WHILE JOHNNY DUG INTO HIS SUSHI WITH ENTHUSIASM, CHARLIE BARELY TOUCHED HER PLATE. Her eyes flitted over the neatly arranged rolls in front of her, but her mind was a thousand miles away. She couldn't stop thinking about Victor and what he might want. When he hired her, the terms of her job had been simple—protect Johnny, no questions asked. But now, she was starting to wonder if those terms had changed without her knowing.

Charlie did everything in her power to keep the hothead sitting across from her safe, but with Victor, nothing ever felt secure. What if her work wasn't good enough? What if Victor or Sue had decided she wasn't worth keeping around? And if her services weren't needed anymore, it wouldn't just mean unemployment. It would mean something far more dangerous—something final. The thought made her stomach twist in knots, stealing what little appetite she might have had.

"Charlie?" Johnny's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. He was looking at her now, his brow furrowed, concern etched into his features. "You okay? You've barely touched your food."

Charlie blinked and forced a small, tight smile. "I'm good," she replied quickly, brushing off his concern. She glanced down at the untouched sushi on her plate, scrambling for an excuse. "I've, uh... never had sushi before. This is uncharted territory for me."

Johnny's expression softened instantly, his lips curving into a grin. "Oh, come on, it's not that hard. Here." He reached for his chopsticks, holding them up for her to see. "You just gotta get the hang of these bad boys."

Charlie picked up her own chopsticks, her fingers fumbling as she tried to mimic his grip. The result was a disaster—her attempt to pick up a piece of sushi ended with it plopping back onto her plate unceremoniously. She groaned, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed, while Johnny stifled a laugh.

"Alright, alright," he said, leaning forward. "Here, let me help." Without waiting for her permission, Johnny reached across the table, his warm hand wrapping around hers. She stiffened at first, not used to the casual intimacy of the gesture, but he didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't care.

"Hold them like this," Johnny said, guiding her fingers into place on the chopsticks. His touch was steady, confident, and for a moment, Charlie forgot all about Victor and the gnawing fear that had been eating away at her all evening. She focused instead on the gentle weight of his hand over hers, the low timbre of his voice as he explained the proper technique.

When he finally let go, Charlie tried again, this time managing to pick up a piece of sushi without dropping it. She looked up at Johnny, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Got it," she said, a hint of pride in her voice.

Johnny grinned back at her, but the moment didn't last long. As soon as she set the sushi back down, she noticed the shift in his demeanor. The grin faded, his expression turning unreadable. He looked down at his plate, poking at his food with his chopsticks. The lightness from before had vanished, replaced by something quieter, more subdued.

"You got real quiet all of a sudden," Charlie said, trying to keep her tone light.

Johnny shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "Just thinking." He didn't elaborate, instead turning his attention back to his plate and resuming his meal in silence.

Charlie stared at him for a moment, her earlier unease creeping back in. She couldn't shake the feeling that the air between them had shifted, that something unspoken lingered just out of reach. She didn't press him, though. Instead, she picked up her own chopsticks and forced herself to eat, the weight of the awkward moment settling between them like an invisible barrier.

🔥

As the server dropped off the check, Johnny casually reached for it, sliding his card in without hesitation. Charlie didn't bother arguing; she knew better. He'd always been generous, and while it sometimes made her uncomfortable, tonight she didn't have the energy to fight him on it. He signed the receipt with a flourish and glanced up at her, his grin playful.

"Ready to face the madness?" he asked, his tone light but with a hint of warning.

Charlie nodded, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. "As I'll ever be."

He stood and held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then slid her fingers into his. His hand was warm, his grip firm yet gentle, and for a second, she almost forgot about the crowd waiting for them outside. Johnny gave her a reassuring squeeze before leading her toward the exit, his other hand casually ruffling his hair as they stepped into the chaos.

The moment they emerged, the world exploded into a frenzy of flashing lights and screaming voices. Paparazzi jostled for the perfect shot while fans shouted his name, their excitement palpable in the humid night air. Johnny's million-dollar smile appeared as if on cue, dazzling and effortless, while he waved and called out greetings to the crowd.

Charlie, in contrast, kept her head low, her reserved nature fully intact. She stayed close to Johnny, her fingers still intertwined with his as they maneuvered through the chaos. He was the picture of ease, used to this kind of attention, while she felt like a fish out of water.

