to a woman.

  He has a baby.

  “I’m rich,” he says.

  It knocks me back for no other reason than it being tame. I just rode a fucking merry-go-round at a hundred miles per hour and jumped off. I’m gonna puke.

  Legitimately.

  “Oscar?”

  “Oh my God, Highland.” I lean forward again. “Don’t e
ver do that to me again.”

  His lips falter. “You don’t understand, Os.”

  I groan out the rest of my heightened pulse in the palms of my hand. Feeling better, I look over at my boyfriend. “I understand that you’re rich.”

  “No, like really rich, Oscar.”

  I pause for a beat. “How rich are we talking about?”

  “You know Charlie’s apartment in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighborhood?” he breathes. “I could buy one of those.”

  Holy.

  Shit.

  Shock is a lump in my esophagus. I’d love to tell him that I don’t care, but I really wish he felt like he could trust me with this sooner.

  Jack rubs his jaw, set in a wince at my silence.

  Little things are making more sense. Like why he got so upset when I paid for temp security to protect him when he has a lot of money.

  I wipe up a melted puddle of Rocky Road. “So while you’re taking all of my clothes, you could probably just buy the department store?” My eyes meet his. “That’s what you’re saying?”

  He nods slowly. “It’s inherited money. I have a trust fund. My parents are real estate developers.”

  “Millionaires?” I ask.

  “Billionaires.”

  I choke on more surprise. Fucking shit. A billionaire. It doesn’t change how I feel about him. It might change who’s picking up the bar tab. Again, though, I can’t believe it took him so long to tell me. Was he that nervous?

  I ease into my feelings. “Did you ever tell the famous ones?” I ask first.

  “Not until recently, I told Moffy, Jane, and Sulli,” Jack admits. “I didn’t feel like money is who I am, so there was no reason to talk about it. It’s a trust fund. But my parents are proud of their successes. And I don’t want to be ashamed of what they’ve given me. Plus, I eventually want you to see where I grew up, and my house in Long Beach is really nice.”

  “That has to be an understatement.”

  His smile flickers in and out. “I just want you to know everything about me. Sorry it took until now.”

  “Why is that?” I question. “Did you feel like I’d overreact?”

  He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I feel like…I missed the chance to come clean, and then after a while, it felt like something that could tear us apart.”

  I lean back and turn more to him, arm on the booth behind his shoulders. “I’m glad you told me now, but Highland, I’d much rather you trust me sooner than later. Don’t be afraid to tell me anything. I want all your skeletons. Even the scrawny ones.”

  He lets out a soft laugh, then nods. “I’ll save the scrawny skeletons for you, Os.”

  I grin. “Thank you. For the scrawny ones and for opening up now.” I realize that Charlie’s docuseries Born into Fame really is a passion project. There is no monetary reward for Jack. He doesn’t even need his salary on We Are Calloway, which means that his career is so much more about the art.

  Art is attached to the soul, and I don’t want anything hurting him that deeply.

  Jack grazes a hand along my neck, rising up my jaw. Our eyes dance over our features. We’re about to go in for a kiss, and I swear to everything holy that cellphones are the toxin of my romantic existence.

  His phone buzzes.

  And his face falls. “It’s the execs.”

  His job.

  Where’s Jack Highland going to land?

  In my arms, probably.

  34

  OSCAR OLIVEIRA

  The sports bar is packed tonight for a Phillies game, and Jack and I barely got a table, but it’s squeezed right in the center of the room. Three TVs are in view, so I’m flying high tonight. I’m not even sweating pushing my way through the crowd as I return to our table with two mojitos.

  “Bartender was not happy about making these.” I slide my boyfriend his drink. “If it tastes like piss, tell me and I’ll go have words.” I sink down next to Jack and he wraps a casual arm over my shoulder.

  He smells his drink and eyes me in a growing smile. “By all means, you can sip it first. You’re older and hotter, so…” He pushes my glass closer to me. “Age and beauty first.”

  I crush some of the mint with my straw. “Flattery gets you everywhere.” I grin just seeing his happiness. His honey-brown eyes smile a flirtatious, charismatic smile. We have reason to celebrate tonight.

  Highland is still an exec producer. Production agreed that he’s essential to the docuseries, and it’d be wrong to fire him over online hatred and trivial “integrity” issues. Who knows what really swayed them? Could’ve been the famous families vouching on Jack’s behalf. Could’ve been Jack’s own reasoning during the meeting.

  In the end, he still has the career he spent so much time working towards. Clinking his glass in cheers, I take a sip from the drink. It’s not too sour. “Not bad, actually. Some bartenders are way too pissy about making mojitos. You’d think I just ordered a fucking espresso martini.”

  Jack takes a giant swig from the drink.

