I bite back a comment about how he still smells good. My pulse thumps loudly in my ears. Professional. It’s usually not hard for me to dip into work-mode. I take my job seriously.
Quickly, I assess Jack’s apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever been here.
My first thought: how does a six-foot-four guy live in something so…small?
The space is tinier than even my studio, and I live in Hell’s Kitchen. A gray sofa rests against the same wall as a murphy bed (currently drawn up and hidden), and I’m guessing the metal bins in an open-faced cabinet are his dresser, all of which resides under the only window. A surfboard is propped in the corner. One that looks old and used.
Jack surfs.
Didn’t know that.
Even if he’s born and bred in Southern California, I’m not going to assume every Cali stereotype applies, even if they do.
We’re all a lot of where we come from, just as much as we are the people who raised us and who we’ve met along the way.
His place doesn’t even have a full kitchen. Just a mini-fridge and microwave. I look around for the TV, thinking he has to have one. He’s an exec producer. That’s his job. But I can’t find it.
I have so many fucking questions.
But that would involve actually staring him directly in the eyes. Not about to do that. My gaze plants on the only window. Just one. Well, that makes my job easier.
Charlie steps into the apartment behind me, and I give him a look. “Stay here.”
He nods.
For as much of a pain as Charlie can be, he does listen to me sometimes. I glance to Jack, who’s busy locking the door. “Can I sweep your place real quick?”
He doesn’t turn around as he says, “There’s not much here but go for it.”
I slip into the bathroom first, and it’s bigger than I expected. I pull back the plain shower curtain. Empty.
A cardboard box is tucked under a rack of towels. Flaps open, I can see some suits and expensive loafers inside. Not sure why he’s packing his suits in a box. But I don’t stare long or dig through it. I try not to let my eyes roam to Jack’s personal belongings. Like his brand of shampoo or the magazines in the wicker basket by the door.
I don’t need to know more about him than I already do.
It’ll be like rubbing salt into an opened wound, and I just need that shit to heal as quickly as it can.
I check all the usual spots for any mics or electronics that could be recording. Satisfied, I return to the living area. Charlie is already on the couch, and Jack sits across from him on a plastic fold-out chair.
“Do you want it for personal or commercial use?” Jack asks my client.
My muscles tense.
What the fuck are you up to, Charlie?
Floorboards squeak as I walk further in the room. Jack and Charlie glance over at me.
“Everything good?” Jack asks.
“So far,” I say. “I just need to check that window.”
Jack is currently occupying the middle of the entire room. He stands quickly as I step closer. “You really think I would bug my apartment?” He sounds more curious than dispirited.
“Doesn’t matter what I think,” I tell him. “It’s protocol.” Jack might be trusted in the inner-circle, but his place hasn’t been cleared today. I slide past his chest, an inch of air between us. I don’t know if it was my words or our past that puts an invisible strain between us. But I can tell we’re both holding our breaths.
I barely exhale when I make it to the window.
“Personal would be preferred,” Charlie tells Jack, replying to his question.
Window cleared and blinds snapped shut, I face them again.
Jack hasn’t sat back down, thankfully, because I have to return to the front door. “You could use a bigger apartment, Highland,” I whisper to him as I pass again. “You don’t fit in this one.”
The top of his head is barely an inch from the ceiling fan.
He lets out a short laugh. “I’ll take that under consideration. Any other critiques?” His tone is friendly but eager.
Our eyes latch for what feels like the first time tonight. I should ask for my clothes back. But it’s not the time or place and the longer he’s staring at me, the more my stomach knots. I can’t read him. Before, I found it intriguing, now it’s almost agonizing. Unnerving.
“Nope,” I say and break our gaze to head to the door.
I lean beside the doorframe, giving both of them space, but I’m in earshot. Charlie rubs his fingers over his lips in thought.
Jack refocuses on my client. “I’d love to work with you on it, Charlie, but I can’t take on any personal projects right now.”
“I can pay whatever you want,” Charlie says casually like his checkbook is open on the table. Now I’m a little concerned. Again, what in the fuck is he doing? I wish I could ask, but I usually don’t get involved unless his safety is on the line.
Jack smiles. “I appreciate that. But it’s not about the money. I’m busy these days, so I’m only taking on projects that will land me network and cable contracts.”
“So let’s say I want you to shop it to a network. You’d take it on then?” Charlie asks.
Pieces are suddenly colliding at a sharp rate, and I have to cut in this time. Not moving from beside the door, I speak up. “You want Highland to film you?” It’s an educated guess.
Jack’s brows shoot up and he swings his head to me. “He didn’t tell you?”
I go rigid. God, I wish I were wrong.
Charlie twists the gold ring on his finger. A Faust Academy crest of a falcon and crown rest in the center. He never had to tell me, but I know that’s his father’s high school ring.
Charlie’s yellow-greens flit to me. “You know now.”
“You’re already on We Are Calloway,” I remind him. He also barely shows up to gigs. He’ll comply for his segments, but they last maybe two minutes tops. I can’t see him staying in Jack’s orbit long enough to fill up a whole episode.
He shrugs and tilts his head. “Maybe I want to be the star.”
I don’t believe him.
Most of the world truly thinks Charlie Cobalt is as narcissistic and self-serving as his father, but I’ve been around him long enough to know that he has motives. And they’re not always egocentric. But does he have the ability to go there? Yeah. It’s in him, sure.
He’s only twenty-one. He’s so young still. I just don’t know where he’ll really land.
I think on the facts that I do have. “If that were true, Charlie, you would have been the one to bring up the network deal.” He wasn’t. He wanted this project to be personal. Private.
Jack’s brows cinch in worry and he raises a hand to my client. “And I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything for network TV. I have reliable contacts that would be more than happy to take on a personal videography project for you.”
“If you were pressuring me, I’d already be walking out the door,” Charlie says, still rolling his ring absentmindedly. “Let’s do it. Once you have the footage for a pilot, you can shop it to whatever networks you want.”
I grind on my teeth, sawing my opinion down. I have to let him live his life. Make his own decisions without my input. But damn, it’s hard sometimes.