"Do they ever get tired?" she muttered under her breath, glancing at a particularly enthusiastic fan holding a life-sized cardboard cutout of Johnny.

He chuckled, leaning closer so only she could hear. "Nope. Comes with the territory. You get used to it... eventually."

"Not sure I want to," she replied dryly, earning another laugh from him.

They finally reached his car, a sleek black convertible that gleamed under the streetlights. Johnny opened the passenger door for her with a small bow, his grin teasing. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

Charlie rolled her eyes but slid into the seat, her lips twitching upward despite herself. He rounded the car, waving once more to the crowd before settling into the driver's seat and starting the engine. The low rumble of the car drowned out the noise outside as Johnny pulled away from the curb, leaving the chaos behind.

The city lights streaked past as they drove in relative silence, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air. Johnny broke it first, glancing at her briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "So, where to? You want me to take you home?"

Charlie's gaze remained fixed on the passing city lights outside the car window, her sharp profile illuminated by the faint glow of street lamps. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her fingers digging faint crescents into the sleeves of her jacket. She was trying to maintain her usual stoic calm, but Johnny could tell by the way her jaw was set and her shoulders were tense that she was still processing everything—the conversation, the proximity, and whatever storm was brewing behind those ice-blue eyes.

Johnny glanced sideways at her, his hands gripping the wheel just a little tighter. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension, until she finally spoke.

"It's fine," Charlie said, her voice low but steady. "Just take us to your place."

Johnny frowned slightly, his easygoing expression faltering for a brief moment. "You sure? I mean, I can take you home. You don't have to—"

"Johnny," she interrupted, her voice sharp as she turned to face him. "I said it's fine."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Her gaze was piercing, her tone leaving no room for argument, but Johnny wasn't the type to let things go so easily.

He let out a slow breath before flashing her a small, sheepish grin. "Alright, boss. Your wish is my command."

But Charlie wasn't done. Her brow furrowed slightly, her sharp gaze narrowing on him. "How did you get my address, by the way?"

Johnny hesitated for half a second before shrugging one shoulder, his grin turning a little more boyish—as if he thought charm might bail him out of this one. "I may or may not have asked Victor."

Her head tilted slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "And he just gave that to you?"

Johnny winced as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because that's private information, Johnny. If I wanted you to know where I live, I would've told you."

He cleared his throat, his grin fading slightly as he nodded. "Right. Okay. Fair point. We're... we're working on trust, right? My bad. Apologies, ma'am."

Charlie sighed, leaning back into her seat and pinching the bridge of her nose briefly before letting her hand drop. The corner of Johnny's mouth twitched upward again as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"So... does this mean I'm not invited over anytime soon?"

Charlie turned her head slowly, fixing him with a stare so flat it could've stopped traffic.

Johnny smirked, his eyes back on the road, but the glint of mischief was unmistakable. "Hey, a guy can hope."

Her lips twitched—just barely, but enough for Johnny to catch it. She shook her head, leaning back fully into her seat and crossing her arms over her chest once more.

"You've got to earn those privileges, Storm."

Johnny let out a low whistle, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he turned onto a quieter street. "Earn it, huh? Alright, challenge accepted."

Charlie rolled her eyes, her gaze drifting back out the window, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

For a brief moment, the air in the car felt lighter. The weight of everything they'd been dancing around—the trust, the walls, the unspoken feelings—still lingered in the background, but it wasn't suffocating anymore.

🔥

The elevator ride to Johnny's penthouse was unusually quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the machinery as they ascended. Charlie shifted on her feet, the silence pressing in on her like a thick fog. Something about it felt too still, too expectant. Glancing to her side, she caught Johnny staring at her, his expression unreadable. The second her gaze met his, he quickly looked away, his cheeks faintly coloring.

"Something catch your eye?" she teased, her voice breaking the stillness.

Johnny recovered quickly, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. "Yeah, I think you've got some wasabi on your dress," he said, pointing vaguely near her shoulder.

Her brow furrowed in alarm as she immediately started scanning her outfit, twisting to inspect the area he had indicated. She was halfway through her search when she heard his soft chuckle.

"I'm just messing with you," he said, his grin widening.

She froze mid-motion, rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "You're lucky I'm not carrying chopsticks right now."

The elevator chimed, its polished doors sliding open to reveal the sleek, sprawling expanse of Johnny's penthouse. Charlie stepped out tentatively, her sharp gaze immediately assessing the space before her. It was every bit the bachelor pad she had imagined—no, scratch that—it was more. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the length of the living room, offering an unparalleled view of the city. 

