[New York City – 3 Days Later, 9:21 AM]
Charlie stepped out of the black SUV (Hired car) and into the cool bite of Manhattan morning air. He adjusted the collar of his coat and slipped on a pair of tinted glasses. The podcast studio was on the sixth floor of a glass-paneled building in SoHo, surrounded by boutique coffee shops and busy sidewalks filled with people pretending they weren't late.
A production assistant with a clipboard and a Bluetooth headset greeted him at the door. Her name was Jaya, and she moved like someone who had already put out five fires before breakfast.
"Mr. Harper. Right on time. They're waiting for you upstairs," she said, offering a warm but rushed smile. "You're in Studio B. Just follow me."
Inside the elevator, Charlie glanced at his reflection. He looked good as always. The elevator opened directly into the podcast office. The space was all polished concrete, high ceilings, and plants that looked too expensive to be fake. Studio B sat behind a glass partition with acoustic panels and hanging mics that looked more like art than tools.
The podcast was called "Unfiltered Frequency", one of the top music and culture shows on the East Coast. Hosted by Nate Fielding, a former DJ-turned-indie journalist with a cult following, it had a reputation for pulling stories out of people they didn't even mean to tell.
Charlie stepped in. Nate stood from the desk and offered a handshake. He was wearing a faded leather jacket, a Wu-Tang hoodie, and beat-up sneakers that probably cost more than most people's rent. Why? They looked like collector items.
"Charlie Harper," Nate said with a grin. "The man who went from jingles to heartbreak ballads to... what was it, sexy summer pool bangers? I gotta say, that's a hell of a brand arc."
Charlie chuckled as they shook hands. "I figured if I couldn't confuse the critics, I wasn't trying hard enough."
They both sat, and the sound engineer behind the glass gave them the countdown. The red "ON AIR" light clicked on.
Nate leaned into his mic. "Today on Unfiltered Frequency, we're sitting with a guy who's had the wildest entry in the business. Former jingle writer. Malibu songwriter. Now a platinum artist with one of the year's most viral music albums. Charlie Harper, welcome to the show."
"Good to be here," Charlie said, speaking clearly into the mic. His voice was steady. He was used to the format now.
Nate wasted no time.
"Let's start with this. You put out Charlie's Strange Life and it hit like a truck full of feelings. But what surprised people wasn't just the music. It was the tone and honesty. How do you go from writing ads for adult diapers to singing about emotional wounds and lost love like your soul's on fire?"
Charlie leaned back in his chair.
"I think I got tired of hiding," he said. "There's only so long you can write to sell something before you realize you've been avoiding your own voice. I didn't have anything to lose anymore, so I wrote like it."
Nate nodded, impressed.
"And then there's 'Blonde by the Pool.' That was a complete left turn. Did you know it would blow up the way it did?"
Charlie laughed. "Absolutely not. I thought it was just for fun. A break from the heavier stuff. I was like, let's shoot a music video with sun, champagne, and unapologetic skin. And suddenly, every rooftop DJ in Europe wants a remix."
"You've got two women in your life who are also rising stars now," Nate said, flipping to a note on his tablet. "Lisa and Laura. And both are featured in your work. That's not a normal setup for most artists."
Charlie nodded. "No, it's not. But it's real. They've been with me through everything. Before the money, before the music blew up. They're not just in my life—they're part of the story. That's why they're in the videos. People can tell when the chemistry's real. It doesn't have to be scripted."
"Do you ever worry about overexposing your personal life?" Nate asked. "Or about the triangle being the headline more than your work?"
Charlie considered that for a second.
"There's always that risk. But if you're going to write about love, or heartbreak, or anything real, you can't pretend your life is off-limits. I'm not curating a brand. I'm making music out of what's actually happening and what happened in my life. People can smell fake a mile away. So I don't hide it."
Nate leaned forward, picking up the thread without missing a beat.
"Well, speaking of real," he said, tapping his tablet screen, "let's talk about the numbers. As of last week, 'Charlie's Strange Life' is sitting in the number four spot on the global singles chart. That's just behind industry titans with ten times the promo budget. And rumor has it the Grammys are already whispering your name in more than one category. How are you processing that?"
Charlie adjusted his mic slightly, keeping his expression calm but thoughtful.
"It's surreal," he said. "I've always been the guy who got paid to make stuff that other people forgot in ten seconds. So to have a song stay in someone's head for weeks, to have people actually care, that's wild to me. As for the awards talk, I try not to think about it too much. I don't want to jinx it. But yeah, if something happens... that's going to be a hell of a night."
"Come on," Nate grinned. "If you win a Grammy, what are you doing first? Speech or afterparty?"
Charlie laughed. "Speech, obviously. Then I'm getting hammered on sparkling water while watching Berta heckle people from the VIP section. It's already written in fate."
Nate chuckled. "Okay, okay. Let's switch gears for a second. Top three celebrity crushes. Don't lie. Don't dodge. We're getting into the fluff questions now."
Charlie rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Alright, fine. Kate Beckinsale. Jennifer Connelly and Elizabeth Banks."
"Solid list," Nate said, raising his eyebrows. "Classy, funny, smart... You have great taste. By the way, have you met any of your crushes?"
Charlie's smile turned sheepish.
"Yeah... I met Kate Beckinsale. We were both at this yacht party," he said. "This was before everything took off. I somehow ended up in a conversation with her. I was so nervous back then, but somehow still charming enough to make her laugh. We talked for a while, and let's just say I have her number."
Nate leaned in, eyes wide. "You serious? You had Kate Beckinsale's number?"
"Had," Charlie emphasized. "Past tense. I never called her."
The studio went silent for a second, then Nate burst out laughing. "Dude. What? Why?"
