Beware of Boys (7 page)

“Charly! Charly!” a voice was calling her, and Charly couldn't tell if it was male or female. Whatever sex it belonged to, it was loud and amplified, indicating it had to be sounding through some sort of speakers.

Charly tilted her head and focused her eyes. A steady hum of a motor met her ears, and she questioned if she was hearing things. She was up in the mountains, after all. Or what she assumed to be mountains, she told herself when she spotted a golf-cart-looking buggy climbing up her way with a tiny boy in it. She noticed he wore a set of dull grays that resembled her faded pink running gear and was in the driver's seat with a bullhorn pressed against his mouth, still calling her name. “Yes?” Charly answered.

“Charly! Charly!” the voice was still blaring.

“Hey, bruh. I'm over here!” Charly yelled back, deciding to greet whoever in a friendly manner, and “sis” had worked on her when Eden had used it. It had made her feel at ease, so she thought she'd try the family-type moniker on Mr. Bullhorn. Charly put a hand on her hip.
Clearly this dude has to be in love with his own voice
, she said to herself, a bit peeved that whoever-he-was was still calling her name after they'd locked eyes. For a second, Charly thought about asking the boy if the device was connected to his lips, then changed her mind after the dune-buggy-looking mobile came to a stop and the guy, clad in a shirt that had
GOLDEN BOY TRAINER
stretched across his chest, hopped out. Charly raised her arm and waved her hand in the air even though they were only feet apart. “I'm right
here
, bruh,” she sang between clenched teeth.

The boy nodded, running his tiny hand over his extremely thin and curly sandy-brown hair. He walked closer to her, and she saw his smooth chocolate skin was dotted with hundreds of freckles. “I see you. I just wanted to make sure you heard me—you know, in case you had on headsets,” he said. His words were dry and flat, and his unhappy tone said he was clearly lying. “I've been sent to get you so you don't get lost.” He looked back at Charly. “I'm Bopsy, one of the trainers in Lex's camp,” Charly thought she heard him say.

“Bopsy?” Charly questioned, following behind. She hadn't even been here a full day, and already she was bumping heads with somebody. She could already hear Liam's mouth chastising her about not liking someone and her explaining that she was not at fault, which he'd never believe.
Maybe his tone isn't as nasty as I think, and I'm just tired
, she tried to convince herself. She did have a habit of reaching a state of irritation quicker when she was sleep deprived.

“No, not
Bop
sy. I said
Bob
sy—with two b's. Bobsy because I'm nasty with my bob and weave—like in boxing. You are familiar with boxing, right?” Bobsy said haughtily, as to say,
Try me if you want
. “Hop in.”

No, she couldn't blame her disdain for this Bobsy-with-two-b's dude on her lack of sleep or being overmedicated. She flat-out didn't like the boy's attitude. “Well, two-b's-Bobsy, to answer your question, I'm versed in all kinds of fighting—street and ring. In fact, I'm fluent,” Charly pointed out, then got into the dune-buggy-looking vehicle. She held her head high, remembering who was who. Bobsy was a trainer, but he must've been a gopher too because he'd been sent to retrieve her. “When we stop, I'd appreciate a bottle of water,” Charly said, letting Bobsy know his place.

T
hey were waiting for her, Charly discovered when the off-road vehicle, as Bobsy had called it, neared the bottom of the hill. They hung a right, veering onto a blacktop path that encircled Lex's gated property, but, thankfully, wasn't close enough for the guys to see her face. She guessed there had to be at least a half block's worth of land between the front of the guest cottage and the trail. But the guys were definitely there. It wasn't the small gathering in front of the house that gave them away, nor was it the expensive car that she guessed was a Maserati from the sleek body design and butterfly doors; it was M
kel's raspy tenor riding a funky mid-tempo track, on one of the most incredible songs Charly had ever heard. As much as she hated to admit it, his voice was beautiful, and whatever the name of the song was, it was guaranteed to make crowds wild out. This Charly was certain of, because she was already hypnotized and ready to party, and she hadn't even heard the full length yet.

“That's hot,” Bobsy said, referring to the song.

Charly ignored him, more interested in the warm breeze that blew her way, carrying a funky scent. She cringed. She was hot, sticky, and sweaty. She raised her arm and took a quick whiff, then shook her head. She was also musty, and that wouldn't do. She leaned over. “Can you take me to the back door?” she asked Bobsy.

Bobsy turned and eyed Charly with a half-sneer. “Nope.”