The skyline glittered like a thousand jewels scattered across a velvet canvas, the ambient light bathing the space in a soft, golden glow. The furnishings were a masterclass in modern luxury: a plush, oversized sectional couch in muted gray anchored the living room, its clean lines offset by a series of glass and chrome accents that gleamed in the subdued lighting.

Her eyes drifted upward to the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, the centerpiece of what could only be described as a shrine to Johnny's ego. Shelves flanked the television, each meticulously arranged with trophies, awards, and framed magazine covers featuring Johnny's grinning face. "Hollywood's Hottest Pilot" proclaimed one in bold, flashy text. Next to it was another with the caption, "Most Eligible Bachelor," complete with a sultry black-and-white portrait that made Charlie roll her eyes.

Her gaze shifted to the open-concept kitchen, separated from the living room by a sleek marble island. The countertops sparkled under recessed lighting, the surface utterly spotless, as though no one had ever dared to cook there. 

State-of-the-art appliances lined the walls, each one looking more expensive than the last, and a bar stocked with an impressive selection of high-end liquors caught her eye. Every bottle was arranged like an exhibit in a museum, labels facing forward, the amber liquids glowing invitingly.

Charlie stepped further inside, her boots making soft clicks against the polished hardwood floor. She took her time, her trained eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. There was an almost predatory precision to her movements as she crouched briefly to peer under the sectional couch, her hands brushing against the edges of the rug. When she straightened, she didn't pause, heading directly for the kitchen. Her fingers skimmed the cool marble countertop as she walked, the surface so smooth it felt almost unnatural.

Behind her, Johnny leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Uh, what exactly are you doing?" he asked, his tone tinged with incredulity.

"Checking to make sure you're not hiding anything," she replied without looking at him, her voice maddeningly casual, as though this were a perfectly ordinary activity. She opened one of the kitchen cabinets, inspecting its contents. "And making sure no crazy people snuck in here."

Johnny let out a laugh, shaking his head. "That's what the penthouse security system is for, you know."

Charlie closed the cabinet with a soft click and glanced at him, one eyebrow arching skeptically. "Yeah, because no one's ever managed to bypass a security system before. Call me paranoid, but I prefer not to rely on technology alone. Nothing wrong with taking extra precautions."

Johnny smirked, pushing off the doorframe to follow her as she moved toward the hallway that branched off the main living area. "You know, most people just come in, maybe compliment the view, and sit down. This whole...SWAT team sweep thing you've got going on is new."

Charlie ignored him, her focus already shifting to the row of doors ahead. She tested the first one, finding it locked, then moved to the next, which creaked open to reveal a guest bathroom. She stepped inside briefly, scanning the pristine marble fixtures and glass shower walls before exiting and continuing down the hall.

Johnny trailed behind her, his smirk widening as he watched her pause in front of the door to what could only be his bedroom. "I mean, if you're gonna do a full inspection, I should probably warn you about the sock drawer," he teased, his voice laced with playful mockery.

Charlie glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression unimpressed. "Don't tempt me," she shot back, the corners of her mouth twitching as though she were suppressing a smile. She turned the handle, pushing the door open slowly.

Johnny's bedroom was predictably luxurious, yet it had a distinct air of lived-in chaos that the rest of the penthouse lacked. The king-sized bed dominated the space, its charcoal-gray duvet rumpled, as though he hadn't bothered to make it that morning. A few shirts were draped haphazardly over the back of a chair near the window, and a pair of sneakers sat abandoned in the corner. The nightstand held a sleek alarm clock, a half-empty bottle of water, and a script with pages spilling out, the edges dog-eared.

Charlie stepped inside, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the room. She crouched again, this time to peer under the bed, her fingers brushing against the cool hardwood floor. She sat back on her heels, tilting her head to inspect the underside of the frame.

Johnny leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed once more. "You know, if you're looking for skeletons, I keep those in the closet," he said dryly.

Charlie straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Noted," she replied, brushing past him to open the door to his walk-in closet. It was an impressive sight: rows of tailored suits, designer jackets, and neatly arranged shoes that gleamed under the overhead lighting. She ran her fingers along the fabric of a particularly sharp blazer, her lips twitching in reluctant approval. "At least you're organized," she muttered.

