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

by Krista Ritchie

“Yeah,” Jesse nods. “That sounds like him.”

  Ernest Mangold, the CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies. Charlie wanted his head on a spike. That’s my best theory, and I might’ve made dumb mistakes tonight—but I’m still an intelligent motherfucker.

  41

  JACK HIGHLAND

  “Did you hear that Maximoff left the carnival already? He didn’t even take pictures with those boys at the Tunnel of Love ride…yeah…”

  Ernest Mangold.

  I’m staring at him on my TV. I rolled it out of a closet and projected the camera footage from the carnival onto the big-screen. My brother, Oscar, Charlie, and I watch tensely in my apartment. We’re all standing, even Charlie who leans on his crutches.

  “He was showing his son around the whole time. And he thinks he’s good at charity work?” His laughter is ugly.

  My face is set in a perpetual cringe and confusion.

  Whoever Ernest speaks to is standing out-of-frame. Carnival-goers pass in front of the camera. Obscuring Ernest and his friend. Sound quality is really poor but still audible.

  “I didn’t want to push any closer,” Jesse defends the footage. “I have before, and he’ll stop talking and make me shut off my camera.”

  I rest a hand on his head. “This is good, Jess. It’s impressive you can hear anything at all with the music.”

  His lips begin to rise.

  We look back at the TV.

  No concussion, the hospital ruled—so I’m clear-headed as we watch Ernest loiter around the Tunnel of Love and run his mouth.

  “…he should’ve just left Ripley in the petting zoo. Yeah…yeah someone attach a sign to him that says ‘pet me, I’m a meth-head baby’.” He laughs again.

  No one speaks.

  Our silence deadens the room.

  My muscles tense, sick to my stomach. I shake my head and meet Oscar’s heated eyes. I tell him, “I’ve heard some weird, malicious things said ‘in jest’ behind their backs before, but nothing on that level, nothing from the inner-circle.”

  “It’s disturbing,” Oscar says, “and I’m sadly not disturbed by much anymore.” We’ve seen it all.

  The footage cuts to black a few seconds after that, and Oscar looks more concerned at me than anyone else.

  I’m almost numb. Being hit with too many emotions at once. Fury at the douchebag CEO. Hurt for my friends, the famous families. Frustration at a project that I stuffed way too many hopes inside.

  And more, so much more that I’m only starting to process.

  We’re standing entrenched in Charlie’s main motive for the show. He was using the docuseries to capture evidence of Ernest’s behavior. Charlie is outnumbered on the H.M.C. Philanthropies board, so this was the way he decided to unseat the CEO.

  I wish his motive for the show were something else.

  Something like he wanted to be the center of attention for once. A star among the gods. Egocentric. Anything that’d make Born into Fame feel long-term and not a blip that’ll end once Charlie claims his prize.

  Jesse looks between Oscar, Charlie, and me. He’s tearing off a piece of funnel cake. My brother brought back tubs of carnival food while Charlie and I were at the hospital getting checked out, and he scored long-lasting points with Oscar when he tossed him a bag of kettle corn.

  The scent of cotton candy and fried dough surrounds us as I power off the TV. “So you think he’ll be fired for this?” Jesse asks.

  “Unequivocally,” Charlie says, eyes still on the black screen. I’m glad he’ll be sacked. Maximoff never should’ve been kicked off to begin with, but I’m processing.

  And processing.

  “I have a question,” I say what I always say, but this one contains so much more of my personal emotion. So much hurt. Yeah, I’m fucking hurt. I catch Charlie’s yellow-green eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  My dream is crumbling beneath me and everything is turning to dust.

  Oscar has asked me before, why this one?

  What’s so special about this project? Why did I put my heart into it, knowing it was a risk? Like Charlie’s answer for everything, mine wasn’t that simple.

  I put my heart in everything I do.

  An opportunity to create my own show is one-in-a-million.

  I love making art that speaks to the human condition.

  To produce a documentary series about the most misunderstood Cobalt and make him understood…that feels more than rewarding.

