Charlie Milford is the biggest goddamn flirt on the planet. He is made up of equal parts charm, charisma, and misplaced confidence. The first couple of times I talked to him, I couldn’t figure him out. But now I know that’s just how he is. He’s happiest when he’s making the people around him happy too. Or, in my case, blushing furiously and scowling at his big dumb face. I have no idea why. He is not my type. He’s probably the furthest thing from my type. He works for some sort of wealth investment firm in New York and has an affinity for three-piece suits. Wristwatches that cost the same as
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