I don’t ask.
A sleek, black SUV waits on the tarmac. We load in, and I spend the drive watching the buildings blur past. Billboards flash familiar faces I don’t recognize. Until we get to one with someone on it Idorecognize.
There it is, a three-story-tall billboard, lit up with my baby brother on it. He’s shirtless, smoldering, and wearing nothing but Calvin Klein boxer briefs.
I nearly choke. “No.”
Charlie glances out the window, utterly unfazed. “Oh yeah, that one finally went up.”
“Can’t believe you’re good with putting your bits on display for the entire city.”
He shrugs. “It’s a tasteful campaign.”
“It’s athirst trapon a billboard.”
Charlie sips from a bottle of sparkling water like this is just another Tuesday. “Welcome to LA, brother.”
I shake my head and mutter, “If only they knew you once peed your pants at Space Camp and cried until London gave you her ice cream when we came to pick you up.”
He smirks. “Character building. The foundation of a leading man.”
I dip my head back and laugh. Maybe it’s the jet lag, maybe it’s the bourbon, but something about seeing my brother practically naked looking like a dumbass over the 405 rips the tension out of me.
By the time we roll through the gates of his place in the Hollywood Hills, I’m dead on my feet. His house sits up high on the hill, all glass and steel, overlooking a city that never shuts the hell up. Infinity pool out back. Fire pit glowing. The kind of house built to impress, not to live in.
Charlie opens his arms wide as we step inside, like he’s unveiling a magic trick. “Well? Whaddya think? Not bad for the runt of the litter, huh?”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’ve come a long way from the bunkhouse.”
He grins, flipping on lights with some voice-activated command that makes half the house glow. “Damn right I have.”
He shows me around, pointing out all these small details and luxuries that I couldn’t care less about.
“You hungry?” Charlie asks, opening a refrigerator that’s bigger than my truck.
“No thanks. Where can I crash?”
He waves for me to follow him up the floating staircase. Charlie throws open the guest room door like he’s unveiling the damn Taj Mahal. “This is you for the week. California King. Egyptian cotton sheets. And! A pillow mist that optimizes true restorative sleep by calming your vagus nerve. Got it in Singapore.”
“My … vagus what?”
Charlie touches my head. “Your vagus nerve is?—”
I swat his hand away. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s important to lie on your right side for better sleep, and this spray is very calming.”
I flatten my lips. “You should know by now that none of this shit impresses me.”
“You could humor me.”
“Nah.” I toss my duffel down on the bench at the foot of the bed and peel off my suit jacket. “So, what’s the plan for this week?”
Charlie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Tomorrow night, we’re hitting a benefit gala for Veterans in Media & Entertainment. I’ll introduce you to some folks fromSony, Netflix, maybe even that ex-Navy SEAL who consults on every movie where a guy jumps off a roof and somehow survives.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“That’s the warm-up,” he continues. “Wednesday, there’s a private dinner at Jolene Fox’s place. She’s a retired A-lister with a heart for horses. Big-time philanthropist. Think movie star crossed with an heiress and a splash of the eccentric.”