  I grin. “You looking to get wasted tonight, Long Beach?”

  “Maybe.” He smiles. “We’re celebrating, right? For you and me. Your newest temp trainee finished her last course of training. She’s fully-certified for temp bodyguard duty because of you.” Training the temp is also why I have the night off, but I have to be back at work bright and early tomorrow. A few drinks won’t hurt though.

  “It’s not a competition or anything, but pretty sure I’ve trained the most temps for Kitsuwon Securities. So we can definitely drink to that too. Emphasis on too.” I hold up my glass. “We are both motherfucking badasses.” The mojito goes down rough as I laugh at a thought. “Oh, fuck, you have to hear this. Back when Gabe completed the course, he asked me if there was a graduation walk.”

  Jack’s face morphs into a pitying smile. “Ah, man. That’s kind of sad. We could get him a cap and gown. Make it official.”

  “Only if you give the commencement speech, Highland.” I pop a chip into my mouth, and he pulls the basket closer to his chest. I reach out for it. “Whoa! Uh-huh…these stay near me, meu raio de sol.”

  His eyes soften at the nickname, letting go of the chips too easily. “What does that mean exactly?”

  I toss another chip in my mouth. “My sunshine.”

  He laughs into a brighter smile.

  There it is. “Fits well.”

  He looks flattered for once, and then a homerun ignites the room and us in raucous screams.

  We finish off our mojitos and get two more. Then three. And then a couple more. I can’t remember being this happy. Or this drunk…in a long fucking time.

  Jack’s smile becomes more lopsided—and I don’t know if that’s because I’m wasted or he is—but he has an orange sucker in his mouth and keeps touching my face. “You’ve got something here,” he tells me, his finger sliding down my lips.

  “That’s a mouth, Long Beach,” I pretend to bite his finger. He pulls back and plants his hand on my crotch.

  “This is a dick,” he defines. “A hard dick.”

  I’m laughing so hard some blueberry mojito dribbles down my chin. I wipe it off with the back of my hand. “You’re drunk.” We are fucking drunk.

  “Without a doubt.” He shifts the sucker with his tongue. “At least we know that you’re the less flirty drunk.”

  “Wait a minute.” I lift my glass. “You think I’m less flirty? Are you sure you’re not confusing flirty with sloppy?”

  He smacks my chest, and his expression—kid you not—grows mockingly serious. “I’m not sloppy.”

  “Highland, your pants are wet. You spilled your second mojito on your crotch an hour ago.”

  He snorts like that’s not true. Then he looks down at his pants, and stares at the wet spot for a long beat before looking at me. “Okay. Okay. I’m sloppy. But the better question is…why aren’t you sloppier?”

  “Because I’m me.” I pop a blueberry in my mouth. “We can’t all be this good at drinking.
”

  Jack laughs and nods as he tries to put the straw into his mouth with a sucker still between his lips. So drunk. So cute.

  The straw escapes him every time he tries. I can’t stop laughing. “Here.” I grab his glass, hold the straw steady for him, and he leans in to take a small slurp.

  He swallows, pops the sucker out, and smacks his lips. “Nutty with a little aftertaste of citrus from the hills of Napa. Stellar. Five golden stars. A truly revolutionary taste.” He grins. “And that would be my review for your cum.”

  Motherfuck. My smile hurts my face. “Get the fuck out of here.” I point towards the door.

  “Only if you come with me.” He’s tugging a fistful of my shirt, and I follow him out of the sports bar. We hook arms around each other, walking down the sidewalk and singing songs loud enough that people in their apartments yell at us to shut up.

  We end up at a club where no one will scream at us, and we sing until our voices grow hoarse. We drink until we’re holding each other up.

  And still, I never want this night to end.

  I wake to a pounding in my head that feels like someone is auditioning to become Tom Cobalt’s drummer in my brain. “Fuck,” I groan groggily and rub the sleep from my eyes.

  Where am I?

  I blink awake. Hell’s Kitchen. My studio apartment, I realize.

  Jack sits on the edge of the pullout like he’s been waiting for me to wake up. At the ready with a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t seem right. And then he passes me the water, but I’m not looking at the glass.

  “Highland.” I stare at the shiny silver ring on his finger. That was definitely not there last night.

  His eyes grow and he points upwards. Shit. My sister is here. Sleeping in the king-sized bed in the loft.

  I scoot up the pullout, leather couch, avoiding looking at my own hand. No. No fucking way. I try to think back to last night, but it’s all a messy blur after we reached the club. Quickly, I climb off the bed and grab his wrist, dragging him to the bathroom.

  As soon as the door shuts, I take the plunge and look at my hand. Motherfucker! There’s a ring on my finger.

  A ring!