Extra Bonus #61: Charlie & The Secret Threat (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES: Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MUSIC: We listened to “Shadow on the Sea” by CHAMPS and “Bad Child” by Tones and I while writing this bonus scene.

THIS IS NOT MY NIGHT. I fell asleep on a motherfucking chair in my high-end Hell’s Kitchen apartment. I have my own room. With a door. Four walls. My own queen-sized bed with a plush foam mattress.

Instead, I’m on the lumpy leather chair that Donnelly broke last year after a drunken night dancing. The industrial lighting is dim overhead the living room, and I’m jolted awake at the sound of pounding on the door.

I have three roommates, but I saw Donnelly earlier. He’s home.

Not sure if the Wreath brothers are here. I’m not exactly chummy with them. We aren’t texting memes. We’re not even sharing tips and tricks of the trade when they currently have a different lead than me and SFO is being labeled as the famous bodyguards. Epsilon is distancing themselves from us like our notoriety is an STD.

On top of that, Ian is still pissed we gave his little brother Vance the Lost & Found room when the two of them moved in last month. But over my beautiful dead body would I have let Donnelly take that trashed room, even if he was willing to go.

So when knuckles rap the door and I careen forward like hands shoved me, I have two instant guesses. Vance Wreath either lost his keys.

Or I’m about to go on-duty.

My eyes flit over to the couch, and I stiffen.

Holy fucking shit, my hookup is still here. And we didn’t fuck. Hell, we didn’t reach second base. This is definitely not my night. I’m shocked he didn’t sneak out with a horny huff and a frustrated sigh. My exhausted ass didn’t even make it to the leather couch where he’s curled up.

The end of Fight Club is playing softly on the 65-inch TV.

I remember turning the movie on, yawning, and shutting my eyes for a second. I only had one beer. Not even tipsy. I must’ve gotten too comfortable too far away from my supposed one-night stand, and then, lights out.

The next knock sounds impatient, and I don’t waste time in my feelings. With a speedy stride towards the door, I cast a glance back at the guy on the couch.

Still sleeping.

Unaware that I’m a bodyguard, even if I’m called The Pro all over the internet.

Unaware that I live across from the famed Cobalt brothers.

Likely, he’s not into pop culture.

At least he’s still clothed. As I reach the door, I’m hoping this is not Charlie. It’ll be much easier if I’m just letting in a roommate at…I check my watch.

3:12 a.m.

I peer through the door’s peephole. Through the fish-eye lens, I see sandy-brown hair and untired eyes. Perfectly awake.

Charlie.

So much for a night off. The inkling of irritation lies beneath natural concern and a dash of intrigue. What’s he doing here? Questions always spring up being on his detail.

Where are we going? What are we doing? Why right now? Sometimes, I never find the full answers, and that should make me want to bang my head into a brick wall.

It does, occasionally.

But I just keep chasing after him—going too fast to care about unsolved mysteries.

Quickly, I unlock and crack the door, squinting at the harsher hallway light. His apartment is right across the hall. “Charlie,” I greet tersely. “It’s past three—”

“I know the time.” Charlie is dressed to leave. He has on black slacks and a navy-blue peacoat. Not his coat.

Don’t leave without me. I nearly panic think he’s going to bolt, but I compose myself and devote myself to some rational thinking and realize, Charlie is coming to me. Is he including me in his plans?

“It’s Eliot’s.” He sees me staring at his coat.

I didn’t ask, but of course I’m interested in his relationship with his brothers, especially since Tom and Eliot haven’t been living here for long. Not very many people have a front row view to the Cobalt Empire, and my lucky ass is in a cushy boxed seat. But I’m also his bodyguard.

Not his friend.

Charlie tries to peer around my shoulder into my apartment while he talks. “He stole my coat, so I’m taking his.” I’m blocking my client out of my apartment more. He knows I’ve been making a concerted effort to keep him out, and he’s trying to distract me so he can see what I’m hiding.

“When are you leaving?” I ask him, already spotting the travel duffel on the ground beside him. I still can’t believe he’s not just texting me his location.

“As soon as you’re ready.”

He’s…waiting for me? I’m not so obtuse to believe my relationship with Charlie has improved. No, he must need me in particular. Feels great and terrible at the same time.

I hesitate to shut him out in the hall while I grab my bag and tell my hookup to go.

Charlie is still likely to bolt.

Without me.

And at this point, I do want to be involved in whatever he’s doing. I don’t want to call a temp who’ll never catch up to him. He needs me right now.

“Wait inside for a second.” I swing the door further open and usher Charlie into the living room. He slips inside, his yellow-green eyes casually canvassing Fight Club on the TV and my slowly waking hookup.

I crouch down to the couch. Dark-haired, pale-skinned, mostly lanky, and more tattooed than I remember at the darkly lit bar. “Hey, sorry about this, Jeremy, but I have work—and you can’t sleep here tonight.”

