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

by Krista Ritchie

Jack Highland is qualified to be with me because I say so. “Dad,” I interject, “is this a staring contest or are you going to talk to him?”

  He gives me an annoyed look, then tells Jack, “I read about you online, of what Oscar didn’t tell me.”

  I catch a rough noise in my throat.

  “All good things?” Jack asks with a charismatic smile.

  “Eh.” He lifts a shoulder, then walks away.

  Jack looks baffled, his face slowly dropping.

  I wrap an arm around Highland. “It’s not you. He’s just playing around.”

  “Rodrigo,” Mom chastises.

  “Dad,” Jo snaps.

  He spins back then tells Jack, “You have a good handshake.” He eyes Jack’s six-four height. “Collegiate swimmer? I saw an article about your high school championship. You must work hard.”

  Jack nods, ejecting a tense breath. “It wasn’t easy.”

  My dad nods back, eyes shifting to me. “He’s a good fit.” His lip rises, just slightly, but that might as well be a million-watt smile from Rodrigo.

  I excuse myself from my family to say goodbye to Jack. In the hallway alone together, he combs a hand through his hair. “I almost shit myself.”

  I laugh, and he keeps breathing out in relief until he laughs with me. Our eyes fasten, and the noise tapers off, replaced with something sweeter.

  “I have a question,” Jack breathes in. “How long have you been keeping that secret?”

  “That I’m in love with you?”

  “Yeah.” He nods.

  My pulse speeds. “A while.” I pause. “You don’t have to say it back if it’s…” I taper off, and I grin at his emerging smile. “What’s so hilarious, Long Beach?”

  “You really think I don’t love you?” Jack says with a laugh. “Oscar.” He shakes his head, and then his face contorts in seriously bad emotions. Ones that’ve been plaguing him lately. “Your love is one of the only things keeping me afloat right now. I feel like I’m…” He sighs out heavy tension.

  “Hey.” I curve an arm around his shoulders. We hug tight and sway to the tempo of our breath and pulse. A minute passes, and I start singing to him. Not a slow sensual song, but something upbeat and fun.

  “Faith” by George Michael.

  He instantly laughs. Jack snaps his fingers and joins me in hallway karaoke. He sings, “baby,” against my mouth, and our lips meet in playful passion.

  We’re smiling in a deeper kiss, our chests welded, legs threaded, hands roaming—it’s a perfect moment, one for the Oscar Oliveira history books.

  I almost wish he’d have his camera out.

  Film us.

  Our genuine feel-good love.

  It’s worthy of the spotlight. He’s not background. Neither am I. And we should be the favorite ship online. Fans should be making cupcakes with our mother-effing names and hoisting up posters that say, Oscar & Jack for All Time.

  All time.

  Not for a short time, not a long time. But for all fucking time.

  That’s going to be us. If we can get through the tough parts. I’d bet on it.

  Before Jack goes, he stops midway in the hall. He twirls a pen between his fingers, something he does absentmindedly. “I have to tell you something.”

  I watch him walk back to me. “You have my attention.”

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but—”

  And then my radio buzzes. I’m off-duty today, but I kept comms on. The earpiece dangles on my shoulder, radio chatter echoing in the hall.

  “Quinn to Akara.” My brother’s voice freezes my blood. “Luna is heading to the Hell’s Kitchen apartment. She’s spending the night with Tom and Eliot. I’m requesting permission to sleep at a hotel.”

  At a hotel.

  Jack frowns.

  The alternative is for Quinn to stay in my studio. SFO is supposed to crash here when their clients end up at the Cobalt brothers’ apartment. Akara and the rest of Omega already okayed Joana living here, knowing there’ll be less space for times like this.

  Akara answers, “That’s not protocol. You need to stay at the security apartment in the same building as Luna.”

  I wait for Quinn to argue, but a second later, he just says, “Fine.”

  I understand what Akara is doing. If Quinn and I can’t work together like any other guy on the team, then we shouldn’t be here. But our fight is so fresh, and I see my brother trying not to start shit. I don’t want tonight to ruin our progress on day one.