Charly reared back her head, ready to spew venom, then caught herself. She needed Bobsy now, and knew that getting nasty with Bobsy wasn't going to get her anywhere, so she opted instead for sweetness. She smiled, remembering some old adage about it being easier to catch a bee with sugar, not vinegar.
And Bobsy's definitely acting like a male bee
, Charly thought.
But not like the insect
. “C'mon, Bobsy. I'm tired and I just want to shower. Please take me to the back door,” she sang.

Bobsy threw her a look, still nodding to the music that could still be heard in the distance. “I said nope because I can't. There's no back door to take you to. There's the front door, then there's the side door, but you can see it from the front. Hard to explain, but you'll see it when we get closer. Either way, there's no getting around the crew, if that's what you're trying to do.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to do. How am I supposed to make a good impression—look like I'm capable of helping with the project, looking like this? This is for the girls,” she mumbled. “It's not about me. Never was. This is for girls who need help and support,” she continued, talking to herself. If the girls the guys had come together to support were battling and surviving life-threatening illnesses, surely she could endure the guys seeing her sweaty and funky.

The off-road vehicle jerked to a sudden stop. “What did you just say?” Bobsy asked, pressing the brake. “You know, about the girls?”

Charly exhaled. “I wasn't talking to you, Bobsy. I was talking to myself.”

Bobsy turned around in the seat and faced Charly. “I know who you were talking to. Can you repeat it? Please? You said it wasn't about you?” Bobsy asked, giving Charly the same bootleg sugarcoated tone that Charly had tried to use as bait.

“It's not. I said it never was, and I also said, this is for the girls. I'm doing this to aid girls. In short, I was reminding myself that this trip isn't about me—it's not a vacation or me having me-time or even me getting to be around the guys—I'm here to help others who are dealing with more than sweat and being uncomfortable, so it shouldn't matter that I stink or that I have to face Lex and whoever else is here to meet me when I get out of this contraption. Happy?” She sneered.

The dune buggy zipped onward without warning from Bobsy. Charly's head wobbled from the sudden movement, and she was seconds away from letting Bobsy have it. She didn't know what this dude's problem was, but knew Bobsy had better fix it before she was forced to. Bobsy turned toward the guest cottage, then threw Charly another look. “I wouldn't say I'm happy, Charly. But I'll admit when I'm not right about something.”

“You mean you'll admit when you're wrong about something?”

Bobsy's head shook in the negative. “No, because I'm never wrong . . . it's just sometimes I'm not right.” The vehicle zipped toward the side of the guest cottage, out of the guys' view, then wheeled across the grass and stopped. “I'll go distract everyone while you go in through the butler's pantry.” Bobsy pointed toward tall plants and palm trees. “The entrance is through there, just behind the shrubs and flowers. Just push them out of your way, and you'll see it . . . and the crew won't see you. There are too many plants.”

“Thanks, Bobsy,” Charly said, hopping out and fixing her clingy, sweaty clothes, hoping she didn't run into the butler and wondering why she hadn't seen one when she'd first arrived. She took another whiff of her underarms, and almost knocked herself out. She was never one to sweat the way she was here in Las Vegas, and walking around smelling like vegetable soup had never been a problem for her before. She'd always smelled good. She guessed she just needed to adjust to the weather and invest in some better, perhaps clinical, deodorant.

“Oh, and Charly? One more thing,” Bobsy said, turning sideways to face Charly with arms crossed over his chest.

Charly turned and locked eyes with her nemesis, though she didn't know why he had become her opponent. “Yes?”

“Just because I'm helping you out doesn't make us friends,” Bobsy said without the least bit of hesitation.

Charly laughed and shook her head. She turned to face Bobsy, wearing a look of contempt and disgust. “Well, Bobsy, let's put it this way. I'm so not surprised, and so very grateful to hear you say that. I've had enough fake friends in my lifetime. I don't do wishy-washy people—especially ones who have a problem with others for no reason.” Her lips turned up into a smile, which was fueled by a thought. “A bit of advice. People usually dislike people they don't know because there's something about the other person that reminds them of themselves—usually that person possesses something the person doesn't like about themselves or wishes they had. Sometimes it's as simple as achievement, a thing anyone can accomplish with focus and hard work. I don't know the whys. Jealousy, envy? Possibly. Is it sad and pitiful? Definitely. Strange thing is, I usually encounter uncalled-for nasty attitudes from girls. You're the first guy.” She shrugged. “Oh, and one other thing. Don't forget my water.” With that, Charly walked away. She didn't have time for any more Bobsys in her world. She had entertained enough nonsense and unnecessary dramatics, and wouldn't do it again. Besides, she told herself, this Bobsy boy had serious boxing skills, abilities that Charly knew she would have to prepare for if she were to take him on. But she could if she had to, she thought. They were close to the same size.

