“Why do you think she asked you to edit it?” I wonder.
Charlie laughs and blows out smoke. “Because I’m me.” We reach the front doors that lead out into the bustling city. New York is always moving, but he stops a foot short and glances at his phone.
“What does ‘because I’m me’ mean?” I ask further.
He shrugs with one shoulder. “I’m a genius who doesn’t give a shit.” His yellow-green eyes flash to me. “I’ll edit her tentacle smut without batting an eye, and I don’t think the same thing can be said for her older brother.”
I’ve been filming Maximoff Hale long enough on We Are Calloway to know he isn’t judgmental. He’s empathetic to a fault. But he does get in his head a lot. So if Charlie is saying his cousin would over-analyze everything his sister writes, then he’s probably right.
But I don’t know if that’s what Charlie is saying.
And I don’t know how to ask him to clarify without a leading question. So I stop asking. We’re not shooting right now, anyway.
Charlie sticks his cigarette between his lips. “Car’s here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
“It’d be better if I knew the location,” I say, hoping to have some idea. I can hear my crew complaining and griping already.
“I never said I’d be easy to work with.”
“But me filming you is also helping you somehow, right?” I say lightly, trying to be friendly about this. “So let’s help each other, Charlie.”
He relents. Partially. And just tells me, “We’re going out of the country.”
Shit.
Fuck, I didn’t even pack a bag.
“Bye, Jack!” Luna calls from the stage. She waves with Tom, who yells goodbye to Oscar.
I make the shaka brah hand gesture, and then Oscar and I turn to each other.
Oscar adjusts his earpiece. “Told you to grab a toothbrush before we left, Long Beach.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Some days, I wish I were.”
It’s beginning to be clear that diving into Charlie’s life means I’ve just put myself in the passenger seat to Oscar Oliveira’s.
8
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
After talking with the flight crew, I gather enough information about the spontaneous trip.
Destination: Paris.
Me: Unshocked.
The small private jet hums, and I pass Jack a Gatorade from the cooler on the wall. We sit across from each other at one of the tables. I glimpse over my shoulder to check on my client. Charlie sleeps three rows back, a Cobalt Diamonds-branded mask covers his eyes and bright pink earplugs cancel out all noise.
Jack follows my gaze, and I meet his eyes when I turn back to him. “He’s got the right idea,” I say. “You should get some sleep now, if you can.” He couldn’t have slept that much after Charlie and I left his apartment. He had to meet me at my studio in New York like two seconds later this morning. And since then, we’ve been on-the-go chasing Charlie’s shadow.
He uncaps the Gatorade and takes a swig. “It doesn’t annoy you that he keeps you in the dark?”
I rarely talk about Charlie. With anyone. It feels too personal.
My reservations must be written all over my face because Jack winces. “I’m not asking as a producer of a show,” he clarifies. “I’m just…asking as a friend.”
I laugh a little. “Is that what we’re calling this?” I dig in my backpack and pull out a bag of Doritos. Snacks are a bodyguard’s best friend. Charlie and I keep overnight bags on the plane for his impulsive trips, and I almost wish I knew Jack would be joining. I would’ve packed more clothes for him.
Then again, Highland loves to wear my clothes. And I’d be a Liar with a capital L if I said I didn’t like him in them.
Jack frowns. “What would you call us?”
Us.
That word spasms my muscles like I just got zapped in an electric fence.
“Co-workers,” I answer. “Production. Security. We’re not employed by the same company, but we deal with the same rich, white east coast families, blue-check-marked and verified WASPs.”
“Co-workers,” he repeats like it’s settling in.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“Do you ask all your co-workers for a kiss?” he shoots back.
I smile, trying not to disintegrate in my seat from this conversation. “Only the cute ones,” I say, popping a chip in my mouth. As smooth as that was, I regret it. Oliveira, stop flirting with the straight boy. Holy fucking shit, I’m hopeless.
My phone rings, a saving grace really. Thank the Lord for in-air Wi-Fi.
Caller ID: Donnelly
I nod up to Jack. “Sorry, I’ve got to answer this.”
“Yeah, no problem, dude. I’m just going to take your advice.” He gives me a smile, and it takes me a second to realize what Jack means. And then I see him pop in a couple earbuds and close his eyes.
I retreat to the jet’s bathroom, which resembles a fancy powder bathroom with a rose gold faucet and a shiny rose gold toilet. As a kid, I was just happy to be on a commercial plane flying international to Brazil. That was and still is a luxury for a lot of people.
But this, this is like a fantasy made for royalty, and I know for me and a lot of security, it’s cool to be a part of it all. Especially guarding the Cobalt Empire, the epitome of lavish extravagance. But we’re here first and last because we care about the lives of the families.
I take a seat on the shut toilet lid, a comfortable amount of room here. “Hey.” I press the phone to my ear. “What’s going on? You alright?” We haven’t spoken since his vague text this morning. Sun has set, and we’re scheduled to land in Paris tomorrow.
I’m more on edge knowing I left the country before getting answers from Donnelly. But I trust if something is really wrong and time sensitive, Farrow would’ve checked in with me.
For a lot of reasons, I have a love-hate feeling towards Donnelly not being Beckett’s bodyguard anymore. I wish he