  “If Quinn is sleeping here, I might go somewhere else for the night,” I tell Jack and explain my feelings.

  “You can stay with me, but you’d be 2-hours from Charlie if something happens.”

  That is a risk.

  Before I figure out my plans, I ask, “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal.” His uneasiness says otherwise, but I don’t want to prod past comfort. He’s been dealing with so much shit, and if I can be one less thorn, then I’m going to be that silky smooth petal for him.

  Didn’t think I’d end up here tonight. I’m on the pull-out couch of SFO’s Philly apartment. The one located three-floors below Farrow’s penthouse. And I’m with Jack. He’s under the thin sheet next to me, barely able to sleep on the uneven springs.

  How we ended up here is classic what-the-fuckery. It began with a text.

  Since Quinnie is staying at your place, you think it’s against policy to rent out his room for the night? – Donnelly

  I was driving to Philly when I got that text. I talked into my phone. “Bro, why do you need to rent the room? Send.”

  Because it’s an empty room. What if I rent out the couch too? Thoughts? – Donnelly

  My thought was, he’s nearing broke.

  I told him that I knew someone who’d rent out the couch. He didn’t ask for a name. Just an email address so he could send an invoice to the “couch renter”—and since Donnelly knows my email, I reached out to my boyfriend.

  Jack sent the money to Donnelly. And when we showed up to crash on the couch tonight, he was pissed in the way that Donnelly gets pissed at friends.

  He sighed really hard. And then he let it go. He even offered Jack a beer.

  Standing ovation for my ingenuity.

  We should be sleeping easy knowing Donnelly has some money, at least. But the pull-out couch is uncomfortable, and we end up whispering most of the night.

  “When was the exact moment?” Jack murmurs, lying on our sides. My arm is draped around his waist, and I listen to him clarify, “Where you were like, yeah, I’m into him. I could fuck that guy.”

  I grin. “I was thinking more like, I could hit that.”

  “When?” His smile inches up.

  “The same day you joined the FanCon tour. It was that night after everyone finally left the hotel room in LA.” Crowd control was terrible. The Hot Bodyguard video just leaked. My life was upending for a moment, and there came Jack Highland with a bag of supplies to get everyone through.

  His levity was a breath of fresh air on a suffocating day. And he started flirting with me. Like really flirting with me that night.

  I whisper all of this to Jack.

  And I add, “You’re also hot, so yeah, I could hit that.”

  He smiles more. His hand has been comfortably chilling on my ass. “I was so into you that night, and I think I knew it was attraction. I just wasn’t sure what kind. But I wanted to hang around you the whole time.”

  “Why?”

  He thinks for a second, then his lips quirk. “Basta ikaw,” he says in Tagalog, and translates again, “Because it’s you, as long as I’m with you.”

  My chest swells, and we start to kiss. Quietly, gently. Our muscular legs tangle up under the sheet, and then I hear the squeak of floorboards.

  I sit up, eyes narrowed in the dark.

  A body wanders into the kitchen and bangs into the wall.

  “Fuck,” I curse, throwing sheets off my legs. I jo
g into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” Jack whispers, following me.

  I flip on the lights, and he sees Donnelly sleepwalking. My best friend is running into the wall, his eyes are open but not focused. He turns towards the microwave, his chestnut hair askew and boxer-briefs low on his waist.

  “He’s done this before?” Jack whispers, watching me carefully try to guide my friend back to his bedroom.

  “Yeah, sometimes. Not all the time.”

  Donnelly mumbles, “Mmahmm…”

  I’m trying not to scare him awake. “This way, bro.”

  “Mmah…Lun…Luna…”

  Jack and I exchange a confused look. Why is my best friend muttering Luna Hale’s name in his sleepwalking haze?

  He lowers his voice. “They’re just friends, right?”

  I whisper back even softer since Akara and Banks are asleep in this apartment right now. “Loosely. The kind of friend you’d see in group settings and catch up with.” He has offered her condoms before, but as a wingman—not for his dick.

