“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