Charlie shrugged. "I chickened out. I convinced myself I'd say something dumb or ruin it. I don't know, man. Fear. Insecurity. All the stuff I pretend I don't have. But yeah, Kate, if by some miracle you're hearing this podcast, I'm sorry for not calling. You were incredible, and you understood my situation back then. So I hope you're not mad at me."
Nate shook his head, laughing. "That is both tragic and peak Charlie Harper. You're sitting on a number four single and you're still haunted by a phone call."
Charlie grinned. "Haunted is the wrong word. It's more like... reminded. That the biggest opportunities don't always come with instructions. Sometimes they just hand you a number and wait to see if you're brave enough to dial."
The engineer gave a silent thumbs-up behind the glass. Nate glanced at the clock and leaned toward the mic.
"We're gonna take a quick break, but when we come back, we're talking about the making of 'Everybody's favorite stranger,' the unexpected rise of Charlie's fanbase, and whether he'd ever go on tour, or if Malibu is his final kingdom."
The red light dimmed. Nate leaned back with a big grin. "Man, that was gold. You're killing it."
Charlie raised his bottle of water and clinked it against Nate's coffee cup. "Still not calling her, though."
The podcast wrapped with another thirty minutes of thoughtful, funny, and surprisingly raw conversation. Charlie opened up about his songwriting habits, the accidental nature of fame, and his weird tendency to write best at night when everyone else is asleep. Nate closed the session with a standing invite: "Next time you're in New York, drop in. I don't care if it's just to steal our coffee." Charlie promised he would.
After signing a few things for the staff and thanking the crew, he stepped out into the busy Manhattan street again. He walked for a while without a destination in mind. He passed small galleries, buzzing cafes, and department stores.
He wandered into a corner deli and bought a cup of chamomile tea. He then sat on a park bench and ate a hotdog and then again began walking. Eventually, his path led him into a large shopping mall near Bryant Park.
Charlie browsed idly, but when he reached the gourmet snack shop, he stopped. The display of cookies caught his eye. He stared at two particular boxes for longer than most people would admit.
In one hand, he held a box of classic chocolate chip cookies. The other box was labeled "Cashew Vanilla Crunch" and came in a matte ivory package with gold foil accents.
He turned both over, comparing ingredients like it was a matter of national importance. The chocolate chip ones promised a soft center, dark Belgian chocolate, and a hint of sea salt. The cashew cookies were described as buttery, slightly nutty, with a slow vanilla finish. The problem was, he could only reasonably finish one box. The other would sit in his hotel room, untouched, until it went stale or someone from housekeeping gave it to their kid.
"Dang! My old habits are coming up. Those good old days of what to buy with a little budget," Charlie mumbled to himself. "Argg! Which one to buy?"
Just then, a woman's voice beside him said, "Go with the cashew. It's a limited edition. You can get chocolate chip cookies anywhere."
Charlie did not turn right away. He gave a half-smile and nodded, still considering. "Yeah, but chocolate chip has history. It's the fallback, the safety cookie. You know exactly what you're getting. Comfort and nostalgia. You bite into one of those and you're back in your grandma's kitchen or your first failed bake sale."
The woman chuckled. "So pick it."
"But," he said, holding up the other box, "cashew is rare. A little fancy. It says you're willing to risk not liking something, but if you do, it'll be a pleasant surprise. These cookies might actually challenge me. Expand my taste horizons. Maybe even make me feel... evolved."
"You're having a full-on existential cookie crisis," she said.
Charlie turned his head then, finally looking at her.
She stood there, casual but unmistakable. Kate Beckinsale. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, sunglasses perched on her head, wearing black skinny jeans, a charcoal pea coat, and boots that looked both expensive and comfortable. Her shopping bag hung from one arm. Her other hand held a bottled green juice.
Charlie stared, trying not to. She gave him a curious look, the kind that held just enough mischief to make a man sweat.
"Hi," she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Charlie blinked once. His brain worked fast, spinning through every possible outcome and memory file in his system.
"You're Kate Beckinsale," he finally said. Then he winced. "Yeah. That's a stupid opening line. Small world, how are you?"
She smiled, eyes bright and amused. "I'm good and moving on with my life, and I'm not sulking anymore."
"That's a good thing," he said. "And before you say anything, I still feel stupid about not calling."
Kate studied him for a second. "I figured you got busy. You were charming, if a little nervous."
Charlie looked down at the cookie boxes in his hands and held them up like they were trophies in a comedy sketch. "I'm still nervous. Apparently, I still overthink dessert."
Kate took a slow sip of her juice, then pointed at the cashew box. "That one's still the right call."
Charlie nodded, returning the chocolate chip to the shelf. "You have no idea how many nights I've mentally replayed our conversation. I kept thinking, I should've just called. Or at least sent a message."
"Life's messy," she said. "Timing doesn't always line up. People don't always follow through. I didn't take it personally."
"That's generous," Charlie said. "Most people would've written me off. Hell, I would've written me off."
"You had a good excuse," Kate replied. "You were on the edge of something. I could feel it even then. Like you were standing on the diving board, just figuring out if you had the nerve to jump."
He smiled at that. "Well, I jumped. Landed a little sideways, but I stuck it."
"I noticed," she said, tilting her head slightly. "The album's amazing. And Blonde by the Pool is ridiculous, but I watched it twice anyway."
"Three Ukrainian models," Charlie said. "Sunlight, alcohol, and zero shame. I don't know how it turned into a hit, but here we are."
Kate gave him a smile that didn't feel like a celebrity smile. It felt real.
"Soooo... Are you perhaps free right now?" Charlie asked, gathering all his courage. He was going to ask her out for lunch.
"Want to have lunch together?" She asked him before he could ask.
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