Beware of Boys (3 page)

Charly gritted her teeth, mimicked M
kel's show for the fans, and then walked away, making her way toward the headliner. She was still waving out to the audience, but Charly couldn't see anyone. The lights were too bright and her heart was racing too fast for her to have full sight and comprehension. She was excited to be on stage, yet deathly afraid of it. But she didn't know the word for what she'd become, and didn't know if one existed to explain. All she knew was that she was a bundle of nerves, overwhelmed to be in front of the sold-out arena. She was used to working a small show, not standing and waving and smiling to thousands of people. She inhaled, snuck a look at M
kel, and wanted to kick herself. She couldn't stand him, and could feel the contempt he had for her, but she was also melting because he was so gorgeous, standing there and running one of his hands over his semi-wild hair. He pushed his natural waves back, preventing them from falling in his face, and for a second she wished they hadn't clashed the day before, so she could touch it.

“Say something to the people, Charly,” M
kel said as a stagehand handed Charly a cordless microphone.

Charly took the microphone in one hand, and reached out and fixed RiRi's hair with the other while RiRi held up the mirror, smiling as Charly worked her magic. “A diva like this has to always look like the diva she is, wouldn't you all agree?” Charly said to the crowd of thousands of concertgoers, smiling. “Now enjoy the concert, because I will.” She handed the microphone back to the stagehand who had brought it to her. She waved both palms toward the audience, then blew kisses before a thought hit her. She grabbed the mic again. “And don't forget to watch
The Extreme Dream Team
!” she added, then strutted off stage. She may've been there to attend the concert, but it was always time to work.

T
h-thump. Th-thump.

No way! Really?
Charly thought, trying to calm her anxious heart, which was beating heavier by the second. She furrowed her brows in wonder while scanning the room, looking for any sign of a joke being played on her, but found none. It was hard for her to believe that she'd been specially requested by three huge celebrities to help on a project that would benefit girls in Las Vegas—a request she wasn't supposed to know about yet. It was even more baffling that they'd stipulated that none of their names would be revealed until after she'd agreed. Their request: that she wanted the project because of its significance, not their celebrity, at least that what Liam had whispered to her in confidence when she'd stepped in the room. He'd walked in minutes before her, and, obviously had overheard more than he was supposed to. She scanned the paper in her hand for the umpteenth time in less than five minutes, and was totally in. The project would be a joint venture to build and design a structure to help girls who had beat a deadly disease or were fighting to do so. She nodded. Of course she'd do it, just like she'd told Mr. Day, the show's executive, who'd taken on a father-figure role with her, right before she'd slipped, telling him she knew about the celebrities involvement. She looked up and held her hand to her chest, then clenched her teeth in an attempt to prevent facial expression. She hoped the internal shock she felt hadn't surfaced.

The
really?
she had been mentally asking was really and truly really apparent, judging by the head nod she was receiving from one of the Suits in Boots, the nickname she had for Mr. Day's executively dressed assistants. Now, though, she was heavily weighing the possibility of changing this one's name to Bobble Head because he was bouncing his dome like one of the toys mounted on a car dashboard.

Th-thump-th-thump-th-thump.
Now her heartbeat kicked up a gear, banging loudly in her ears, and she was sure that someone else in the room had to hear the drumming too. She gulped, almost frozen in disbelief. Blinking slowly, she couldn't understand why everyone else was smiling when the world had just stopped spinning.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention that we need to talk later,” Mr. Day was saying, pointing to his desk. “It seems you've gone viral, and not in a good way. You need to go over to the publicist after we're done here to learn how to clean up the M
kel mess, and figure out how to address all these rumors of you having an
Extreme Fashion
show or whatever they're calling it. All press isn't good press, Charly,” he chastised.

Charly nodded.

“I'm serious, Charly,” Mr. Day continued. “And from the call I received earlier today, the blowup you and M
kel had in the store almost killed this opportunity. News spreads fast in entertainment, and no one wants to work with someone who has altercations—and they don't want to give them their own shows. Got it?”

