Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Blackburn’s Plan
Holden Strauss Announces Upcoming Debut on the Harvey Wilder Show: Ready to Let It All Out
This appearance comes despite challenges with his latest film projects, including a notorious video showing him disrespecting crew members and alleged drug abuse.
In true All or Nothing fashion, Holden is prepared to lay everything on the table. Holden has stated that he will not fade into the background without the world knowing it all.
Tune in on Saturday, September 6th to catch Holden Strauss’s debut.
This is the first thing I set my sights on when I start work. A forwarded link that has been dropped in our company wide chat for all to see. Not even coffee can revive me.
Katrina: Smart move, Chris
Mateo: This is exactly what Holden needs
It’s one after the other just pouring in about a job well done. Nothing about this should be praised.
Holden would never approve something like this. My eyes rapidly blink a few times, rereading the article over and over again until a thick lump forms in my throat.
I can’t speak or swallow. It has been a little over two weeks since Holden strolled into our office begging for our help and this is the thanks we give in return.
Lena’s on a call. Chris is typing away and I—
I should yell at the top of my lungs. Better yet, storm into his office and give him a piece of my mind.
Chris Blackburn is the purest example of nepotism. The only real contribution he has to this company is his birthright.
And as of today, stealing other people’s ideas.
My teeth are chattering as I sink further in my chair. Of course, the pendant is activating in my worse moments of distress. Chanting and pleading, “A luz sabe.” The longer I sit here, an uncomfortable pain spreads across my neck.
I can’t take it anymore.
Swinging out of my seat, the wheels of the chair jut to the wall. Chris doesn’t even notice my presence until I am right in his eyeline, storming into his office.
“Why did you do this?”
“The press release?” He furrows his eyebrows. As if he doesn’t already know what he did…
“Yes, that,” I murmur under my breath.
“Albert loved the idea. Our firm needs to be in the front lines again.”
He is giving me the smuggest grin I have ever seen, downright satisfied…
“But—” The words are caught in my throat. The lump resurfaces again and every desire to yell and scream is quieted.
I resist every urge to ball my fingers into a fist in front of him.
“We have been getting so many calls since the release. This is great for us.”
“Does Holden know this interview is happening?” I say, feeling the twitch form in my left eye.
“He will now. Now, let’s discuss more of this tomorrow. I have another call coming in.”
Before he brings the phone to his ear, his eyes stay on me. “And Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“Good job for getting him on board with the idea. Just remember to keep your eyes on him. Your wins are our wins,” Chris states before jumping on the line to speak to the next person.
Good job? I rush out the door, leaving it open a hair, knowing he hates that. Just a few days ago he was dead set on a reality TV show.
On instinct, I run over to my desk, feverishly clicking on my sent inbox.
“Oh no! FUCK!”
I can no longer conceal my anger. I’m tossing all my things into my tote—my laptop, water, notepad—and bolting toward the door. Heading straight for the elevator as I look at the press release one more time.
I reread the date out loud, “Saturday, September sixth.” This is such a small amount of time to set his image straight. I can’t even get the man to talk to me, let alone an interviewer.
I put the idea in the palm of his hands.
When the elevator doors open to the ground floor of the business complex, I’m pushing past a crowd of people in suits and polished dresses. I notice her olive skin and long black hair before I see her face. She looks just like everyone else.
On the verge of needing a paper bag to breathe out of, I frantically search for my Bluetooth headphones at the bottom of my bag.
“He knew that was the wrong file.” The words spill out of me as I make my way over to her.
The press release is still displayed on my phone, making me lose all sense of direction. Home? Aidan’s place? Every building is blurring together.
“You coming?” Her voice echoes as she walks away. The sea of people moving around me is in slow motion, just dragging my body along with the current.
“Stop sulking and move!” Her words boom pass the people. A sharp pang hits me.
“Now!”
What feels like a brief spasm around my heart swells into a deeper pain. The longer I stand here, nothing changes.
“It’s not going to be a pretty outcome if you just keep standing there...”
“Okay, okay…” I sigh.
One step forward and the pain around my heart stops.
One step back and it starts up again.
I repeat this a few different times until I have come to the conclusion that it is clearly a reaction to me following her direction. No one in the crowd seems to notice I am doing the hokey-pokey…
Catching up to her, the cool air wraps me up. The wind blows in the direction of where we are heading. Hugging my shoulders, I heave with every step we take uphill.
