7. Charlotte

7

CHARLOTTE

C ole’s jaw muscles flex as he comes back into the room. I give him the stink eye anyway, despite his glower.

“What?” he asks.

“You totally just called up Grayson and told on me, didn’t you?”

Cole’s annoyance deepens. He throws his hands out wide.

“What did you expect me to do? You should have told him yourself before making this decision.”

I roll my eyes.

“Hello? He’s doing some kind of top secret spy stuff, I didn't want to distract him. Besides, I don’t understand what the big deal is. Isn’t there something to the adage 'strength in numbers?’”

Cole purses his lips. He’s glad he doesn’t have to be in Grayson’s shoes. I can see it in his eyes.

“It depends on the situation. Quite frankly, I don’t think this is going to be viable.”

“It’s a lot more viable than the alternative. I told you, I’m not going to let the Order stop me.”

My phone rings and I’m glad for an excuse to look away from Cole’s disapproval. At first I’m surprised by the name that pops up on my screen, but then I remember. I hurriedly answer the call.

“Emory! Hi! I’m so sorry I missed our appointment.”

“Hey Charlotte! No worries at all. I know you have a lot going on with that hacker group. I just wanted to check and make sure you’re ok.”

Emory is a petite, curly-haired blonde with bright blue eyes that has been giving me dance lessons. I’ve been trying to expand my skill set for more versatile content. She’s also become a friend, so I know her concern is genuine.

“Thanks Emory, I’m doing alright. I–”

Cole seems to be signaling something to me. He gestures around the room, points to himself and me, then puts a finger to his lips. Got it, he doesn’t want me to blab our location. I give Cole a thumbs up.

“I hired security and I’m just going to lay low until this blows over.”

“Oh good! I’m glad someone is looking after you.”

I smile. It feels good to chat with a girlfriend. I almost feel normal.

“How have you been?”

“I’m good. I’m actually on my way to meet a prospective client.”

I arch my brows. “Prospective client? Anyone I might know?”

“Well, the prospective client is named Artie Silver.”

“Never heard of him.”

“I hadn’t, either, but we’ve both heard of who he represents. Boys R Us.”

I gasp. “Oh my god! I had their posters all over my wall when I was in high school! Are you going to get to meet them?”

“I hope so, since I’m trying to land the gig as their new choreographer.”

I clap my hands and bounce up and down.

“Girl, I’m rooting for you!”

“Thanks Charlotte, take care of yourself!”

“You too, Emory. Good luck!”

I end the call and Cole gives me an approving nod. I guess I’m not totally hopeless.

The sound of the door lock coming open draws both of our attention. Cole’s hand drops down to his side, near the hand cannon he wears. My mind tells me that it’s got to be Grayson coming back, but my heart pumps pure adrenalized fear telling me it’s the Order coming to make good on their threats.

Grayson appears, and both Cole and I relax. Cole moves toward the door and claps a hand on Grayson’s shoulder as he passes.

“Good luck, buddy.”

“She’s fine,” Grayson says, looking between the two of us. “You said there was something wrong.”

“And you ended the call and rushed back here before I could tell you what. Not very good planning for a CIA agent, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fuck you.”

Cole leaves, and Grayson turns to face me.

“What’s wrong? Why did Cole call me?”

I hesitate, knowing he's not going to like the answer.

“Um, well…I want to invite my content creation team along when we go to whatever safe location you have in store for me.”

Grayson inhales deeply, his nostrils flattening. He holds his breath for a long moment, exhales slowly, and then speaks with a carefully measured tone.

“I can think of about a thousand reasons why that is a terrible idea.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” I say with a sigh.

“Then you know that this is something you cannot do.”

I start to snap off a snarky response, then catch myself. If he’s trying to be reasonable, I can, too.

“I need my team, Grayson.”

“Why? It’s just point the camera and push the record button, right?”

I give him a long, slow, and decidedly hard glare. When I speak, my voice drops several octaves.

“If anyone could just slap videos online and become an influencer, everyone would do it. It takes a ton of planning, edits, and marketing to get eyeballs on those videos, you know.”

His eyes narrow, but not with anger. He’s thinking, and deeply. I am gratified that he’s taking what I have to say seriously, even though I suspect he’s mainly looking for ways to debunk it.

