Wednesday, October 2nd, 11:35 am

We were a few minutes late as Chloe and I stepped onto the stairs leading up to St. Puerto’s lounge bar. One of my security guys stood at the top, and as soon as we were close enough, he said, “Everything’s clear, Miss Tanner.”

Chloe gave him a curt nod, opened the door, and waited for me to step through before falling in at my heels.

It still felt strange having a woman open doors. My dad had drilled chivalry into me—hold doors for your mom, your sister, your girlfriends; pay for meals; the lady goes first. Those old instincts had to be set aside when it came to Chloe, but it was what I got for choosing a woman as my bodyguard.

Entering the building was like ducking underwater. The sounds of the city—horns, shouting, the constant churn—dropped ten decibels the moment the door shut behind us. It all dissolved into the low, pleasant murmur of people enjoying a mid-afternoon indulgence.

St. Puerto’s Lounge was one of the better-known spots near Times Square. Actors, businessmen, and the general elite came here to sip cocktails and discuss the kinds of things that would shape the world for the next decade.

Small marble-topped tables were scattered around the large room. Dark wood dominated the interior, accented with gold that complemented the marble and created an understated elegance. Waiters in deep navy glided from table to table, delivering drinks with ghostlike silence. The air smelled faintly of citrus layered over coffee.

I recognized a few of the patrons, and it was difficult not to be a little starstruck.

What was stranger was how many of them seemed to recognize me. I’d been well-known before, but the last week or two had turned that dial up to eleven. More than a few heads turned as Chloe and I passed, heading toward the elevators to the rooftop pods.

Paparazzi used to be a problem, but Charity had folded managing them into her job de***********ion. With Julia’s help, she’d become adept at seeding information that sent most photographers and ambulance chasers wherever she wanted, leaving only a handful of competent ones for my security team. She’d even mulled over ways to weaponize them.

Needless to say, my earlier insecurities about Charity were… fading quickly.

I did my best to ignore the attention as we stepped into the elevator, my eyes roaming the polished brass doors as they began to slide shut. “I seem to ride a lot more elevators than I used to.”

“You’re rich now,” Chloe replied. “Gotta get closer to God.”

“Cute,” I said as I felt the lift take off.

Reaching the top floor, the doors opened to reveal a smiling hostess. “Mr. Upton? Right this way.”

As we followed her down a wide hallway made entirely of dark glass, my stomach twisted tighter than it had when I’d met with Sachiko, and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. It was crazy—sit down at a meeting of utmost importance with a representative of one of the most powerful families in the world, and I was just as nervous as I would be around someone with only a fraction of the significance.

My mind could be a strange place.

Halfway down the hall, she left us in front of one of the sliding doors of the glass pods, letting us know that a waiter would be right with us.

“I’ll just wait out here,” Chloe said.

I glanced down the hall—sure enough, two other guards stood outside two other pods, each keeping watch over their charges.

Chloe slid the glass door open. I stepped inside.

The private pod was… surprisingly intimate. Dark paneling lined the far wall, raised just enough to let the hidden lights beneath cast a soft, warm, flattering glow.

Charity sat at the table, looking resplendent in a cocktail dress and tasteful jewelry. Her hair fell naturally down her back in a dark, glossy sheet, held in place by decorative barrettes that kept it off her face.

The second person in the room was Karly Titus.

She looked beautiful—soft, dark-blonde curls framing her heart-shaped face.

She wore a dark blue silk blouse that hung off one shoulder and swooped low over her chest, showing off delicate collarbones, warm creamy skin, and the barest hint of cleavage.

When the door clicked shut behind me, she stood and gave me a bright smile. Now that the table wasn’t blocking my view, I caught the rest: black, well-fitted pants—just tight enough to show well-proportioned hips.

Not that I didn’t know what she looked like already. I’d seen one of her first movies, Blood Ship Five, which had a tasteful shot of her climbing out of bed in nothing but lingerie.

She extended her hand. “Mr. Upton? Karly Titus.”