Charly nodded again. She knew Mr. Day was right, but it was hard for her to think about anything else but the project at hand, and finding out who was behind it, something Liam couldn't tell her because even he didn't know. “So, they really asked for me? An athlete, actor, and an artist . . . as in what kind of artist? Artist is too general.” She was deviating from Mr. Day's point, prying, but the not knowing was killing her, especially since she'd just agreed to take it on.

“Yes, they did. Big news. Right, love?” Liam, her co-host and pseudo boyfriend, asked with a smile in his voice, walking up behind her and massaging her shoulders.

Charly nodded like Bobble Head. Yes, the news was big. Huge. It was too enormous for her to take it all in without panicking. She pointed to her chest, questioning again, and wiggled her nose, which had begun to itch. Liam playfully pushed away her finger from her shirt. “Cachoo,” she sneezed into the bend of her elbow. “Sorry.” She collected herself. “Can't you just tell me now? I mean you know I'm in, so what's the big deal. Why do I have to wait?” She crossed her arms.

Mr. Day laughed, putting one hand in his pocket and wagging his index at her with the other, while giving Liam a disappointed look for telling. “Call it your punishment for not knowing how to behave in public,” he stated, looking back at Charly. “And to your first question, yes, Charly.
You
. They specifically asked for you, and didn't present the offer to anyone else. And they want to talk to you too. All of them but one, in particular, is adamant. It's time you met the team,” he said. “First, though, let me warn you that their attorney thought you knew about this a week ago. I knew you wouldn't turn it down—not that you could've anyway, according to your contract. But they don't know that. So I told everyone last week that you were definitely in and excited.” He shrugged, then waved her closer. “I lied to the network—to everyone, in fact—to cover your behind while you extended your vacation by a couple days, and took it upon yourself not to answer my calls. If you had've, you would've been informed of this before now.”

“But I needed the break, Mr. Day. I didn't purposely avoid your calls; I left my phone in another room at home, so I could relax,” she lied. “We've been working nonstop for forever,” she explained, walking over and joining him next to the desk.

“I know, that's why I lied. But it's not a big deal. The network and the attorney who's representing the joint venture were the only ones in talks, putting this together. So just go along with it. Now, for the big reveal.” He winked, then spun the speakerphone around on the desk and pressed a button. “This is Day. Thanks for holding. Are you all there?” he asked, his face turned toward the intercom.

A male voice answered, “Yeah.” Charly closed her eyes, hoping whoever it was would speak again so she could try to place him. He didn't sound familiar. In fact, he'd barely sounded at all; his answer had been so low and monotone. It piqued her curiosity. She didn't see the need for their hiding until she agreed. It wasn't like they were requesting her help to do something bad. Charly and
The Extreme Dream Team
's job was helping people, not hurting them. She shrugged.

“Yeah, man, we're here,” a familiar one, very distinctive said. Without hesitation or doubt, Charly knew whom the West Indian accent belonged to. Faizon, the Hollywood A-list actor that Lola had thought she had spotted. Charly knew his voice well, and had listened to his enunciation closely time and time again, booming out of theater speakers, but never before had his words moved her so. Not like now. She shook her head, mouthing his name to Mr. Day. Mr. Day nodded confirmation, and her heart dropped to her knees.

“Yes, Day. Golden Boy, here. We're all on,” a third one, whose tone was just as captivating as Faizon's but much deeper, added. “Where's Charly? Is she there with you, Day? Charly? Baby, you there?” the guy asked in his baritone, addressing her as if they were old friends. Charly's lips spread into a wide smile. Golden Boy was Lex, the greatest boxer of his division and also one of the youngest in his profession to skyrocket to the one-round-knockout status of Mike Tyson. And like his predecessor, he'd been known to street fight, but had cleaned up.