  Even thinking about how much I’ve invested emotionally into this project churns my stomach. Charlie’s gaze washes over me. “Why didn’t I tell you?” he repeats the question.

  “Yeah,” I say, hot anger fueling me for a second. “I understand you were upfront about the reason being a selfish one, and I appreciate that, but why not just tell me you needed footage of that asshole’s behavior? We could have all made a plan together to take him down.”

  Oscar chimes in, “You know I would have helped you, bro.”

  Charlie blinks, his eyes on me. “I wasn’t sure you’d do the show, if you knew I was using the footage to get a man fired. I couldn’t take the risk.”

  My muscles stiffen. “Then why not just film Ernest yourself? Why go through this whole docuseries, Charlie?” I keep my voice steady, but I can even hear the thread of heat.

  “I already told you why,” Charlie’s eyes soften, almost in hurt. “What benefit would me filming Ernest give Oscar? None.”

  Selfish and selfless. The room sobers for a second.

  And I remember.

  Working on the pilot to Born into Fame gave me the biggest opportunity of my life. I found love. Not just momentary love that passes like the seasons.

  I found love that lasts even when the screen fades to black.

  Charlie’s docuseries put me on a collision course with Oscar Oliveira. It made me confront feelings and confusion about my sexuality that I let fester for too long.

  Leaning more on his crutches, Charlie tells me, “And that’s even if I could accomplish the task. Ernest is foul, but he’s not a complete moron. He stifles his worst behavior whenever he sees me.” He softens his gaze, and I know he’s being sincere.

  Charlie doesn’t put on a facade for anyone.

  “I still want to do the show, Jack,” he expresses. “That hasn’t changed.”

  I still want to do the show.

  It should make me feel better, but all the walls are closing in on me. “The only reason you’re agreeing to continue filming is for me. This no longer feels like a partnership, Charlie. It feels like I’m exploiting you.”

  “I’m letting you.”

  I run a hand through my hair. That definitely doesn’t make me feel better. Charlie lets people beat the shit out of him. He’ll surrender himself to pain because he doesn’t care about his own life. I don’t want to be the kind of producer that’d use that to my advantage. I care. Maybe I care enough for him.

  Empathy. Don’t lose it. Use it.

  I don’t want to lose it. I just don’t.

  Charlie must see me boarding up this project. Shipping it off to the land of unfinished and scrapped pilots. He quickly says, “Please don’t make a decision now. At least think about it.”

  “I agree with Charlie,” Oscar says. “Highland, it’s been a long night. You literally hit your head and knocked yourself out. Just take a day. Maybe a couple more.”

  I hear his fear. For me. My dreams.

  What does it all mean if it comes crashing down? I haven’t pieced together that answer yet. All I know is that this might have been my one-and-only opportunity to have my own show. To have a subject as interesting and compelling as Charlie.

  Charlie agrees to stay in my apartment while I steal a moment with his bodyguard.

  Side by side, our legs dangle off the metal grates of my building’s fire escape outside my living room window. Oscar and I share a bag of kettle corn and watch Philadelphia below.

  “I know,” I start out, “you think you’re not a good bro
ther, Os.” Our eyes lock for a strong beat. “But you were right to take care of yourself and go to Yale. You were right to figure out what you wanted and who you are, and Quinn is right to feel how he feels. And I hope now that he’s opened up and you know he was bullied, therapy will be better for you both.” I flash a warm smile. “I believe in the Oliveira brothers.”

  Oscar sniffs, then says, “Do me a favor, Highland.” He grabs a water bottle. “Next time you give me a pep talk, warn me so I don’t choke on popcorn.”

  We laugh.

  He wipes his mouth with his bicep and nods. “I believe in the Oliveira brothers too.”

  I slide an arm around his waist. His ankle brushes mine as they hang in the nighttime air, and it’s calming. Being with Oscar in a city. Even after a chaotic night—no, especially after a chaotic night.