I took her hand—soft, warm, and delicate. “I know who you are, Ms. Titus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

What I saw next surprised me. Plain as day, in her eyes was pure relief, mixed with awe.

She hadn’t been sure I’d come and was grateful that I had.

Here I was, the starstruck boy meeting an up-and-coming, beautiful celebrity, yet she looked almost as intimidated as I felt. Something about that loosened the knot in my stomach.

“Please… call me Karly, and the pleasure is all mine,” she said. “I know you’re a busy man. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

I wanted to tell her I was the one grateful she’d flown all the way from Vegas, but I reined it in and instead said, “Of course! Please have a seat.”

I took the seat next to Charity, who was practically beaming. She’d been trying to make this happen for a while.

A waiter came moments later and we ordered drinks—my treat with no expense spared. I wanted to make a good first impression on the celebrity.

While we waited, we made small talk. Karly told me about growing up in Canada, moving to the States to hunt for work, the struggle of living in Los Angeles, and eventually finding a roommate who’d become a boyfriend. They’d bought a house together last year… and were now trying to untangle that mess, since they were no longer dating.

Our drinks arrived. I used the pause to shift the conversation.

“So, Charity says you’re interested in making a movie.”

Karly waved a dismissive hand. “I have a project I’ve been working on for a couple of years. Jack was helping me, but that… stopped when we broke up.”

“What’s it about?”

“A hostage situation,” she said, “in an escape room.”

My eyebrows climbed. I glanced at Charity, who watched me over her cocktail with a pleased little expression.

“That sounds cool.”

“I think so,” Karly said. “I’ve already got a writing credit—they liked the revision work I did. And I’ll be one of the main characters.”

She leaned forward, her loose blouse falling open just enough to show a touch more cleavage. Eye contact became a challenge.

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk about today,” she added.

That threw me. I’d been told she wanted me to fund her film.

“It’s not?”

She rested her elbow on the table, chin in her palm, as the alcohol dulled her own anxiety, making her more comfortable.

“No. I wanted to talk to you about something else entirely. About the Vegas situation.”

“You mean the shooting?”

“Yeah. I think it would make a great movie.”

My reaction was immediate—visceral. The idea of the most terrifying moment of my life being played out for the world to see made my skin crawl.

I almost told her no, but then paused, reconsidering.

People had shown me an enormous amount of sympathy when I came back from Vegas. Very few knew the real story. Most thought I’d just been caught up in terrorism or an armed robbery. Many didn’t even realize I’d been kidnapped. Of course, there were stories… rumors of a kidnapping, but they were often accompanied by wild and outlandish details or speculation.

In the past two weeks, I’d burned through all the goodwill Vegas had earned me.

I could use more.

A tight, well-crafted retelling of my story, delivered to the silver screen, might be precisely the kind of reset in public sentiment I needed.

Karly saw my hesitation and went into damage control. “I know what you went through was traumatic. I’m not asking for a ‘yes’ right now. Just… think about it.”

I studied her, mulling it over. “What do you know about the details?”

She hesitated. “Erin and the others stayed with me, so… probably more than most. I wouldn’t include anything you weren’t comfortable with being in the story.”

‘Weren’t comfortable with’… what a fucking understatement.

I could still feel Charity’s blood on my hands… still see Ray’s head burst across the concrete.

Still feel the sting of hopelessness as Charity was dying in my arms.

I looked at that same girl sitting next to me. “What do you think? You lived it as much as I did.”

Charity’s wistfulness vanished, replaced by a sober, drawn look. “I… I wouldn’t mind. Not if it helped us.”

I turned back to Karly. “So, this is ‘based on true events’? Mostly entertainment with a certain level of truth?”

“I’m not looking to make a documentary, if that’s what you mean.”

“Right. I can’t imagine doing this without taking it seriously.” I took a breath. “I suppose you’ll want to know everything.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable sharing,” she said. I could see her excitement growing by the moment—as if every second I didn’t say no, her dream inched closer to reality.

And… I found myself wanting to help her make it happen.