Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

Stalker on his mind.

I can’t even think about the most recent post. Not now.

“You have to understand, Maximoff,” Victoria Cordobi says in a stilted, manufactured voice like she’s reciting ingredients off a shampoo bottle. “You’ve been gone for three and a half months.”

“For an event that’s helping the company,” I say, almost too forceful. My tone is bordering hostile, anger pumping through me like gasoline and fire.

Victoria has been on the board of directors since H.M.C. Philanthropies was formed. She’s the one who was tasked with delivering the news to me.

I’ve been fired.

Fired.

I don’t understand how I go to bed as the CEO of a company I built from the ground up, and in one goddamn phone call, I learn that I’ve been pushed out. What’s eating at me, it’s not just about a hurt ego because someone stole my baby.

It’s more serious than that.

My family—the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts—they all give a large portion of their amassed wealth to the philanthropy. Whoever is CEO has the greatest control.

Without me at the helm, I don’t know who the fuck is handling billions of dollars.

“Regardless of why,” Victoria says, “you’ve still been absent. And in your stead, Ernest has brought intelligent points to the philanthropy.”

My blood boils. “Ernest Mangold?” I drill a glare into my phone. As if I can reach this conniving prick. Honestly…I’m fucking whiplashed. I can’t make sense of this reality.

Ernest is pretty new. He came into the company only last year, and he’s been relatively quiet.

So what the fuck changed?

“Yes,” Victoria says, voice wooden. “The board feels as though Ernest Mangold is better suited to run H.M.C. Philanthropies.”

This can’t be real. “Victoria, if something’s wrong, if the board is in trouble and people have been coerced or blackmailed, I can help—”

“No,” she interjects. “We’ve been discussing this for months.”

I blink, the shock like a hard slap. “You’ve been thinking about this for months? And no one thought it’d be a good idea to tell me?” A thought punches me cold.

I zero in on Jane. Her brother, Charlie—he’s on this backstabbing board, and that means he’s known for months that they planned to kick me out. While on tour.

And he said nothing.

Jane shakes her head vigorously. “Moffy,” she whispers, “Charlie couldn’t have known.” But he’s opposed me too often to be so assured.

I have no time to whisper back.

Victoria replies, “With the time differences and your spontaneous tour schedule, it was difficult keeping in touch. You’ve been gone.”

If she says that again, I’m going to pop off like a 400-Fahrenheit firework. “I created this charity,” I say firmly. “I have a good relationship with the board. Why would you even consider pushing me out?”

It makes no fucking sense.

Victoria clears her throat. Like she doesn’t have a pre-written statement for that question. “I don’t feel comfortable talking to you alone about this. We’ll set up a meeting tomorrow and have the board talk over conference call.”

“No,” I say, not hesitating. “I’m flying in.”

Farrow straightens up in surprise. But when our gazes lock, he nods confidently. He’s with me, supporting me. If the board keeps harping on me being gone, then I need to be there. In person.

To fix this.

“That’s unnecessary,” she states.

“No,” I retort. “What’s unnecessary is the board voting me out behind my back. You will all show up, sit around the table, and look me in the fucking eye when you tell me you’re taking this company from me.” In one breath, I finish, “I’ll be there tomorrow. You’ll know when I arrive.”

I hang up.

And I storm out. Only looking for one person. I fling open the curtain to his bunk. “Charlie.”

He squints at the light and then glares at my scowl. “What?”

I open my mouth, about to say, how long have you known the board would vote me out? But I freeze, my vocal cords iced and immobile. My brain is telling me no, don’t go there. You’re wrong, Maximoff.

He’s my cousin. He’s family. He wouldn’t hurt me. Then I remember my parents and the rumor—how badly that hurt. But I also remember what my dad said. To protect each other, we sometimes react out of fear and love.

For Charlie to not tell me, it’d just be out of cruelty.

So he couldn’t have known about the board or the vote. I believe this.

I know this.

Because despite all the bad blood, I trust Charlie with H.M.C. Philanthropies and the wealth. It’s why he’s on the board. If an apocalypse happens, Charlie Keating Cobalt is the last safety net.

The one person who’d shut down any dissention.

And he’s been absent from the office, with me, for four months. An ambitious prick could’ve taken advantage of that.

“Moffy.” Charlie props himself on his elbow. “What’s going on?”

My muscles thaw. “The board just voted me out.”

His face falls before his yellow-green eyes pierce the wall. Shock, then anger—his reaction isn’t that far off from mine. “Who’s the new CEO?”

“Ernest Mangold.” I explain every damn thing that Victoria told me in less than a few minutes. “That’s all I know.”

“Son of a bitch.” Charlie climbs out of the bed in boxer-briefs, his golden-brown hair messy. He follows me into the first lounge. Jane and Farrow hang back, letting us deal with this mess.

I find a laptop and open it by the coffee pot. Still standing.

Charlie hovers close. “Ernest must’ve manipulated the board—and those fucking idiots fell for it.” He groans into his hands, then pushes his hair back. “People are so stupid.”

“He could’ve blackmailed them.” I’m still super-glued to this theory. I pop up flights out of the Denver airport. The tour bus will have to take a short detour, but my cousins will still make the Boulder FanCon in time.

Charlie watches me search for flights. “I should’ve left the tour weeks ago—”

“No.” I risk a short glance at him. “I’m glad you stayed. You surprised me.” I seriously thought he wouldn’t last the whole tour. I thought he’d quit on everyone and just leave. He proved me wrong. “I shouldn’t always think the fucking worst about you, Charlie. I’m sorry.”

He flinches at the sudden apology.

I let out a pained laugh. “And now I’m the first one to bail.” Sarcastic, I add, “Fifty points to Hufflepuff.”

Charlie slides the computer towards himself. My hands slip off the keyboard, and he uses the track-pad and pops up a new window.

He logs onto a site where we book private jets. “Don’t fly commercial. This’ll be faster.” Charlie angles the laptop towards me. He knows I prefer flying commercial, even though the paparazzi are like locusts at the airport. But private jets cost a lot, and they’re bad on fuel and the environment.

Charlie waits for an argument.

But he’s right. It’s faster, and it’ll help me reach Philly more inconspicuously. No media speculation or attention. So I fill out the flight box and I hesitate on the line: how many passengers?

My eyes flit to him. “You coming with me?”

He looks away in thought.

Even the idea of confronting the board without Charlie feels suffocating. He’ll be the only person I trust there. He’s the safety net.

I remember Harvard. How I felt the exact same back then. He was supposed to be the familiar face on campus, my one lifeline. Maybe I should’ve told him that. Maybe he has no clue what I felt.

Or maybe he still would’ve left me, no matter what.

But I can’t just let him go this time.

“Charlie.” I catch his gaze. “I need you to be there with me. I can’t…” I shake my head as the words lodge in my thr

oat, afraid of saying the wrong fucking thing. I lick my lips. “I can’t do this alone.”

He doesn’t break eye contact. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Charlie nods, assured. “Count me in.”

The private jet flies off the tarmac, and Farrow and Oscar seclude themselves in the front of the plane. Giving Charlie and me space. Or maybe forcing us to talk. Something we rarely do.

Unlike the twelve-person sleeper bus, there’s nowhere to hide. We can’t retreat to a bunk and ignore each other. My beige leather seat even faces his.