He blinks out of a deep slumber. “Uhh, yeah. Okay.” With a big yawn, he sits up, feet on the floor, and he freezes at the sight of Charlie Keating Cobalt. “Is that…?” He blinks again, like he’s trying to place Charlie’s face in his memory.

Jeremy might not recognize me off the internet, but he does recognize Charlie.

Charlie just glances over at me to see what I’ll do.

“I have work,” I remind Jeremy. “You’ll also need to sign an NDA on your way out.”

He makes a confused noise. “Why?” I take a short second to explain that I’m a bodyguard to a Cobalt and that anything that he sees here stays here. All the while, I grab my backpack with a weekend’s worth of pre-packed clothes out of the hall closet and I pop up a contract for him to digitally sign on my phone.

Once Jeremy is on his feet and signs the NDA, I rest a hand on his back and guide him out of the apartment.

“Can I get your number?” he asks quietly in the hall.

I didn’t want this to be more than a one-night stand. Even though we never hooked up, I’m not sending mixed signals, so I just say, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, but maybe I’ll see you around Butterfly Bar again.”

“Yeah, maybe.” After a short goodbye smile on his end, no hugs exchanged, he slips a quick glance back at my apartment, possibly hoping to catch another glimpse of Charlie. And then he leaves for the elevator.

I meet Charlie back in my apartment.

He’s seated on the armrest, looking disinterested in the end credits rolling on the TV.

I shut it off. “You booked the flight?” With more urgency, I change into a fresh button-down.

“So is that your type of guy?” Charlie wonders.

I don’t answer that.

“He looked a little like Donnelly, no?” Charlie is casually launching grenades in my direction. I can’t tell if he’s trying to unnerve me or if he’s trying to pry.

My fingers work quickly over the buttons of my white shirt. “Want me to book you an appointment with the optometrist?”

His lip lifts. “You don’t think he looks like your friend?”

“No. I don’t hookup with Paul Donnelly lookalikes.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Grab my keys, phone, wallet. “You ready?” He’s not moving.

He’s legitimately planted his ass in my apartment. “He must be your type—why else bring him home if you weren’t going to fuck him?”

I’m not doing this with Charlie. I’m not telling him that I don’t typically go for people who look like they could audition for Blink-182. But I’m also not so picky that I’d limit myself to one type of human forever.

“Or maybe you were going to let him fuck you,” Charlie muses.

My sex life shouldn’t be this interesting to him. I’m not shooting the shit with Charlie like he’s Farrow or Donnelly, and my best friends aren’t here to make this conversation lighter.

If Charlie is trying to cross the line, I’m going to show him it. “And what’s your type, Charlie?” I ask him.

“What do you think it is?” He stands off the armrest. Let’s go.

“Vampiric. Lives in the shadows. Hardly sees the light of day.” He’s not often caught on camera with a date. I motion him to the door.

He approaches. “Craves my blood.”

“Exactly.”

Charlie smiles. I lock the door behind us as he says, “You’re driving.”

Driving. “How far?”

“I’ll text the address.”

Welp, I find out pretty motherfucking fast why we’re not flying. And it’s not because we couldn’t. It’s because Charlie wants to sleep during the travel there instead of at home.

I’m behind the wheel, chugging cold brew coffee and snacking on donut holes from Dunkin’. My client is napping in the backseat like the car cushion is more comfortable than his bed. The flight would’ve been a little over an hour.

Instead, this is a five-plus hour drive.

We’re headed to Cape Cod.

He’s still asleep in the backseat when the sun rises. But that’s probably a good thing. I don’t want to creatively dodge Charlie’s 20 questions about the hookup, who shouldn’t even be called a hookup when we did nothing.

I made that point to Charlie before he fell asleep. He didn’t seem to care. And that’s good too. You don’t want to be the object of Charlie’s interest.

It typically becomes a whirlwind of chaos.

A quick Google search, and I figure out that the address is a beachside bistro. Oysters on the half shell. Clams.

Does he just want fresh seafood?

Then why wait for me?

Charlie wakes about fifteen minutes before arrival. Hair a mess, he doesn’t flatten the strands or smooth out his wrinkled shirt. He just slips the peacoat back on and shifts forward towards the middle console. “Before you park, I need you to promise me something, Oscar.”

“I just have to ask,” I cut in, “how illegal is this?”

“We’re fine, legally.” Charlie rests an elbow on the middle console, shifting a little to try and catch my eyes in the front seat, even though he’s in the back. “What I’m about to do, who I’m about to see, you can’t tell anyone. Not your lead. Not your boss. Not your friends. No one. I need you to make sure no one takes photos today, not while I’m here. This is between me and you. That’s it.”

And that’s why he waited for me.

He trusted that I’d keep today private. Not just from the public, but from security. Before I promise, Charlie adds, “I’ll pay you extra.”

“You can’t slip me cash, Charlie. We’ve been over this.” As much as I’d love a tip—because motherfuck, I deserve a big chunky bonus for working overtime and being sleep deprived—I have to follow Triple Shield’s rules, and bonuses are to be handed to Price. He gives his men 100% of any tips, but the money needs to go through the business.