  “…Lun…yeah…lemme help you, babe.” He’s about to run into the pull-out couch. I try to block him. He bumps me, then turns back towards the hall. “…best pussy…”

  Motherfucker.

  Jack frowns and mouths, they hooked up?

  I shrug.

  Seems like it. Unless it’s just his fantasy. Either way, all signs point to bad. So fucking bad. Luna Hale’s dad is a recovering addict.

  Donnelly’s entire family are meth addicts. No way will Loren Hale ever want him involved with his daughter.

  Too late.

  “I’m going to pry for answers tomorrow,” I whisper to Jack, “when he’s actually coherent—”

  A phone rings too loudly.

  Donnelly suddenly startles awake.

  “Fuck. Sorry.” Jack runs to the pull-out and searches for his cell twisted in the sheets.

  “Donnelly. Donnelly. You’re safe, bro.”

  He slips and falls on his ass.

  “You were sleepwalking.”

  “Huh?” He squints at the light.

  I take a quick glance at my boyfriend. Wondering if the other execs are calling him about his job. But it’s 5 a.m.—early for a business phone call.

  Jack puts his cell to his ear and races out of the apartment. Taking the call in the hallway, I’m assuming. My chest is on fire, but if he wanted me to follow him, he would’ve motioned me.

  So I trust Jack not to pull a Charlie and disappear on me without details or warning.

  I focus on my friend and squat down to Donnelly. “You need a water?”

  “Nah.” He rests his forearms on his knees. “How’s the couch? Worth the price?”

  “It’s worth 0 cents.” I sit down on the floor. “1-star rating.”

  “1-star is better than no stars.” He massages his knuckles, reading my tensed features. “What?”

  “Luna Hale?”

  His face drops. “Farrow told you?”

  I choke on surprise. “Farrow knew?”

  “Shit.” He shuts one eye, then opens it. “So it’s a long story. But I’m not doin’ anything with Luna now.”

  “But you did?”

  “Once.” He glances towards the hall and then whispers so quietly I have to strain my ears. “I ate her out. That was it.”

  I get most of the story and learn that only Farrow, Maximoff, Jane, and Thatcher know. Now me and Jack. Let’s keep it that way.

  I’m still reeling. Going out of my ever-loving mind trying to process this. Donnelly and Luna.

  Luna and Donnelly.

  A science experiment?

  I can’t believe he crossed that line. Mostly because Luna is Maximoff’s little sister. Maximoff was Farrow’s fiancé at the time. And Donnelly is loyal to Farrow. It’s a crossed friendship line.

  “Do you still like her?” I ask.

  “She’s cool,” he says nonchalantly.

  Normally, I’d be grabbing a bucket of popcorn, but I have bad feelings. And Donnelly’s going through enough, so I’m not going to dig into it tonight.

  I stand back up, helping Donnelly to his feet, and he heads to bed. Jack hasn’t returned. I reach the door.

  Please still be there.

  Please be in the hall.

  I open the door, and I glance down the cavernous hallway. And I realize it’s empty.

  My phone pings.

  Had to go to my apartment. Sorry. Call later – Highland

  This isn’t like him. Worry morphs into instinct to go. I grab my keys, put on pants, and I head out to chase after my boyfriend.

  31

  JACK HIGHLAND

  I’m frazzled. The amount of attention on me is too new. Jesse is usually the one in trouble—and I’m not “in trouble” the way that a seventeen-year-old would be.

  I’m not breaking a curfew, but to my parents, one of the worst life paths is possible career implosion. If I imploded it myself, that’s fine. My mom changed-up her nursing career. But if someone else is doing it—not cool.

  So apparently, they flew here like I’m in need of saving. It had something to do with Jesse telling them my status as exec producer is on the line.

  As soon as they called me, saying they arrived at my place in Philly, yelling, “Where are you?!”—like I’d already been sacrificed to the career gods—I didn’t think, I just left SFO’s apartment.

  I left Oscar.

  And I drove to The Walnut.

  Immediately, I wanted to turn back around and tell him where I was headed. Ask him if he wants to join. But I couldn’t waste time knowing my parents were upset in my apartment. Back-tracking would make me feel worse. And staying the course didn’t make me feel any better.

