Page 56 of Charming Like Us

“Hey, maybe I won’t die if I have you two on my team?” I flash a smile. One that’s opened some doors and driven me further in life.

Ali laughs. “Nice try. I can put you in contact with another sound mixer.”

“But he won’t be as good as me,” Ambrose chimes in.

“No one is,” I say with a brighter smile. “But can I trust him?”

Ali hesitates. “It won’t be the level of trust like on a WAC production. I’d…make him sign an NDA. And maybe also talk to a lawyer. We’re talking about filming Charlie. You can’t be too careful.”

“Speaking of WAC,” Ambrose says, “filming starts for the next season in August, and Google calendar keeps incessantly reminding me that August 1stis infivedays.”

Five days left of pre-production is nothing at all, and with that blanket of urgency, we spend the rest of the time in the weeds of budget and schedule.

No matter the side projects,We Are Callowayis the number one job. The production and crew have dedicated years and heart and sweat into this docuseries. And we have the awards to show for it.

If I prioritized a Charlie Cobalt spin-off overWe Are Calloway, the other exec producers—who are decades older and more seasoned than me—would be irate.

Ali, Ambrose, and I finishing discussing next season and the famous ones before saying our goodbyes. On the table, I bury my head in my arms. I’ve got to figure this out.

My phone vibrates next to me. Lighting up. I click into the text.

We should talk. Can you meet me at the penthouse tomorrow morning?– Oscar

Blood drains from my body, and my hand falls slowly down the side of my face.

We should talk.

Three notorious words that no one likes hearing or reading. My high school girlfriend said that before saying, “We’re going to different colleges, Jack. Let’s just do our own thing. We should see what else is out there.”

I agreed. Time to move on. Find the college sweetheart. Settle down after the career is built.

But I never found anyone I loved more than my ambition.

But Oscar and I aren’t a thing, so he can’t break-up with me.

He can bail on the show.

Lump lodged in my throat, I scrape a hand across the back of my neck. But what if he does want to bring up him and me? Our flirting?

I drop my hand and focus on the meeting spot.

The penthouse.

About a month ago, Maximoff, Farrow, Jane, Thatcher, Sullivan, and Luna all moved in together in a glittering Philadelphia high-rise. I’ve been to their penthouse a handful of times.

Over the years, after filming them for so long, I consider myself friends with Maximoff and Jane, and more recently Sulli. It’s not atypical friendship, but they’re American royalty. Not much about them is typical.

I stop just staring at the text and my fingers fly over the keypad. I message back:Yeah, no problem. What are we talking about?

Seconds later, like Oscar is poaching my confidence, he replies.

The show.– Oscar

My stomach flops, almost in disappointment. I realize I kinda wish he replied withus. My phone pings with another text.

And Jack. Bring my sweatshirt, bandana, belt, button-down, and slacks with you. Thanks.– Oscar

Shit.