Charly was about to answer him, but the tickle in her nostrils and the tingle in her throat stopped her. She opened her jaws, inhaling, and closed her eyes. Her shoulders bounced as another sneeze surfaced, and, not wanting the guys on the phone to hear, she closed her lips and held it in. Immediately, she regretted it as it ricocheted off the back of her throat. She felt as though someone had chopped her, then released the air in a small sputter. “I think I've developed allergies,” she explained very low, remembering Lola hadn't always suffered seasonal allergies, but, somehow, they'd recently kicked in. Charly shook her head. She lived in a city that was almost devoid of greenery compared to the Midwest, where she hailed from, but anything was possible, including her being allergic.

Liam's hands tightened on Charly's shoulders, digging under her clavicle bone and into her muscle. She buckled slightly under his strong fingers, and shot him a look. He relaxed his hands. “Sorry, love. It was an accident,” he explained with a small smile and raised brows.

“Yes. Yes. I'm here,” Charly said with a smile in her answer. She was trying not to blush, but it was hard to keep the blood from rushing to her face after she'd received news of being requested by such big-time celebrities to help with such an important project. It was a mission that any girl on the planet would trade in her best pair of shoes and cash out her savings account to be a part of. “I'm so excited to find out about this.”

“Wait, hold up! Word was you found out the science last week. You not saying you just found out, mama? Right?” Faizon questioned.

Charly shook her head at her mistake, then shrugged her apology to Mr. Day, who was staring her down. “No . . . I knew, I just . . . I don't know. It's just so exciting to be able to help with something this big,” she lied, covering herself. “Of course I knew. Mr. Day told me a week ago,” she said, parroting Mr. Day's words.

The quiet one spoke again. “So you knew about the project
and
us—that we were behind it? You should've known.”

Charly looked at Mr. Day for help. He nodded. “Sure. Of course. That was the terms, right. I agreed to take on the project based on what it was, not who was behind it, and then I found out you guys put it together.” She nodded, mimicking Mr. Day, who stood across from her moving his head up and down and smiling. “I love that you guys wanted to make sure I was wooed by the project. That was smart.”

Quiet guy laughed, low and sinister. “I told y'all she knew.”

Lex cut him off. “Good. Good. I'm glad you're just as excited as we are. So I know you've already agreed, because if not we wouldn't be speaking. But I need to hear you say it. So, are you in? Are you going to help us hook up the girls in Vegas? Can you manage all of our requests: hip-hop, athletics, and theater?” he asked, his voice seeming deeper. Charly smiled, finally figuring out what type of art to incorporate into the project, and thought she was going to go into cardiac arrest right there on the spot. What else could she do when two of the hottest and cutest male celebrities were on the line at the same time, and they were calling especially for her? She had no idea who the quiet one was, but she was satisfied with the gorgeous duo, so it didn't matter if number three was fine or not. She was just happy to know that he was in hip-hop—that would help her try to figure out who he was.

“Yes, I'm in. How could I not be after reading the mission statement? I wish there had been a center like the one you're building when I was chasing my dream,” she stated truthfully. “Not too many guys would come together for something this big. The fact that you all have been affected by a female in your lives fighting a deadly disease, and want to do something about it is phenomenal. Especially marrying all your professions—fitness, music, and theatre . . . incredible. Just incredible.” She raised her brows, thinking how huge the project could be. How much girls like Lola and her sister, Stormy, could benefit from having a center to go to like the one the guys were building. “I just need to look at the requirements you listed once more to be sure I incorporate everything you guys need,” she said. “Okay, Lex?”

“Ahh-haa,” Lex's deep voice moaned through the intercom. “So Charly knows my voice? Y'all hear that? Especially you, Faizon. Huh, Fai? She knows
my
voice, and I don't act. I swing and knock out. No words needed for that,” he teased.

“Nah, son. You cheated. You said Golden Boy. Everybody knows you're Golden Boy with the golden eyes,” Faizon answered, laughing.