"I aim to impress," Johnny quipped, his grin widening. "Satisfied, Detective?"

Charlie turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "For now," she said, her tone teasing but her expression serious. "But if I find out you're hiding something, I'm coming back with a warrant."

Johnny laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You've got my word. No secrets. Well, mostly no secrets."

She rolled her eyes, brushing past him as she headed back toward the living room. "I'll be the judge of that."

Finally satisfied with her sweep, Charlie made her way back to the entrance, her pace steady but deliberate, as if every step marked the completion of a silent checklist in her head. Johnny followed close behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his usual swagger tempered by something quieter, something watchful. He didn't try to hide the way his eyes lingered on her, tracing the confident set of her shoulders, the faint glint of amusement in her gaze as she glanced back at him.

As she reached for the door, her fingers brushing the sleek handle, Johnny cleared his throat. The sound broke the fragile quiet between them, echoing faintly in the vast space of the penthouse. "You sure you don't want to stick around?" His voice was casual, light, but his stance betrayed him—his weight shifted slightly, his shoulders stiff, as though bracing for something he wasn't quite ready to name. "You know, maybe whip up some more of those Russian cocktails. I've got enough vodka to keep us busy."

Charlie paused, turning to face him, her lips curving into a faint, almost playful smile. "Tempting," she said, her tone soft but resolute. "But I've got things to do. Maybe next time."

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing just enough to add an edge of sincerity to the smirk he tried to maintain. "Things to do," he repeated, as if testing the weight of her words. "Like... your next target?" The question came out with a playful lilt, but his gaze sharpened, searching hers for something more.

Her smile widened slightly, but there was steel in her eyes, the kind of resolve he'd come to recognize—and, admittedly, admire. "Can't disclose that," she replied smoothly, the hint of a challenge in her voice.

The elevator chimed softly as she pressed the button, its mechanical hum breaking the charged quiet between them. Johnny lingered, standing just a step closer now, his posture loose but his hands still buried in his pockets. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might let the moment pass. But then he spoke, his voice lower, his words more measured. "You know," he began, his tone betraying just a flicker of something rawer, something unguarded, "usually it's the guy who makes sure the girl gets home safe."

Charlie's head turned, her sharp gaze locking onto his. There was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression—amusement, maybe, but tempered by something deeper. "It's usually not a former KGB agent and a retired millionaire astronaut either," she said, her voice carrying the faintest trace of a smirk. Her words were light, almost teasing, but the weight behind them hung heavy in the air.

Johnny didn't reply right away, his mouth opening slightly before he stopped himself. His eyes remained fixed on her, studying her as though trying to decipher a puzzle that had no solution. The seconds stretched, the silence between them crackling with an energy neither of them seemed willing to name. When the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, the spell broke, and she stepped inside.

Charlie turned to face him, her hand hovering over the button panel, her expression softening just slightly, just enough to remind him that there were layers to her he still hadn't peeled back. 

"I guess we're not normal," she said, her voice quieter now, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

For a moment, Johnny didn't respond. He just stood there, his frame silhouetted against the warm light of the penthouse, his features unreadable save for the faintest tension in his jaw. 

Her lips twitched upward in a subtle, knowing smile, the kind that lingered just long enough to leave an impression. She raised a hand in a small wave, her fingers brushing the air between them as the elevator doors began to close. He watched her until the last possible second, the faint glint of the city lights reflected in the polished metal surface as the doors sealed shut.

Johnny stood there for a long moment, staring at his own faint reflection. The stillness of the penthouse pressed down on him, amplifying the steady beat of his heart. His hand lifted absently, brushing through his hair as he let out a slow breath, the kind you didn't realize you'd been holding until it escaped.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, slow and unbidden, spreading into something almost boyish, almost disbelieving. He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turned and walked back into the vast emptiness of his penthouse. The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. The space felt quieter now, lonelier, yet oddly charged, as though her presence still lingered in the air.

As he made his way toward the couch, he glanced at one of the magazine covers on the shelf, his own face staring back at him, frozen in a moment of manufactured charm. For the first time, it struck him just how shallow that version of himself felt compared to the man who had just watched her leave. His smile deepened, softer now, tinged with something he couldn't quite name but didn't feel the need to fight.

"I guess we're not," he murmured to himself, the words carrying the weight of a realization he wasn't ready to unpack. And with that, he sank onto the couch, staring out at the glittering city, a grin tugging at his lips that refused to fade.