camera on his little brother paddling out in the ocean.
“I thought maybe you could convince Akara to let me join the 24/7 roster.” That’d officially make Gabe an Omega bodyguard and no longer a temp. He adds fast, “I already talked to him. He said I can’t go onto the roster now because they don’t have the budget for it. Then…you know, I asked why I’m working all these long hours compared to other temps. He said that I am being paid more, but by you, so I thought maybe you could convince him to just let me join the main roster, you know.”
Jack spins on me, his camera instantly hanging at his side. “Wait a sec, you’re paying for Gabe?”
“You needed the security.”
“I thought the firm would cover the cost because it’s related to Charlie…” He lets out a hurt noise. “I’m a fucking idiot—”
“Hey—”
“I should’ve known they don’t have the money for periphery security. Akara is squeezed tight as it is.” He rubs a hand down his face. “How much are you paying?”
Half my paycheck. Probably the first grossly large expense I’ve made at a time when I should be saving more. What I would’ve called a bad financial decision in the past, but damn is it worth every penny.
“I have you covered,” I tell him.
“Oscar.”
“I have you covered,” I emphasize.
“I have the money,” he says under his breath. “Just let me pay—”
“No—”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my boyfriend,” I say with utter fucking conviction. “You’re my boyfriend, Jack, and if I can’t physically be there for you, then I’m going to hire someone who can be.” I pause. “Which I did.” I jab a thumb towards Gabe, who stands an awkward distance from our argument.
Our first fight, I realize.
It’s small.
And it simmers down almost immediately. A surprised breath leaves him, his lips ascending. Until he’s smiling more heartwarmingly. “So what, we’re mag jowa now?” His eyes fall down my build.
I begin to grin, just seeing his playful happiness make a powerful return. No clue what he said in Tagalog. So I ask, “Mag jowa?”
“Boyfriends,” Jack translates.
I laugh with a nod. We’ve been dating, but we haven’t outright called each other “boyfriends” yet.
‘Bout time, Oliveira.
“Yeah”—I keep nodding—“you’re my frat bro, happy-go-lucky boyfriend.”
“Maybe cross out the lucky part.” Our fingers toy with catching hold of each other’s hand.
I shake my head. “At the very least, when all else fails, you’re lucky that you have me.”
Jack laughs, a lighter sound, but the noise fades. “I’m grateful you hired Gabe, you know, but if you’re not willing to let me pay everything, then let’s just split the cost. It’ll make me feel better.”
I only agree because of that last declaration.
28
JACK HIGHLAND
“Walkie-check,” a PA says over the walkie-talkie.
I click mine. “Good check.”
Every single We Are Calloway crew member is on site tonight, plus some extra grips, and I’m hauling ass across the golf course in the dark, a Steadicam harnessed to my chest.
A big charity event with the famous families means a big shoot. All the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts are in attendance. Including their bodyguards. Add in family friends, donors, and plus-ones, and bodies are moving everywhere.
I prefer one-on-one shoots, but I love the huge group ones too. More than anything, I’m hanging onto tonight. This could be my last shoot with We Are Calloway.
I’m still an exec producer, but after this charity event, I’m scheduled for a serious meeting at the WAC offices. A sit-down with the other execs.
To talk about “my future” with the docuseries.
Anxiety is a four-thousand-pound seal on my chest. Heavier than the Steadicam. But I inhale, exhale—trying to breathe the animal off.
The bright side is Oscar. He said he’d drive me to the meeting. I actually look forward to the car ride alone with my boyfriend.
He’s not getting off-duty tonight, dude. That thought blows, but I’m trying to lower my expectations. Mitigate my hopes so I’m not crushed or disappointed when he says, I can’t anymore. I have to follow Charlie.
Oscar assured me, “I’m going with you to the meeting—I’ll be there,” but he also sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Anyway, I have more pressing matters in the present than worrying about a few hours from now. I keep jogging across Hole 5. That thought almost makes me laugh.
Dangling twinkle lights brighten the first nine holes. The H.M.C. Philanthropies annual charity golf tournament has turned into a charity golf soiree.
Men in suits. Women in ballgowns. Fancy tables and pop-up bars dot the course, and golf carts