“Alright. Is there any reason your team can't do the work remotely?”

“Well, I guess, except for the actual filming part. Holding the camera myself or using a static tripod leads to boring videos.”

Grayson takes a long breath, and lets it out as a sigh.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but…what if I acted as your cameraman? Within reason, of course, my first job is to protect you. I still have to keep watch.”

“I…” I close my mouth and shrug.

“I guess that will work for me. It’s not my ideal solution. But I have to ask, why not bring my team?”

Grayson doesn’t pause or hesitate. He just rattles off his reasons as if he’s been practicing them for a week.

“Number one: More bodies means more logistics problems with keeping you all safe. Number two: I haven’t vetted your team members, and one of them could be involved with the Order, even if they are not aware of it. Number three, the presence of other people will be a distraction and might make me miss an actual threat. Number four…”

“Okay, okay.”

I hold up my hands in defeat.

“You totally win, Grayson. Geez, you must be a nightmare to play poker with.”

His eyes light up. “I’m all right. Do you play much poker?”

“Yes, when I get the chance. My parents and I used to play with each other, using oatmeal raisin cookies instead of chips.”

“You played with your parents?”

I nod. “Yeah. They were always so tired from working all those hours, they really couldn’t get out and do much. So we made time for each other in ways that allowed us to stay home.”

“That sounds nice.”

The words sound so weird coming out of Grayson the Ghost’s mouth that I almost laugh. But I don’t want him to think I’m mocking him, right when he’s finally acting more like an actual human.

“It was. We had a lot of good times around that table.”

I laugh as a memory springs up into my mind.

“My father would always pretend to be the world’s worst card shark. Like if I had a pair of twos, he’d be like…”

I make my voice gravelly and full of rage.

“A pair of deuces? Nobody’s THAT lucky!”

I pantomime tipping the table over and punctuate with a growl.

Grayson’s lips twitch, then a little burble comes out of the corner of his mouth. Then he stops trying to be stoic and just gives in to the laugh, showing me his teeth in a smile for the first time. He catches me smiling at him and stops.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just like to hear you laugh. It seems to be more rare than a Boomer on Tik Tok.”

He stares blankly. “I’ll just assume you said something to the effect of I don’t laugh much.”

“Pretty much. Am I right?”

His shoulders sag, and sadness lurks behind his compelling silver eyes.

“I used to laugh a lot more. My sister, she could always make me laugh.”

I sense a tragedy. I hate to pry, but I’m also dying to know.

“Um, where is she now? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He looks up at me, pain furrowing his brow. I already know the answer before he even speaks.

“She died.”

He turns and goes toward the door.

“I’m sorry–”

“I need to check the perimeter. Stay put. Don’t let anyone in.”

Grayson unceremoniously heads out the door. I put my hands on my hips and sigh. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

He doesn’t stay gone long. I assume just long enough to end the conversation about his sister. I wonder how she died? I have to assume he feels at least somewhat responsible. Maybe she had an accident and he feels he wasn’t there for her? Or is it something more sinister.

Regardless, I put a cork in my bottle of curiosity and don’t ask any questions when Grayson returns. Not about his sister, at least.

“Hey, Grayson, are you hungry?”

He seems taken aback by the question. After a long moment, he nods.

“Yeah. Ravenous, now that you mention it.”

“This hotel has a pretty nice restaurant. You want to grab a bite to eat before we continue on?”

His phone rings, and he holds up a finger.

“Hold that thought.”

Grayson puts the phone on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Grayson?”

I don’t recognize the woman with the breathy, soft, and sensual voice on the other end of the line, and I don’t think he does, either.

“Who wants to know?”

Laughter emanates from the speaker.

“Harlowe Vaugn. I also work for Platinum Security. We’ve actually met before, but maybe you’ll remember me after this time.”

“Right. Harlowe, sorry.”

He knuckles his forehead before continuing.

“What’s the good word, Harlowe?”

“I’ve been trying to backtrack the Order ever since they hacked into Charlotte’s live stream. They’re really good at covering their tracks, but I did manage to find something out.”

“Please tell me it’s the name and address of the leader of the cult?” I interject.

Harlowe laughs again.

“I like her. No, unfortunately, I don’t have anything that specific. What I do have is the IP address where the Order originated the attack.”

