Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

“Yeah. He has to be part fish or secretly Aquaman.”

I smile more and catch sight of another camera operator giving me a stink-eye. I’m in a cutthroat field. Jealousy is behind-the-back, not to the face. A lot is directed at me because I’m young and in a high-ranking position. And now I’m shooting the shit with a subject.

Fantastic. Give them more reason to fire you, dude.

“Rolling,” I tell Maximoff as I switch the camera back on. I pan over the dessert spread, petit fours and chocolate turtles; I capture some of the women waiting for the bride-to-be, then zoom back on Moffy. “How do you feel about being Jane’s man of honor?”

He’s the only guy from the famous families invited today.

And his lips slowly lift into a wide, heartfelt smile. Before he can answer me, a collection of awed noises erupts from the couches.

I focus the frame on Jane.

She shuffles out in a mint-green dress, pink fabric flowers embroidered in the bust. Rose Calloway trails behind Jane with a determined, focused gaze and helps her daughter step onto a circular podium.

Audrey places a hand to her heart. “Oh Jane, you look positively lovely.”

Family members shout praises and opinions. Talking over each other so much that I lose track of who says what. After ten minutes, the consensus comes in: too green, even though Jane requested no white dress.

Rose purses her lips. “I can change the color, if you like the style.”

Jane slides her hands down the fabric. “I think…maybe let’s try another one? It needs more tulle.”

“Then more tulle is what you’ll get.” Rose whisks her daughter back to the dressing room. Giselle follows with her Canon.

I turn back to Moffy since he’s nearest. “Did Jane’s mom design all the dresses?”

He nods. “All ten options.”

We’re only on option 3.

I struggle not to glance at my watch. Dejection, I feel it. As much as I enjoy being around Jane and being a part of a milestone in her life, I’ve been having trouble grabbing solid footage of Charlie. Ever since We Are Calloway filming started, I’ve been pulled in other directions.

Born into Fame doesn’t have a shot in hell if I don’t have material to make a good show, but focusing on a side project is exponentially risky now. I should be 100% focused on We Are Calloway and not pissing anyone off.

But…

I can’t deny that being around Charlie means I’m around Oscar.

Working on the pilot does put us back in alignment, and what can I say? I like feeling balanced.

Just today, I’ve missed the way he looks at me like I’m distracting him. That stern and sexy I’m working face. Which is sometimes followed by Oscar offering his snacks to me. How he looks put-off whenever I aim the camera on him.

“I’m not your subject, Highland.”

Yet, he’ll just watch me watch him through the lens. I also revel in the hectic days and the exhausted nights curled up in his arms.

Where we’re fighting sleep just to talk one second longer.

Before Jane returns in dress option 4, I type out a quick message on my phone. Hey, if you’re off-duty tonight, you want to meet me at WAC Offices for some fun?

I just hit send.

Reading it again, it sounds like I’m asking for sex. Don’t care. I do want to fuck him. As well as talk to him. And stare at him. Jesus fuck, I’d take standing in the same room as him. Being in Oscar’s presence isn’t even a want at this point. It’s a need.

I need him.

My phone beeps a second later.

Pick a time, Long Beach. I’ll be there. – Oscar

It’s late.

Too late for anyone to be at the production offices, so I’m not even a little concerned when Oscar and I stumble into my office, lip-locked since the elevator.

Blinds drawn shut, Oscar sightlessly pats around the wall for the lights. As he turns to flick them on, I hip thrust against his ass playfully.

He grins back at me. “Perfect form, Highland.”

“You’re not that bad yourself.” I grip the back of my tee and pull it over my head. “I’d let you fuck me.”

“Oh yeah?” Oscar rotates and catches my waist, drawing me closer. Pieces of his curly hair fall over a yellow rolled banana. “I’d do you.”

I kick off my shoes, and my muscles contract at the look in his eye. The one that’s eating me whole. “What does ‘do you’ entail?” I ask with an edging smile.

“Me inside you.”

Heat ascends, like flames lick the middle of my office.

“Where?” I ask.

“Against the desk. The floor. The wall. Anywhere…everywhere.”

My chest caves in a breathing pattern reminiscent of bad endurance athletes in high altitude. Consistently, unsurprisingly, Oscar makes me feel like we’re at 8,000 feet above sea level.

I let out a breathless laugh.

Fuck.

You’re attracted to him. How was that ever a doubt? It seems so obvious, so clear now.