He made a few more buzzing sounds, then collapsed into a bow.
“Wow,” Jean said over the polite applause. “I would have paid to see that, but no! He did it for free.” Jean shook her head. “Money pain.”
Charlie was staring at her face, like all he’d ever wanted out of life was to see her smile. She almost felt the teensiest bit warm inside, like one of her organs was turning to taffy. But just a small one, like the gallbladder. Maybe a kidney.
Was she really that easy? All he had to do was stand next to her on a summer evening, when he could have been talking to a dozen more important people, a good percentage of whom he was probably sleeping with, and suddenly she was all heart-eyes. Somebody needed to throw a drink in Jean’s face, stat.
“Charlie.”
He jumped when Margaret tapped him on the shoulder, turning to face her with a guilty flush. “Oh, hello. Um. We were just watching the poetry—”
Margaret held up a hand before he could dig a deeper hole. “Your dad needs you.”And I’m not interested in your weak excuses, her expression added.
“Can I talk to him later?” Charlie asked.
“He wants you to do a poem.” She tipped her head at the stage. “About Pike’s.”
Charlie was shaking his head before she finished. “I couldn’t.”
“That’s what I told him, but he said it was already written and all you had to do was read it.” She spared Jean a millisecond of side-eye. “Excuse us.”
“I think he’ll be great,” Jean called after them. Charlie glanced back at her, probably trying to guess from her face whether she was being sincere or snide.
Ha! As if she knew.
Chapter 28
“That was very rude, Mugsy. I wish you’d try to get to know Eve a little—”
She treated him to her fiercest scowl. Even tossed over her shoulder while in motion, it was enough to singe his eyebrows. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”
“It’s one of the things.” He could have listed the rest of his top five, but they were loud enough inside his head without giving them extra air. Was he going to make a fool of himself in front of Jean? Would it be worse to say no and look like a coward? Did his father not know him at all, or did he just not care about Charlie’s feelings? Was everyone going to stare at Charlie and thinkSmithson did it better?
“There you are!” Throwing an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, his father herded him closer to the stage. Maybe he thought Charlie would make a break for it if he didn’t keep a tight hold. At least they didn’t stop for the usual round of, “this is my son, Charlie. I prefer to speak for him, so he doesn’t embarrass me,” introductions, since his dad was in a hurry.
“Uh, Dad? Can I talk to you?” Charlie asked, nodding at the wine importer his father had just pointed out.
“No time. We need to get you in place.”
“About that. Are you sure it’s a good idea? Me going up there.”
His father waved this off. “Smithson already pointed that out. Change of plans.”
“Oh.” Charlie would not have described the feeling in his chest as relief, exactly. It was too mixed up with the uncomfortable awareness that his dad didn’t think he could stand on a stage and read someone else’s words.
“Stay right here,” Mr. Pike said, angling Charlie’s shoulders so the light from the stage caught his profile. “Adriana’s up next.”
“Adriana Asebedo?”
“Yes, Charlie.” His father managed to sigh without dropping his smile as he nudged him forward. “People will want to see your reaction.”
“I thought you wanted me to get with Emma.”
“Smithson said we’d get more social media capital out of pushing the Silent Storm angle.”
That sounded like Smithson. Crass. Calculating. Wrong. “I don’t know, Dad—”
Mugsy tapped him on the shoulder, shaking her head. Charlie took that to meandon’t bother,because Mr. Pike was too deep in the zone to hear what he had to say.