My heart skips a beat. “Omg, you’re a genius!”

“Isn’t that the same thing as finding out the name and address of the cult members?” Grayson asks.

“Not in this case, Grayson. The address is one of the biggest mansions in LA, and the guy who owns it is Wyatt Summers.”

Grayson scowls deeply. “You say that like it’s someone I’m supposed to know.”

“Wyatt Summers? Won the Cinematography Oscar in 1988 for Unhinged Melody ? Wannabe philanthropist, artist, and all around weirdo?”

Grayson shakes his head. “It doesn’t ring any bells. Why is it such an issue? If Wyatt let the cult into his house, of course he’s involved with them.”

“Not necessarily,” I say, drawing his gaze.

“It sounds like Charlotte knows the score,” Harlowe adds.

Grayson sighs. “All right, please enlighten this poor, ignorant barbarian as to why this Wyatt Summers isn’t our number one suspect?”

“Wyatt is known for hosting non-stop parties at his villa. Literally hundreds of people could be there at any given time, and I’m not sure a free spirit like Wyatt is vetting all of his guests.”

“Harlowe is right,” I add. “Wyatt is a millionaire artist who doesn’t contribute to society. He’s probably everything that the Order hates.”

Grayson grunts. “I still think we need to take a long, hard look at him.”

“It’s your decision,” Harlowe replies. “My job is to find the info, it’s up to you what you do with it. I’ll catch you on the flip side…Charlotte, it was nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you!”

The call ends, and he stuffs the phone in his pocket.

“Let’s go get some grub.”

I nod, and follow him out the door. So far, Grayson has turned out to be an enigma. He doesn’t know who Wyatt Summers is, but why should he? I bet Grayson never spends more time online than he absolutely has to.

The hostess seats us at a nice table near a big bay window. All you can really see outside is the parking lot and the freeway but it’s still nice to get sunshine. Sunlight highlights half of Grayson’s face, as if hinting at his inner dichotomy.

I order chicken florentine pasta, while Grayson requests a Monte Cristo sandwich. I grin as the waitress leaves with our order.

“What?” he asks.

“A Monte Cristo is like a Peanut butter and jelly sandwich for people with chest hair.”

He grins, and leans back in his chair. The muscles play across his chest and forearms in a delightful way.

“Are you implying that I might be immature?”

“Not any more or less than any other human being with a Y chromosome. It’s actually kind of cute. Breaks up your whole gritty image.”

He snorts and grabs a package of melba toast from the table.

“I never really worry about image unless I'm pretending to be someone else.”

“Doesn’t that get old? Pretending to be someone else, I mean.”

He nods and smears a dab of butter across his toast.

“Yes. Though, I could ask you the same question.”

I tilt my head to the side as he takes a crunchy bite of his toast.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He jabs at me with the uneaten portion of his toast, swallows, and speaks.

“I mean, the real Charlotte Gilroy, the one having dinner with me, is different from the bubbly, name-dropping persona you adopt for the cameras. Face it, you’re into the faking it business, too.”

I shrug. “I’m not going to argue with you. But I do like to think that there’s a kernel of my real self in my online persona. I think that’s what people respond to, you know? The fact that it really is me, even if I’m doing an endorsement.”

My mind drifts back to the early days of my influencer career.

“I mean, at first, I was just posting videos so that my parents could watch them on break at work. It was a way to keep in touch, you know? But then I started getting followers, and it snowballed from there until I got offered my first endorsement deal.”

“And how did that go?”

I grin and sip my water. The icy splash feels good on my throat.

“I made more money off of a thirty second spot about pimple wipes than my mom earned in an entire week of working as a bank teller. Maybe a lot of people think I’m ridiculous, and I don’t have a real job, but what am I supposed to do? Tell them no when they offer me a boatload of money to talk about their product for half a minute?”

I wind down, realizing I went on something of a rant. Grayson doesn’t seem to mind, though. He sits with his chin in his hand, eyes softly focused on me.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re ridiculous, Charlotte.”

A giddy warmth spreads over my skin, prickly and tickling.

“Thank you.”

He nods.

“I’ve been around the so-called halls of power in many parts of the world. Believe me, you’ve got something that those world leaders, those movers and shakers, can’t hope to touch.”

