Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

“He’s a Hale,” Charlie tells Ernest. “Last time I checked, H.M.C. Philanthropies stood for Hale, Meadows, Cobalt. You’re an idiot if you think he wouldn’t be here.”

Ernest’s eyes darken. “Watch yourself, Charlie.” His voice lowers. “I own the board. I could remove you tomorrow if I wanted.”

“You do already want that,” he says flatly. “But you won’t. You know why?” Charlie tilts his head, avoiding a ray of sun. “Because I’m the son of Connor Cobalt. And the only reason this company hasn’t dissolved is because I’m still a part of it. I will concede—you do own the board, Ernest. I have no control over them. But you don’t own me.”

He walks off towards the west side of the woods, completely avoiding the entrance to the trail.

Jesus, shit.

I jog after him. Following close as we leave behind everyone at an alarming rate. Oscar keeps the same pace on the other side of my subject. “What was that?” I ask Charlie.

“A prick.” He dips his head underneath a branch and enters the dense part of the woods. People are fading behind us. Tall evergreens landscape the area.

“Can’t get rid of him,” Charlie says, stepping over a boulder. “Just have to withstand him. Story of my life.”

Muscles burning, I keep a steady shot. “What do you mean?”

“Hey, let me get out front, Charlie,” Oscar tells his client.

“You don’t know where I’m going,” he refutes.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Oscar counters.

Charlie grins and glances back at both of us. “Do I?” His brows rise. “Maybe? Maybe not. Isn’t that the fun of it?” He continues his pace and answers my earlier question. “Story of my life is being surrounded by people who aggravate the fuck out of me.”

“Is your family among that group?” I wonder.

“Sometimes. But they usually aggravate me the least. Especially Beckett.” He takes a sharp right into a thicker area. But he’s skinnier than Oscar and me, able to slip between trees and branches easier.

Plus, I’m busy looking through a camera.

I stumble over a rock, and my heart jettisons, mostly fearing my equipment will be crushed underneath my weight. And I’m not referring to my dick.

Oscar extends an arm and grabs my waist. Keeping me from enduring a massive face-plant. I balance better, two hands on the handlebars of my gimbal, and Charlie’s pace quickens.

My fuck-up puts us behind him.

“Shit,” I curse, watching him disappear behind a larger oak.

Oscar follows my gaze. “We’ll catch back up.” He pushes a branch away from my face, and I duck and move with him. “What do you want to ask him so badly anyway?”

Am I that obviously eager to interview him? “I don’t understand why he’s a part of the board, if he hates Ernest so much.”

Oscar’s face softens.

“You know?”

He nods. “For a lot of people, Charlie’s a mystery. But I’ve already solved parts of him a while ago.” His lip hoists. “And I didn’t need to interview the hell out of him to do it.”

I can’t help but smile. “You rely on your talents; I’ll rely on mine.”

Oscar grins. “After you.” He waves me on. But really, we squeeze closer together as we journey ahead. Not much room to shift between trees. Our arms brush, our hands skim, and I almost feel him catch onto my fingers.

To hold my hand.

But he retracts fast—so fast that my pulse skips. He doesn’t want to force you to come out. I hope that’s it, and it’s not Oscar being scared I’ll bail on him.

As we battle through the thick brush, my heartbeat rises to my throat. We keep glancing at each other, and the inability to talk or touch with Charlie so close is adding unnecessary strain.

We’re working.

That fact slams against us as we find Charlie in a small cloverfield clearing. He knew where he was going. I focus my shot on him. He leans against a mossy boulder, book in one hand and a blunt between his other fingers. He doesn’t glance up at us as we arrive.

“Getting lost in the woods together—one of my favorite romance tropes,” he muses and sticks the blunt in his mouth.

Oscar and I share a tense look.

Fuck.

Charlie hasn’t let go of this “set-up” even after confessing his intentions. I guess he wouldn’t. The more I’m understanding Charlie, the more I’m realizing he’s more of an open book than people would believe, but his pages are written in an ancient language.

“Hilarious,” Oscar tells his client, then presses a hand to his earpiece. Listening to comms.

My walkie-talkie beeps in my own surveillance earpiece. “10-2,” Jesse calls. “I’m a mile from camp. Can I go in the woods?”

10-2 is code for I need to take a number 2.

A shit.

I stifle a smile and detach my walkie, pressing the button and speaking low. “You can’t take a 10-2 in the woods. You’re a professional.”