  “I asked Charlie if he’d even want me to air footage from Vienna,” I admit to Oscar after I swallow a handful of sweet kettle corn.

  “The footage from the elevator?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  “Let me guess, he said, yes, air it.”

  Oscar would guess right. I nod with a short breath. “Yeah. His exact words, show it if you want. I don’t care.” I shake my head, conflicted. “I’m not sure he wants people to relate to him or even see him in a vulnerable state. He’s not doing this for himself. He’d be doing it for me.”

  And again, it feels…wrong.

  “You want him to say, I need this,” Oscar realizes.

  “Yeah.” I look to him. “I love being a part of We Are Calloway because I’m able to help magnify peoples’ truths that are usually drowned out with hate, but this pilot, this show, doesn’t feel like it’s purpose is for anything other than my ambition.”

  “Is that so bad?” Oscar wonders. “You don’t have to give up on it.”

  I study the hard lines around his eyes. I slide him a warmer smile. “What are you, scared to see me fail?”

  “Yeah, I am.” His grin is a shadow that concern overtakes. “It feels like you’re trapped in your own elevator tonight, and I don’t know how to help you out of it.”

  Looking into him, Oscar looking into me—I feel like I’m paddling out and about to stand up on my board. Failure isn’t as destructive as I thought it’d be. Because regardless of what happens, he’s not going anywhere.

  “I have you, don’t I?” I breathe.

  “That’s not even a question, Long Beach.”

  So what’s there to be afraid of?

  His large hand encases my jaw, and I clasp the crook of his neck. Our lips skim, waiting out a longing kiss.

  “Don’t make a decision yet,” Oscar whispers. “Sleep on it.”

  “As long as you’re in my bed,” I smile against his lips.

  He grins back. “Oh, I’ll be there. Don’t you worry, meu raio de sol.”

  In this moment with Oscar, worry is so far away.

  42

  OSCAR OLIVEIRA

  “You sure you want to do that?” Charlie asks, watching me move the rook. Finger to his temple, he studies my play.

  “Yeah, pretty certain I do.”

  Charlie paid for a public garden conservatory to close for a private event.

  The event: Chess.

  The players: Charlie Cobalt and Oscar Highland-Oliveira.

  I’d like to say this is a special occasion, but really this happens at least once a month. The manager of the conservatory has even stopped asking when the other guests will show.

  Red rose bushes surround us, and the chess set rests against a white iron table. It feels like we landed in the middle of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden.

  It’d be a great location for Jack to film. And look at me, thinking about filming locations like I’m on production. How times have changed. How I’ve changed.

  For the better. No doubt.

  “Will you be at the ballet that’s coming up?” Charlie asks as he moves his knight. He favors his left side slightly, three broken ribs from the fight at the carnival.

  “For sure.” I study the board. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You said you’re taking more time off.”

  My exact words were, Charlie, you’re going to have a temp on your detail more often.

  But he’s not wrong.

  I’m going to take more breaks. More time off. For myself, my husband, my brother and sister. I’m no longer going to grind so hard, and that decision comes on the wake of Charlie being beat up. I realize—timing, Oliveira. But I know now that there’s no such thing as bad or good timing.

  Just the time we’re given.

  You’d think Charlie would be upset by the news, but he’s happy. He’s wanted this for me ever since I lasted a year on his detail. Will I worry about him?

  Every motherfucking day.

  “I am going to take some time off, but maybe I won’t tell you when,” I say to my client. “Give you a little taste of how it feels. How about that?”

  He’s smiling, a heartfelt one. “Sounds the opposite of boring.”

  “Knew you’d think so.” I shift a pawn. “And I’m still your 24/7 bodyguard, Charlie. That’s not changing, okay?”

  He frowns for a second. “Are you still my friend?”

  We were never friends. Those words catch in my throat.

  Charlie continues, “Jack still hasn’t told me if he wants to continue Born into Fame. And I know he’s upset about my reason. I just didn’t know if that changed things between us?”

