AN: Another chapter. C'mon. More powerstones, guys. Help reach top 20. And you'll get daily updates.
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Charlie opened his mouth, ready to deflect with some half-baked excuse about the "lawyer ex" being somewhere in Greenland or in witness protection after their Vegas weekend fling. The truth was simpler and far more Charlie: he never called her again after four wild nights, three room service violations, and one extremely questionable tattoo that thankfully washed off.
His phone buzzed in his pocket before the lie could leave his lips.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and immediately paled.
One message.
From Joline Mason.
[Tonight. 7 PM sharp. Dress accordingly. Hope you're still good at misbehaving. ;)]
Charlie blinked. The world slowed. The kitchen noise faded. The smell of bacon. Lisa sipping coffee. Alan muttering something about lemon-scented toilet cleaner. All of it fell into a muffled haze as Joline's voice played in his mind.
[["Next week, I'm going to a yacht party. My husband's going overseas on a business trip... You'll be my plus-one at that yacht party next week. And I expect… old-school Charlie. The one who knew how to misbehave in linen closets."]]
He looked at the date on his phone.
Today was the day.
Tonight.
The yacht party.
The "favor" he agreed to in exchange for Lisa's job.
Charlie locked his phone screen and slid it back into his pocket like it was nothing more than a spam text from a mattress sale. He forced a casual expression onto his face and turned back toward the kitchen as if he hadn't just gotten a message that could unravel his entire relationship.
Alan was still mid-breakdown, now holding a piece of toast like it was a lifeline. "Charlie, please. I need someone who can fight back. Judith's lawyer is brutal. The woman once sued her own sister over a casserole dish."
Charlie stood up, went to the kitchen counter to refill his coffee, then walked slowly back to the table, and took a sip that definitely did not help the tightness in his chest.
Lisa glanced at him over her mug, calm but focused. "You know people, Charlie. You've dated at least three women who could win a custody battle and still make it to brunch." It was before he met Lisa.
Charlie sighed. Long. Loud. The kind of sigh that signaled he knew he was cornered.
He set his mug down. "Fine. I'll make a few calls."
Alan perked up. "So you'll help?"
Charlie nodded reluctantly. "Sunday. I'll reach out to someone on Sunday. No promises, but I'll try to dig up a favor or two."
Alan exhaled with relief and practically melted into his chair. "Thank you. You're saving my life."
Lisa leaned over and bumped her knee gently against Charlie's. "You're doing a good thing."
Charlie gave her a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Feels weird. You know, the ex thing and all. We didn't part on good terms."
Berta cleared her throat. "Weird? You agreeing to help Alan without charging him rent is biblical."
Lisa gave him a warm smile. "Just try. If it works, it works; if not, we can always find someone else."
Alan wiped his nose with a napkin. "I'm gonna get my life together. You'll see."
Charlie looked at his duck-patterned pajamas and sighed again. "Please don't make that promise while wearing those."
Lisa stood up and straightened her blazer. "I have to get going. Faculty meeting. Someone tried to schedule 'Silent Yoga' during fire alarm testing."
Charlie rose to walk her out. "Drive carefully."
She smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Will do."
He nodded and watched her leave, the front door clicking softly behind her.
[30 minutes later]
Charlie stood in the kitchen, still gripping his mug like it might offer answers. The house felt quieter now, but his brain buzzed with noise. Lisa gone. Alan, after thirty more minutes of self-pity and two rounds of toast, had finally dragged himself out the door, mumbling something about back adjustments and emotional pain. Even Berta had left, muttering her way through the hallway, griping about the fridge being stocked with non-alcoholic beer and the spiritual decay of a once-glorious drinker like Charlie.
"When are you going to drink again?" she'd snapped, stuffing her cleaning rag into her tote bag. "No real beer, no whiskey, nothing. It's getting harder for me, you know? Next, you'll be vegan and quoting poetry about herbal tea." (She just wanted to sneak out a bottle or two. Since Charlie rarely kept a track, she had it easy.)
She was gone before he could offer a witty comeback.
Now it was just him.
Him and the message in his pocket.
He stared at the empty kitchen. It looked cleaner somehow, more organized than his thoughts. Then, he walked to the balcony and stared outside. Sun, sea, sand, girls... Playing volleyball. Boobs and ass bouncing. Well, the usual view.
The world looked calm. Like it didn't know what he was about to walk into.
A yacht party with a woman who knew his worst habits. Who expected him to wear them again like a tailored suit.
Suit?!
Charlie burst into his room like a man late for his own sentencing. He flung open the closet, dug through shirts with ironic slogans, jackets with missing buttons, and a questionable Halloween costume that may have once involved leather and pleasure. (His black suit was out for dry cleaning.)
The second suit, which he kept for an emergency. Dark blue. Fitted. Tailored during a short-lived phase when he thought about joining politics, right before a scandal involving a senator's wife and a pool table.
He pulled it out and laid it flat on the bed. Crisp. Smooth. Only slightly wrinkled at the sleeves. Charlie stared at it like it might judge him.
"Yeah, you remember this game," he muttered.
Next came the hunt. He tossed aside boxes, searched the drawers that were filled with condoms, lube, cuffs, and other sex toys, until he found the cologne. Still half-full. Still smelled like sin with a splash of citrus. He sprayed a bit on his wrist and nodded.
