“I’m just gonna turn that off.” I do this awkward side shuffle that probably makes me look like I’m crab-walking to a bathroom emergency. The box is one of those impossible plastic contraptions designed by sadists who hate human fingernails. After wrestling with it like a dude trying to unhook a bra one-handed in the dark, I finally extract the mechanical beast. Three wrong buttons later—each one cranking this thing up until it’s practically levitating—I finally find the off switch, which ishilariously a frowny face. I set it back down on the coffee table carefully, trying not to provoke the damn thing.
“I find it charming you don’t really know your way around a vibrator.” Her smirk has returned and I breathe out in relief.
“Charming? Well, perhaps that’s because as I said…I’m not a reporter, Charlie. I’m an escort.”
“Oh, please. I’ve been in this circus since I was sixteen. You vultures are getting creative with your disguises. The hot escort angle?” She gives me a mock applause with one hand. “Chef’s kiss. Truly inspired.Almosttempted.”
“It’s not an angle—” I stop short. “Wait. Tempted, you say?”
“Almost tempted,” she clarifies, poking out her tongue at me which sets a little butterfly free in my chest.Oh, gross, Taio—knock it off.Stop flirting. This is not the start of some fairy-tale story. This is you stalling and missing out on four thousand dollars that you desperately need.
“Charlie, you have my word,” I emphasize. “I’m not a reporter, I swear. It sucks that’s the conclusion you jump to because it’s happened before, but I assure you—that’s not what this is. I won’t tell a soul about your uh…quirky attire, and the graveyard of takeout containers you have behind you.” I point over her shoulder to the open kitchen. “But maybe crack a window, a little fresh air…your call. But tonight I either got hustled or I’m at the wrong hotel. Either way, I need to figure it out, so it’s been very nice to chat, but I have to get going.”
She rolls her eyes. “To report back on me to your handler?”
A small wave of annoyance rolls through me.Why won’t she believe me?I return to her, our toes touching, hovering over her the way a tree looks at the grass. Ignoring my better instincts, I grab both of her hands in mine, wrapping around her small fists like a tight swaddle. “My name is Taio Wilkes. My dad is James Wilkes—serving a twelve-year sentence at Otisville for a white-collar felony. It’s public record, you can look it up. I really aman escort…because of that. Because I’m trying to get him out and put my family back together. So, now that you have my deepest, darkest secret, I need you to keep it. Just like I’ll keep yours.” I release her fists and hold out my hand. “Deal?”
“For real?” she asks.
“For real.”
She shakes my hand with more gusto than seems appropriate at the moment. “I won’t tell a soul.” She says it like a soldier accepting her mission.
I disentangle my hand from hers, pull my sports coat off the back of the sofa, and make for the exit. Hand on the door handle, I can’t help but steal one last look. This version of Charlie Riley—messy-haired, cartoon-shirted, vibrator-wielding Charlie—is infinitely better than the airbrushed pop princess plastered across billboards. She’s real. Human. Talented. And infinitely interesting because I have about a hundred more questions I’d like to ask her. But I’m out of time, and it’s a damn shame I’ll never see her again.
I point to the piano. “For the record, I would pay good money to go to a concert and hear you play like that. Good luck with the rest of your tour. You’re going to do great. Don’t forget—hydrate.”
She doesn’t respond. Just looks at me with those big, sad eyes.
I make myself leave.
The elevator descends, and I use every floor to wonder what the hell just happened.
I should be calling Rina. I’m officially late now. I should be begging for forgiveness, explaining the mix-up, salvaging whatever’s left of my professional reputation. Instead, I’m standing here, reluctant to return to reality because I’m still thinking about Charlie Riley’s deep, rumbly laugh.
The elevator hits the lobby. I pull out my phone, ready to face the music?—
And that’s when I see it.
A small wooden box, sitting abandoned on the concierge desk.
I stop walking.
The desk is unmanned. The lobby is nearly empty. And there, like someone just set it down and walked away, is a box exactly like the one Charlie described. Hand-painted with little orange hearts. Old, the colors faded with age. Small enough to hold in both hands.
Notes from my mom. She died when I was little.
Some lazy courier saw an empty desk and left it there. Didn’t wait. Didn’t care. Didn’t understand that this little painted box might be someone’s entire world.
My phone buzzes in my pocket like an angry hornet trapped in denim. Ah, crap. It’s Rina. The digital firing squad has arrived, locked and loaded, ready to berate me before I can even devise a half-decent excuse.
“Hey, Rina.”
“Where the hell are you?” Oh, she’s murderous. “Margaret is livid you’re late. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know what happened. I’m here at the Elusive. She’s not staying in the penthouse.” I pick up the box. It’s lighter than I expected.
“Why are you at the Elusive? That’s Midtown. You’re supposed to be at…Oh shit—” A pause. Scrolling. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Autocorrect. Yep, there it is. Sorry, Taio. I don’t normally make mistakes like that. You’re supposed to be at the Eloise. Other side of the city.” She exhales sharply. “Okay, that’s on me. But, Taio, you can still make it if you hurry. We’ll have you arrive fashionably late and can still salvage all this?—”