“I'm here to build up people, not tear 'em down,” she reminded herself, making her way to the side entrance.

“There you are. The alarm said the butler's pantry door opened, but I didn't expect you. I'm glad you're here though. Time's ticking.” Eden tapped her watch as soon as Charly made her way inside the door. She then dug into her pocket and retrieved an envelope and handed it to Charly. “I apologize. I was supposed to give this to you after you landed. Please don't tell Lex that I forgot. When it comes to you being here and the project they have planned for the girls, he wants everything to be perfect. I don't blame him. He should.” She raised her brows. “Unfortunately, I can't always be perfect, or, unfortunately, remember the guys' requests either, for that matter.”

Charly stood still for a second, welcoming the central air of the guest cottage, her body cooling in the breezy circulation. She took a look at herself clad with sweaty clothes, and hated the feeling of being coated in yucky perspiration. “Me either. I'm not always perfect either—can't you tell?” She grinned and accepted the envelope. She exhaled. Her breath came out in a long, loud whoosh. She slipped her index finger under the flap, and tore open the thick ecru paper. She pulled out a card, opened it, then tensed when she read the message.

Charly closed her eyes, thinking about Faizon's words. Knowing that lives could change because of her and that the guys were counting on her was heavy, and already she could feel the pressure. She didn't want to let anyone down. She exhaled again, then ran her hand over her ponytail.

“Are you all right, Charly? You seem a bit frustrated,” Eden said, crossing her arms and leaning against a pillar. “You know you can talk to me about anything, and, I promise it'll never go further than us. I'm good at secrets. Very.” She nodded, impressed with herself.

Charly pursed her lips together, then mimicked Eden's head nod. She was a doer, not a talker, so she'd let her actions speak for her, including finding an outlet to relieve herself of the pressure that came with her assignment. “Thanks, Eden. I appreciate it. I'm good, though. However, I'll keep in mind your great secret-keeping ability. I may need it one day.” She winked. “I'm cool. I just need to shower and change, and, eventually, get some rest. Where's my room?”

“Your room?” Eden's eyebrows drew together. “Oh, that's right. You didn't see it earlier because you had to rush and change to go run.” She shook her head. “You may want to get used to that. Being rushed, I mean. Lex has a way of making people move like he does. Lightning fast.”

Charly nodded, making a mental note about Lex. She'd rushed and changed in the hallway bath once because of him, but she wasn't going to allow him to make it a habit. “Got it. But I'm not going to let him rush me into anything. I don't work for him; I'm here to work on something with him. That's not the same thing. So . . .” She pursed her lips, waiting for direction. “Can you please tell me where my room is? I need to hurry and unpack. Maybe take a cold shower to help me wake up. I don't want to leave anybody waiting too long, and I don't want to nod off during our meeting.” She laughed a little, then stretched and yawned.

“I already unpacked and put away your things. You have some really nice purses and shoes. I hope you don't mind. Lex demanded it. You're not to really move a finger while you're here. He wants you to be able to focus on the task at hand.” She pointed toward the other side of the house. “Your room is over there, just through the double doors off of the main living area. It's the second door to the right down the hall. You won't miss it,” Eden said. “But before you go, follow me over here to the kitchen. I was just about to grab Lex and the others something to drink. He asked me to give you something too.” She moved her index finger toward what Charly assumed was the kitchen area.

“The others?” Charly repeated, unsure of who was gathered out front. She could see a group surrounding the car, but didn't know if they were helping with the project or not.

Eden nodded. “Yes, Lex's crew. His other crew, trainers mostly, but Faizon and some of the others who are assisting with the landscaping part of the project will be here tomorrow. After that, Faizon will be in and out because he has to be on set for a movie shooting. And M
kel . . .” She shook her head in question and shrugged. “He's recording, and when he records, he can disappear into the studio for months, but he should surface soon. Hopefully,” she said, throwing Charly a knowing look. “But all three of them are super close. They've been like brothers for years.” She clapped her hands. “Now let's get you the good stuff. It's what Lex wants you to have, and I guarantee you it'll pick you up. Lex and the trainers swear by it, and even Bobsy, who hates the taste of almost everything, likes it so you know it's a winner.” She walked across the marble floor, her heels clacking with each step, then pushed through a swing door.