Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“I’m not her bodyguard anymore, sir.”
“Last time I checked, you also weren’t her bodyguard when she was choked in her own bedroom. But now you are her boyfriend.”
The kitchen sobers at his words.
My jaw tics, muscles flexed, and a blood-red fire burns in my veins. I hate thinking about what happened to Jane. I was just an Epsilon lead at the time of the Chokehold Incident, and I had enough power to erect more protections but not enough to actually talk to Jane, to ensure that she was okay.
“I would never hurt her,” I say strongly.
“You’re six-seven.”
“I know.”
“She’s five-seven. And if you choose to prioritize yourself over her during intercourse, she could get hurt in an instant, and I wouldn’t call that an accident.”
Him referring to sex as intercourse doesn’t make this interaction any better. Jane is wincing, but she doesn’t seem surprised. Her family is open about sex.
Common knowledge.
“I know,” I tell him, not shying. “But I’ve been six-seven all of my adult life, and there’s not a single time I don’t think about the power I have in bed. Her safety is always on my mind. In every aspect of our relationship. Especially when we’re sleeping together.”
“This is true,” Jane says like this is a business meeting. “I can confirm, but I’d like to keep the details of it private. Thank you.”
Connor and Rose smile, clearly in admiration of their daughter.
This conversation is easier with Jane here. Maybe because she glances at me and gives me a small, reassuring smile. One that pushes me to say more.
“If something happened to Jane and it were my fault,” I tell them, “I don’t know if I could live with myself.”
And that’s just the honest truth.
Silence blisters.
Rose flips her shiny brown hair off her shoulder. “I’m going to try to believe you, even though you’ve given me no reason to. Which is really your own fault for breaking our trust before you’ve even built it.”
I nod. “I appreciate you hearing me out, Rose.”
She spins on her heels to Jane. “The holidays are going to come and go before you know it, and if you still want a job I might have another assistant position at Calloway Couture—”
“No, no, no.” Jane raises her hands. “I am retired from fashion design. I’m still certain it’s just not in my blood.”
Good call, honey.
“That is both tragic and wonderful all at the same time.” Rose rests a hand on her hip. “What are you going to do then?”
Jane takes a deep, measured breath. “I don’t have a passion. I’ve run out of time to find one, so by the New Year I was thinking…” She turns to her dad. “Is there still an opening in the financial department at Cobalt Inc.?”
Connor cocks his head. “You still think you’re running out of time?”
“Yes, I’m still jobless and twenty-three.”
Connor softens his gaze on his daughter. “I’ll look into it, but I can’t make you any promises, mon coeur.”
She smiles. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
Rose plucks a buzzing phone out of her Chanel purse. “Your Aunt Lily is calling. I have to take this.” She struts off, heels clacking on the floorboards. “No, I’m not doing another bake sale for that school. They’ve insulted my baked goods enough.” She pauses. “Yes, they were from Whole Foods. That’s not the point.”
Connor says a short goodbye to me, and then speaks in French to Jane. Something that downturns her lips before he follows his wife out.
Jane stares dejectedly at the sink.
Maybe I shouldn’t ask—but I do anyway. “What’d your dad say?”
She takes a shallow breath. “He said you’re not invited to Wednesday Night Dinner. Not yet.”
3
JANE COBALT
“Something happened?” Maximoff scrunches his face at me while he enters the townhouse from the garage, a towel around his waist, pool water still dripping from his dark brown hair.
Farrow kicks the door behind them, carrying two bags of Chinese takeout.
I’ve been ever-so-innocently brushing Toodles near the rocking chair. But I must be staring off into space more than usual. Recounting what occurred this morning.
“Is it Tony?” Moffy asks, already glaring at the adjoining townhouse door. Where security lives.
I did give Tony my preference list, but luckily, I skirted out of the interaction before I had to stare at his smug face for long. And Thatcher was with me.
Farrow raises his brows at Moffy. “I thought you didn’t ‘hate’ Tony.” He uses air-quotes.
Moffy gestures to the door. “If he hurts Jane, I’m going to more than hate him.”
I already know that Farrow isn’t a Tony fan.
You see, all of SFO hates Tony after he let Xander Hale participate in a pseudo boxing match at the Halloween party. They believe he should’ve intervened and pulled my fifteen-year-old cousin to safety.
Of course I wish he had, but Moffy and I—we can’t blame bodyguards for our mistakes. There is immense guilt in doing so. The security team is our safety net, but they can’t be our scapegoat or moral conscience.