“What’s that? Clear skin and a perky butt?”

He laughs again, and I can see some of the tension drain away. I’m glad we moved past that moment in the hotel room when I asked about his sister.

“Character,” he says when he gets control of himself. “You have character, Charlotte. If you ask me, it’s that quality that makes people want to follow you on the internet, not just your great rack and perky butt.”

I gasp. “What did you just say?”

He pauses, halfway through buttering another slice of melba toast.

“I…I just repeated what you said.”

“Nooooo…”

I arch my brows at him.

“I said clear skin and a perky butt. I never mentioned having a great rack, though I do sort of appreciate the compliment.”

His skin turns red, and he busies himself with his toast.

“My apologies,” he mumbles.

I chuckle at his misery. Our food arrives and for a time our conversation turns into commentary about our meal. My pasta is a little overcooked, but the sauce is delightful. His only comment on his sandwich?

“It’s good.”

His expression soon darkens, however.

“It would be nice to lay hands on Wyatt, and grill him about this business,” he grumbles.

I sip my water without breaking eye contact.

“I don’t know about laying hands on him, but I might be able to get us into one of Wyatt’s parties.”

He straightens up and gives me a wide eyed stare.

“Really? How?”

I arch a brow and grin.

“This is LA, honey. It’s all about who you know, and I know quite a few people. I’m sure I can get us an invite.”

He leans forward, almost shaking with eagerness.

“That would be fantastic. But make sure that you use a different name on the invitation, so the cult won’t see us coming.”

I start to argue, but then I realize it’s a pretty good idea. Wyatt might not be in the cult, but I doubted he would be personally reading invitations to his parties.

“All right. I’ll see if I can’t work my magic.”

He pays for our meal, and we return to the Jeep. The sun sinks below the horizon, becoming just a red smear and stretching the shadows of the cars out long beside the freeway. I set to work, texting like a madwoman and following the blockchain of contacts I’ve built over the years.

The hustle is real. After a long game of phone tag, I finally get in contact with the niece of a prominent Hollywood actress. In exchange for a shoutout on one of my videos, she agrees to send me her digital invitation. It shows up as a barcode I can display on my phone.

“Okay,” I say, “I’ve gotten us in. But there’s one caveat.”

“What’s that?”

“The party is tonight . We have to get a move on if we’re going to pick out outfits and arrive fashionably late.”

“All right.”

His face twists into a mask of discontent.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not a fan of big parties, and then there’s the fact that we’re going into a possible stronghold of the Order, when they’re gunning for you. Not to mention that it’s going to be hard to protect you with all of those strangers around.”

His lips turn down into a frown.

“I think maybe it would be best if you stayed at the Platinum Security office while I investigated the party.”

I try not to get angry, though his attitude miffs me. I know he’s just doing his job.

“That won’t work. It’s Gwyneth’s niece, remember? You kind of have to look like me to pass for the invitation.”

“I’m not on the invitation?”

I pat him on the shoulder. It’s like touching granite, he’s so toned. I try not to let that distract me…too much.

“You’re my plus one.”

“Oh.”

We drive in silence for a bit, and then he glances over at me.

“Wait, when you say Gwyneth, do you mean…?”

“Yup. That Gwyneth, with the candles that smell like…certain areas of her anatomy.”

“You really do have some heavyweight contacts.”

I wink at him. “I'll never tell.”

I use my phone to navigate us to an upscale clothing store on the extreme southern end of the LA sprawl. The shop is in a new building in kind of a crummy neighborhood. One side of the street is sleek and elite, and the other is grungy and covered in graffiti.

It’s almost like a paradigm of the contrast between myself and Grayson. The glitz and the grunge of LA, side by side.

We’re greeted by a tall, thin man with blonde hair turning tastefully gray. His sharply tailored suit includes a pop of color with his lavender tie and shiny cufflinks. A smile spreads over his wizened face and he comes over to embrace me. I feel a surge of elation when we hug.

“Charlotte! It’s been too long. How did that Versace blazer dress work out for you?”

“Oh, it worked out beautifully. The vid where I tried it on for the first time has over ten million views…and I made sure to tell everyone where I bought it.”

He beams a smile and then turns to Grayson.