"Alright. This will do."
Then the boots. He dug them out from under the bed and gave them a good polish. He hadn't worn them since that wedding in Malibu where he'd accidentally hit on the groom's sister. Twice.
Watch. Where the hell was the watch? He checked drawers, under the pillows, behind the bookshelf. Nothing. He froze, then checked the kitchen. Found it. It was near the microwave.
"Of course. Midnight nachos and time checks," he muttered.
He set it beside the cologne. Then grabbed his keys and headed to the garage.
His eyes were on his car.
"Alright, time to shine."
Charlie wiped down the hood, cleaned the smudges off the mirrors, and gave the rims a quick buff. Even vacuumed the interior.
Back inside, he glanced at the clock.
1:40 PM.
Three hours and twenty minutes to be out the door. He needed to disappear before 4. Lisa always got home at 5, but she was unpredictable. If she walked in early and found him halfway into a suit with a tie he hadn't worn since his last IRS hearing, questions would be asked.
Questions he didn't have answers for.
Charlie stood in front of the mirror and held the suit up to his chest. He looked sharp. Too sharp. He adjusted the jacket on the hanger, muttering to himself.
"This is just a favor. A one-time thing. Dress up. Show up. Smile. Make her happy. Keep her from blowing the whole thing up."
He didn't believe himself.
This wasn't just about playing plus-one. This was about keeping the lie alive. The lie that got Lisa her dream job. The lie that kept his past separate from his present. The lie that, if exposed, would tear everything down in about five seconds.
He rubbed his face, exhaled, and sat on the edge of the bed.
No music played in the background. No sarcastic voice in his head. Just silence. Just weight.
For a long minute, Charlie didn't move.
Then he stood up. He opened a drawer, pulled out a small notebook, and wrote three words:
Don't mess this up.
He slipped the paper into his pocket.
2:10 PM
He still had time.
But not much.
And if he was going to sneak away tonight without unraveling everything he'd built in the last week, he had to play this exactly right.
Disappear before 4.
Come back before 10.
Say nothing.
Smile everything.
He walked to the bathroom to shave.
Every second counted now.
...
[3:25]
Charlie folded the sleeves of his shirt with clinical precision. He stood in front of the mirror, tying his tie like a man preparing for court.
The lie had to be neat. Clean. Not sloppy or flashy.
He glanced at the clock.
Fifteen minutes left.
He grabbed a notepad from the nightstand and scribbled a quick message.
Lisa,
Got a last-minute meeting with a music guy in Marina del Rey. Contract talk. Might run late. Don't wait up for dinner.
Love you.
—C
He stared at the note for a second.
Too dry?
Too specific?
No. It was fine. Lisa trusted him. And if there was one thing Charlie had mastered over the years, it was sounding convincing while half-lying.
He placed the note on the bed, just over her pillow.
"Time to go."
He grabbed his jacket off the hanger, slung it over his shoulder, and walked to the door. He paused one last time, glanced back at the note, then shut off the lights and quietly left after locking the house.
..
Charlie drove down the street, stopping by a gas station off the highway. He filled the tank. Then in the mini-mart, he grabbed a pack of barbecue chips, a roll of shortbread biscuits, and a bottle of Coke.
He stood at the checkout, tapping his card while the cashier lazily scanned each item.
Back in the car, he sat in silence for a moment, slowly munching the chips. Each bite felt louder than necessary. He finished off the Coke with a long gulp, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes.
He dozed off in the parking lot after setting up the alarm.
Around 6:45 PM, he heads to Joline's house so he arrives just before 7 PM, as she instructed.
Soon...
He pulled up to Joline's house with five minutes to spare.
It was perched on a cliffside with an ocean view so pristine it looked fake. The kind of place that whispered luxury in six languages. The BMW wasn't in the driveway. Her husband had indeed left.
Perfect.
He stepped out, fixed his cuffs, straightened his tie in the side mirror, and walked to the front door.
One deep breath.
Then he pressed the doorbell.
A moment passed.
Then the door opened.
And there she was.
Joline stood in the doorway wearing a deep blue dress that hugged her curves like it had been stitched onto her body. Her hair, now dyed platinum blonde, gleamed under the porch light. The color made her look colder... Hot... Milfy. Like she belonged on the cover of a magazine that sold danger and perfume in equal measure.
Her smile was slow, practiced, and just a little too amused.
"Well, well," she said, her voice smooth and cool. "Look who showed up."
Charlie kept his posture relaxed, but his stomach was a knot of regret and calculation.
"Wow! You look... Just breathtakingly stunning," He threw in a big compliment with his signature smile, and it worked as usual.
She walked over to him, cupped his cheeks, and kissed him hard. Charlie too kissed back. He came this far, there's no running away. Let's just go with the flow, is what he thought. His arms went around her waist as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, and she allowed it.
Both of them kissed at the doorstep, without a care. Then they pulled away.
"I missed this so much, Charlie," Joline whispered. "I missed you. You have no idea how many times I masturbated thinking of your big hard cock." She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. "Phew! Alright. C'mon, in. I just need a few minutes to put the final touches."
Charlie followed her inside.
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