  I could text him. I couldn’t figure out how to formulate a specific reply, so I was vague.

  I hated that I was vague.

  I’m torn in so many directions that I’m being swallowed.

  Ride the swell.

  Dude.

  I’m drowning. “Mama, I’m fine. Sit down, please.”

  She won’t sit. “You’re a good person. You wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She’s in tears, wiping the wet streaks beneath her thin-framed glasses. “What they’re saying about you online, it’s horrible, Jun-Jun.” She uses a nickname for me.

  “We were talking about you filing a defamation lawsuit,” my dad says on the couch next to Jesse. The Murphy bed is pulled down like Jesse just woke up.

  “No,” I tell them, and I hug my mom. “It’s more of a headache going through that, and for what?”

  “Your reputation.” She rubs her face. “The truth.”

  Jesse gets her a box of tissues.

  “You know the truth, Mama,” I remind her. “Jesse knows. Dad knows. I’m not a homewrecker. I said what I could. This is how the media plays out.” I let go of her when she dabs her eyes with a tissue.

  The kitchen is a mess. That sticks out to me. Annoys me in ways that it usually wouldn’t. I go over there to clean. I haven’t been here as often as Jesse. Rice is stuck to a pot on a stove. Bits of hot dog are in the sink with remains of banana ketchup.

  I scrape the food into the trash.

  “Dammit,” my dad says hotly under his breath and the shake of his head. “You’re really saying that there’s nothing we can do to help? There has to be something.”

  I wish, more than anyone, that I could snap my fingers and make everyone see what I see. Just for a moment. I’ve always known there are so many lenses and filters and views.

  Even the docuseries that I film can be interpreted a thousand different ways by a thousand different set of eyes.

  “It’ll take time for public perception to shift, if it does,” I explain, washing dirty dishes. “The best thing to do is to just wait it out.”

  “Susmaryosep,” my mom exclaims with a hand to her forehead. She basically said Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

  I wipe my hands on a dish towel. “I’m okay, Mama.”

  She hugs
me. “I love you, Jun-Jun. We love you so, so much.”

  Her maternal warmth is something I didn’t realize I needed. My chest floods, and I hug back. I thought, initially, that they were here to fight for my job.

  But it feels more like they’re here just for me.

  Jesse comes over to help clean. He grabs the walis, a Filipino broom, and sweeps up coffee grounds on the floor. I have a suspicion my brother could tell I’ve been overwhelmed. So he called in reinforcements.

  The Highland family. We might not be famous, but we’re tight.

  When my mom finally sits, sinking down next to my dad, he hugs her to his side. She says, “I liked you working with those families, but now I don’t know anymore.”

  “Is that why you haven’t touched the water?” I point to the PuraFons water bottles I gave my parents when I first got here. PuraFons is a Fizzle product like how Dasani is to Coca-Cola.

  And Fizzle is essentially what connects all the famous families together.

  My dad opens his hands like he’s being peaceful, but his words are heated. “We don’t feel the need to support them if they’re not helping you.”

  “They are helping,” I say with a strained breath. “Moffy and Jane are doing everything they can so the execs don’t fire me, and I can’t even tell you how many of them have posted pics and stories of me and Oscar on their Instagram.”

  My mom sniffs, then takes both water bottles. Giving one to my dad.

  “Why isn’t it working then?” he asks, unscrewing his water bottle. “Why the vitriol towards you?”

  “Because,” I tell him, “sometimes people grip so hard onto the concept of hate that they can’t let go for two seconds to even try to love.” They want to hate something.

  Someone.

  I am that someone right now.

  Those are words I’ve said before. I’ve said them to Maximoff Hale. Trying to ease his hot-temper and frustration. Therapy with Jack Highland.

  I crack a smile at the memory because it’s a good one. He got what I said because he felt that already. Understanding is powerful. Feeling understood. Feeling heard.

  We hugged at the end, and I felt closer to someone. Looking back, I think I needed those deep, powerful connections just as much as Moffy and Jane did.