“And who do we have here?”

“Lloyd, this is my, um, I guess you could say my bodyguard, Grayson.”

“Bodyguard? What’s going on?”

I sigh. “To tell you the truth, Lloyd, it’s a relief that you haven’t heard, because I’m so tired of talking about it. Even thinking about it, you know?”

He gets the picture and immediately drops the subject.

“So, what’s the occasion?”

“A fancy Hollywood soiree, held at Wyatt Summers’ Spanish Villa.”

His eyes widen. “Then you need just the right mix of fashionable and eclectic, that will still pass muster with the artist types. I have just the thing in mind.”

He starts to move away, but I catch his arm.

“Um, actually, why don't we start with Grayson here? He needs to look his best, too. You can probably put him in a James Bond Tux.”

“A tux?” Lloyd is aghast. “I would never put anyone in a tux unless they were attending a wedding, and even then I would have reservations.”

Lloyd peers intently at Grayson, his eyes narrow and assessing. Grayson looks mildly uncomfortable.

Lloyd notices it too. “I guess you’re not used to being stared at this intently by a fashionista?”

Grayson arches his brows. I laugh.

Lloyd finds a tight, black shirt with a y-shaped neck that shows off Grayson’s chest without being too overt about it. He pairs this with a charcoal blazer and a pair of slim fit onyx trousers that change Grayson’s image from rough around the edges bad boy to well-heeled bad boy.

“You look fantastic. Lloyd is a genius.”

Grayson shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but when he thinks I’m not watching I catch him running a hand down the seam of his blazer and checking himself out in the mirror. Whether they want to admit it or not, everyone wants to look good now and again.

Lloyd finds me an ivory, one-shoulder bandage dress with a diagonal hem lined with elegant lace. It hugs my body tightly, displaying every curve. I step out of the fitting booth and Grayson raises his gaze from his phone to see me.

His stare grows incrementally more intense as his lips slightly part. He continues to stare as I do a little twirl for him.

“So, do I pass muster?”

He nods, enthusiastically. It’s the most enthusiastic thing I’ve seen him do, in fact.

“Good.”

I pay for our purchases, though Grayson tries to use the company card. We head out in our new purchases, old clothes discreetly concealed in a shopping bag.

Grayson opens the door for me.

“You look stunning,” he says as I get inside.

“Thank you.”

I turn my gaze away and play with my hair, heat rising all over my skin. Grayson looks good enough to eat in his new duds. He also looks quite at home with a glow-up.

It’s about an hour and a half drive to Wyatt’s Villa. Not that bad for LA, but still I feel a little guilty.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all of this trouble just to keep me safe.”

Grayson cocks his eyebrow, gaze narrowing as he watches the road ahead.

“It’s my job.”

“Yes, but I guess you think everything I do is pretty silly, with the whole influencer thing.”

“I never said that.”

I purse my lips and carefully consider my next words.

“You’ve never really seen any of my content, have you?”

“Only the stuff the Order posted.”

Grayson gives me a glance.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude.”

“You don't have to be sorry. It’s actually kind of nice that you don’t watch my videos. I find it gets old when people think they know everything about you because they follow your content online.”

I sigh, and run a finger over the lap of my dress to smooth out a tiny wrinkle.

“I like being able to actually get to know someone the old fashioned way, for a change.”

He grunts, and then gives me the side eye.

“You ever wonder if it’s maybe not such a good idea to post your entire life online? Does anyone really need to know what you had for breakfast, or what brand of insoles you prefer?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. I don’t think Grayson is trying to be mean, but he basically just shit all over my entire profession.

“Well, it beats working retail. Not all of us can save the world by working for the CIA you know. It’s not like what I do hurts anyone.”

“Except for you, if the Order gets its way.”

“Well,” I reply stiffly, “That’s why I hired you, isn’t it?”

He growls low in the back of his throat.

“This isn’t a god damned game, Sunshine. The Aegis Order aren’t fucking around. They’ve already killed people, and it sounds like they want to kill more. You’d better wake up. This isn’t the online world. This is reality.”

Any goodwill I had toward him vanishes like tears in the rain. I fall into silence, and can’t even look at him as we approach our exit.

I was looking forward to tonight, but now it can’t be over fast enough.