I take a large inhale to get my next words out. “I am really trying not to be an asshole at this moment, but I am having a hard time not thinking you are a Satanist.”
Her voice softens as she drops her shoulders to her side, stopping to answer me. “Isn’t it exciting not knowing what I am going to do next?”
“No, not really,” I say, forcing my feet to keep walking in her direction. Her hair flips to the side as she powers through the street. Each stride is purposeful.
Today, I had the brilliant idea of wearing a spaghetti-strap blouse. While everyone else on this street somehow knew to check the weather and wear a jacket for the random gusts of wind that decided to show up, uninvited.
I didn’t think that far ahead.
I rub my arms up and down, warming myself up—bit by bit. The majority of the walk, I am losing myself in my own thoughts. With my phone in hand, I open the screen to check for new messages.
The streetlamps flicker on and off as we tread down the street. A similar electricity issue as I experienced at Holden’s house.
“Did you do that?” I say as another streetlamp completely blows out.
“No. Just keep walking.”
My knees buckle when we make it over the steep hill, keeping my eye on her every step of the walk.
“Is it another block or what?” Along with my choice in shirts, my wedges were probably going to cause a sprained ankle.
“Funny enough, we are right here.”
“OH.” I take a long pause, looking at the building in front of me. My gut instinct should be to yell and scream. Instead, the only feeling lingering is my irritation. If I don’t go in, who knows what heart attack I might suffer.
“You could be sending me off to my own murder,” I say, stepping to the front entrance of a poorly painted yellow building with a red neon sign in front showing the restaurant, Casa Amigos is opened.
“I don’t wannaaa…”
The necklace is only growing brighter when I swing the door open. It feels as if everybody is lasering in on my entrance.
The entire restaurant becomes one giant popsicle, freezing me to death with their stares and cold air.
My posture straightens quickly when my eyes land on the familiar denim baseball cap and black aviator sunglasses in the corner booth.
“Nice move,” I whisper.
“You just got to trust me.” She smirks before fading off into the distance.
No matter how much I try to shove down how much she is showing up—I can’t seem to ignore her.
Putting my hands in my jean pockets, I watch as he scarfs down his taco, not letting any ingredient go to waste, only lifting his head when I clear my throat to let out, “Ahem.”
“Charlotte.”
“Holden.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
Riveting banter that could sell movie scripts. I slide into the bench across from him and the waitress comes by as soon as I am ready to start talking.
Her black apron is folded around her waist with a tiny notepad in hand, ready to ask, “Would you like a menu?”
With a quick glance at the table next to us, I say, “I’ll have what their having.”
“Arroz con pollo, it is.”
“Thank you, ma’am” I say as she scribbles down the order and walks away.
“Where did you come from?” Holden questions.
“New Jersey, why do you ask?”
My fingertips fidget with the pendant around my neck. I know one thing for sure, every time I am around him, it does not stop glowing and chanting, “A luz sabe. Duas almas incompletas.” Most moments in between, it pretty much fades into a regular necklace.
“Nothing, just don’t see people say ma’am very often around here.”
As if he is reading my own thoughts, he interrupts with, “Before you ask, it is what it is.”
“Are you sure, because I had no idea—”
“It’s not your fault.”
It’s official, my reputation is ruined. He’ll hate me forever and any attempt to do this thing for real will be a dumpster fire.
“But, you didn’t want this,” I say as my voice cracks.
“True, but I don’t have much choice since it’s public now.”
Our silence carries for a few minutes before the waitress arrives with the steaming-hot plate of chicken and rice—a welcome distraction.
As far as I know, he doesn’t even care. Hanging my mouth open in an unladylike way, I push the spoonful of food to my mouth. Within seconds, the sting of the heat hits my tongue, leaving a mark that will probably last a whole day.
“Are you okay?” Holden pushes the water over to me. I take the glass with urgency as I swish the cool liquid around my mouth. I sigh in relief.
“I’m great,” I mumble.
Holden is eyeing me. I am eyeing his taco. Everyone in the restaurant is way too concerned with our booth. If I wait any longer, I’ll lose my nerve to tell him.
Holden pushes his plate away to the middle of the table and crosses his arms against his chest.