  My mind skates through everything the two of us have been through. All the continents we’ve visited together. All the lunches, dinners, and plane rides we’ve shared. All the games of chess we’ve played and the languages we’ve conversed in. How much I care about him and his happiness.

  How much he cares about mine.

  We both wanted each other to fall in love, and he succeeded in helping me open a door that was right out of my reach.

  It seems callous to continue denying the obvious.

  “We’ll always be friends,” I tell him.

  A smile reaches his eyes, and then he captures my pawn in a casual move. “I hope Jack will still do the show,” he says. “I know how much it means to him, and that does mean something to me.”

  I sigh and shift my king. “Yeah, but I think it’s bigger than what you or I want.” I meet his yellow-green eyes. “If he ends up scraping it, he’s not going to be around as much.” It cuts me up to lose out on some moments, on traveling together, but I knew it might come to that if he’s not filming Charlie anymore. “Especially since you’re barely on We Are Calloway.”

  Charlie smiles. “Just ask me, Oscar.”

  “Ask you what?” I barely try to play coy.

  We share a smile, knowing what’s coming. “Alright, Charlie,” I say into a bigger smile. “Would you consider being on We Are Calloway more?”

  Charlie’s grinning wider. “You hate having the cameras around. You’re always complaining about them getting in your way.”

  “Still hate that,” I laugh. “But I love him.”

  “Love,” Charlie muses into a sad smile, almost longing. Wishing. I wish I could help open that door for him one day.

  So he can reach the love of his life sooner rather than later.

  He asks, “What’s the difference between me being on We Are Calloway more and Jack just going ahead with the pilot? He’s still filming me in both scenarios.”

  I asked the same question in my head. “That’s why guys like you and me,” I tell Charlie, “shouldn’t be producers.”

  His lip curves. “Are you saying I lack a sense of morality?” Yes.

  “I’m saying we both have our failings,” I tell him. “Check.”

  This morning, he had a conversation with Maximoff about H.M.C. Philanthropies. With Ernest being officially gone from the company, the board instated Charlie as interim CEO. But Charlie has no desire to stay in that position.

  I was there when he said to Maximoff,
“It’s yours, if you want it. If not, you can find someone else to fill the role. It’s not something I want to do forever.”

  Maximoff nodded slowly. “I have to think about it.”

  “I knew you would,” Charlie said into a laugh.

  “Did you really do it for me?” Maximoff wondered.

  Charlie paused for a moment. “Yes and no.” He shrugged. “I hated Ernest, and I wanted him gone. But also…the company is yours. You should have never been fired in the first place, and it would have been a tragedy not to course correct.”

  Maximoff hugged him, and they kept hugging for a long beat. Farrow and I shared an eased look because our clients were at peace with each other. Can’t beat love, in all forms, all kinds—and after a big dose of drama, all I want to do is surround myself in that feel-good, can’t sleep, gotta keep my ass awake to sing the night away, kind of love.

  In the garden, I watch Charlie study the chess board. It’s those soft moments people don’t see. The ones I cherish from Charlie. It’s why I trust he’ll find his way.

  He defends his king with ease in two simple moves. His eyes return to me. “I’m fine with being on We Are Calloway more often. But the offer to film me traveling for a personal videography project still stands,” Charlie tells me. “I know he probably won’t take it because he wants a network deal. But it’s on the table.”

  I don’t ask whether it’s something he really wants for himself or if he’s just trying to help my work schedule overlap with Jack’s.

  It doesn’t matter because I doubt Jack would agree to it.

  “I’ll let him know,” I say. “There’s one more thing. I have an idea, but I might need your help.” There’s something I need to do for Jack. Like all the other options, he might not take it. But I won’t stop myself from at least trying to patch-up the holes in his boat of dreams and right it back to shore.

  “I’m listening.” Charlie moves his queen and it’s staring down my king. “Checkmate,” he says.

  I’m not even that mad about it. Honestly, I love playing chess against Charlie.

  He’s the only person who’s ever been able to beat me.