“I’ll tell your boss it’s a tip for another event,” Charlie explains.

I nod a couple times. “Okay. This is between you and me. My mouth is shut. Just tell me what we’re doing.”

“Talking.”

That’s all he tells me.

That’s all I get out of him, and you know what—I’m not going to be pissed off about it. I’m being paid extra and I didn’t have to go chase his ass around London. This is an easy day.

Once I park at the beachside bistro, it’s mid-morning. Not many cars are here, but Charlie gets out with swiftness.

I'm following quickly behind. He’s opening the door.

The older hostess doesn’t seem to recognize Charlie. “Welcome—”

“I have a reservation under Iago,” Charlie jumps in. “My party should already be here.”

Iago. I’m not shocked he used an alias or one from Othello.

“Yes, he just got here.” She grabs two menus. “Right this way.”

I’m on alert. Casting glances left and right, watching out for camera phones, but the bistro is nearly empty. Only an elderly couple dine closer to the bathrooms, but the hostess is bringing us outside onto the deck.

“You can leave us. Thank you.” Charlie takes the menus from her hands as soon as the guy at a lone patio table begins to turn.

The hostess is already headed back inside when this motherfucker sees Charlie and horror crosses his face. Instantly, I recognize him from security briefings. Especially since the commotion surrounding the Cinderella ad. Someone broke into Jane and Maximoff’s townhouse, and this prick was high on the suspect list.

Nate. Jane’s ex-friends-with-benefits.

His alibi wasn’t strong. Charlie could’ve heard this from anyone in security. The Wreath brothers. Maybe I wasn’t quiet enough when I was talking to Donnelly. Or maybe he heard from his father.

I do know that Nate is someone Charlie has never met. Until now.

“What are…?” Nate struggles to stand up from the table, bumbling into the chair beside him, but he manages to get to his feet.

Charlie tosses the menu on the table. He’s a lot younger than Nate, but he carries himself like he has twenty years on him. “Sit. Or stand. The displeasure is still all mine.”

Nate hardly looks at me. I’m just background. “I don’t know how you found me, Charlie, but you need to leave. I’m meeting—”

“A French investor for a project involving social media influencers and getaway trips, so you can live your life in Bali and the Maldives with pretend money while you try to coerce half-naked girls into thinking you’re worth something.” Charlie wears a sardonic smile. “Bonjour.”

Nate boils silently, knowing Charlie deceived him. He has the kind of face you’d see on Blockbuster movies, so the anger that touches his eyes seems familiar. “I’m leaving—”

Charlie catches his arm.

I go rigid and glare at Nate in warning. If he tries to hurt Charlie, he’ll be dealing with me, and he glances from Charlie, to me, back to Charlie. “What do you want?”

“Stay away from my sister,” Charlie forces out. “Never look her up on the internet. Never think of her. Never dream of her. Or I will come for you, and I can do worse than trick you into a meeting.”

Nate sucks in an uncertain breath. “There are already restraining orders—”

“You poured animal blood over my cousin’s bed. You don’t strike me as someone who cares about restraining orders.”

“That cousin.” Nate looks heated. He shakes out of Charlie’s hold, and I take a threatening step forward. He sees me, then eyes Charlie. “The cousin your sister was fucking? She’s a sick bitch—”

Charlie decks him in the face.

Fucking shit. I tug Charlie back by the peacoat just as Nate clutches his jaw and comes forward to attack Charlie. I shove Nate. “You hit him, I hit you.”

Nate is still seething at my client. “I could sue you.”

“For what?” Charlie asks like he’s untouchable. In a lot of ways, he is, and sometimes I think he hates it. “You fuck with my sister ever again, and this encounter will be the least of your problems.”

This is starting to sink in for Nate. He swallows, grows quieter, and then Charlie begins to back away from the table. From him.

I follow, and I’m the only one who glances back.

Nate slumps into the bistro chair. His face in his hands before he hostilely launches the menus off the patio like frisbees. They land in the sand. Fuck him.

I’m trailing Charlie.

No one recorded him.

We’re back in the car. He’s chosen the passenger seat this time.

“You good?” I ask.

“Marginally.” He types in a new address. “We aren’t going far.”

I park at another beachside restaurant. This one is known for their clam chowder. So I find myself at a table for two, ordering lunch with Charlie Keating Cobalt as the sun crests the water. I keep close a secret that I’ll carry forever.

Thanks for reading this month's extra bonus! It was so much fun to be back in snack-loving Oscar Oliveira's head. As we continue forth in the Like Us series, we love showing more peeks into the Cobalts. This was a moment from Tangled that we always wanted to write, since it was first mentioned in Charming Like Us. We hope you all enjoyed this one!

There's one more thing to come this month! You can expect an extra podcast soon, and this one will be all about the new Dr. Strange movie <3

xoxo Krista & Becca

"Charlie & The Secret Threat" Copyright © 2022 by K.B. Ritchie