“So did you come here to just sit with me while I eat tacos?”
He has a cute wrinkle creasing between his eyebrows when he is confused. The observation makes me even more nervous.
“I just saw a guy eating alone and figured I’d take pity on him.”
He clutches for his heart, feigning a look of being insulted. His playful reaction feels different than his usual stoic responses. A nice switch up from the glassy dullness in his eyes that I normally see.
“I am not lonely. I have company.”
The pendant is beaming a blinding shade of blue when she appears behind him. She is faking her own make-out scene—turning away from me, hugging herself and making kissy sounds.
I shift in my seat, placing my hands underneath the sides of my legs, not sure how to maintain a straight face with this happening behind him.
“Mm-hmm, I should try that.” I reach over to grab a bite of his fish tacos. In my peripheral vision, I see her snickering at me.
“You stole half my taco.” Holden uncrosses his arms and reaches his hand out to swat me away from his plate.
“I was just testing out if I wanted one too,” I say, taking the biggest bite I can before passing it back to him.
“There is such a thing as asking to have a bite.”
“There is…” I paused. “Something took over me and it seemed like you were offering.”
“Offering how?”
“With your eyes… You said: help yourself.”
“I did not say that.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” I lean over and take another bite. This time he doesn’t swat me but is displaying a genuine grin. The kind of grin that makes you forget about everything around you because you are the person who put it there.
Without a word, he gets up from his side of the booth and slides into mine.
“I like a girl who doesn’t mind sharing food with me.”
“Sharing is caring?”
My focus is split between Holden and the couple sitting in the booth in front of us. They are flickering sauce packets back and forth to each other like they’re playing finger football.
We both stare at them for a few moments longer before we play a game of “who are these strangers.”
“They’re celebrating their three-month anniversary. He thinks it’s going great. She hasn’t orgasmed once,” Holden says, pushing my hip closer to the wall.
I burst out laughing in a very uncool way, losing all my appeal as it comes out wheezing and unstable. If I had water right now, it would’ve been a spit take with how thrown off I am.
“I don’t think that’s true. I think she is probably stressed and he is taking her mind off it.”
“That’s oddly specific,” he shoots back.
Maybe it is.
The image of the couple in front of me blurs, crashing in the memory of Aidan and I sitting at a diner at midnight.
He is building towers out of coffee creamer pods, talking to me in funny animated voices, doing anything possible to calm the stress hives that always broke out before any big exam.
How easy we could read what the other one needed at any given moment.
Staring at the couple, I watch another packet fly off the guy’s head.
“Or they’re brother and sister?” I shrug.
“That’s disgusting, Charlotte. Who knew you were so freaky?”
“Oh, stop it!”
I hurl a hot sauce packet from the middle of the table at him. He catches it with one hand, flashing a boyish grin. The couple in front of us starts kissing passionately.
“Gross,” I mumble.
To which he adds, “I told you so” before reaching over to grab a bite of my chicken. Well played, Mr. All or Nothing.
“This is better than the alternative,” he says out of nowhere. My face scrunches up as he continues.
“The press release…”
I nod, carefully as he continues.
“I kept thinking when I saw it, this is far better than the reality show pitch or worse—”
“A dating show,” I finish. We both laugh as we say it at the same time.
“Imagine just dating someone to rehab your image. Ridiculous,” I blurt out.
The statement hangs between us, heavier than I meant it to be. A wrinkle forms around his eyes as he lets out a half smile.
“Ridiculous,” he repeats back to me, deepening his stare. The goose bumps are rising on my arm.
“Aren’t you supposed to be hard to talk to?”
“Why is that? Actors only talk in scripts?”
“I’m barely convinced you guys know how to read. You are just fed all your lines.”
Holden looks almost offended, flinching at my last remark. My hand reaches out for him, landing on his lap. Our stare deepens.
Suddenly, I feel the dryness in my throat as I move my hand back to my lap, confused why I put it there in the first place.
“You know, because you’re famous, you aren’t supposed to have a personality.”
“Yes. That’s where all my PR training comes in handy—” He pauses. “Something I am observing from all our productive meetings.” His hip is pressing against my side in this corner booth.
A loud voice presses into my ears, chanting the words, “Duas almas incompletas” several times as I grip the bench hard, forcing myself to look away from his piercing stare burning into me.