Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
“Jesus,” I exhale.
I’m surprised he’s sharing this with me, until he says, “It’s important Tom keeps his bodyguard around him. There are people who will fuck with my family for money, for clickbait, for revenge, for all sorts of things. And it might sound ridiculous to you.”
“It sounds a little exaggerated,” I admit.
Beckett nods. “Tom said you aren’t chronically online, but there are enough people who do know us that a single video clip or photo of us can make a person go viral or make a media conglomerate richer. You understand that, at least?”
“Yeah.” I can see how that could happen.
I feel even worse thinking Charlie and Beckett were being prima donnas who didn’t want to enter a fucking Micky D’s. They’re just trying to keep each other safe.
“You can head back to the car,” I tell Beckett. “I’m sure the food will be out in a second.”
“It’s fine,” he says stiffly. “There’s something I needed to ask you anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“Your arrest—”
“I thought you didn’t read my background check,” I cut in.
“I didn’t,” he says. “I was told you’ve been arrested.”
I run a hand against the side of my neck. I’m not going back there. I cannot even begin thinking about that night right now. “I’m not going to talk about that. What else do you want to know?” I ask him, frustration seeping into my voice. “Anything else?”
“Are you sleeping with my brother?”
My chest inflames. Did not expect that. “No.”
“Do you want to?”
Yes.
“He’s my bandmate.”
Beckett gives me a firm come the fuck on look. “That’s not an answer.”
“So why don’t you ask him these questions. See what he says, huh?”
He grips my gaze. “How many guys have you slept with?”
Damn. “You ask all his bandmates that or just me?”
“Just you.”
“I see.” I don’t hate Beckett’s directness. At least I know what he’s thinking. “Look, Tom already asked my body count, and I don’t know it.”
“That high.” It’s a statement.
I eye him. “What’s yours?”
“That high.”
“Fuck,” I say.
“Tom isn’t as experienced as you. If I hear you hurt him at all, you’ll wish you never met my family. Understood?”
He’s a good big brother. “Understood.”
“Three four three!” Our order is called. I leave Beckett to grab the two bags off the counter. We’re silent on our way back to the SUV.
Tom is lying across the seat, his hands laced on his forehead like he’s trying not to vomit.
“Hey, sit up.” I pick his legs up, sit underneath them, then I lift him back upright.
“Whoa.” He rests his weight against my side, then blows out a long, measured breath.
“You’ll stop spinning when you eat something.”
Charlie passes a Big Mac up to the bodyguard behind the wheel. “Oscar, we’re going back home. Hell’s Kitchen.”
Beckett frowns. “On devrait le déposer en premier.” We should drop him off first. He’s talking about me. They’re probably avoiding my name on purpose.
Charlie digs through the bag, looking for something in particular. “Non. Il vit avec son frère. On n’a pas besoin de plus d’embrouilles ce soir.” No. He lives with his brother. We don’t need more drama tonight.
Beckett takes off his gloves. “Des embrouilles?” Drama?
Charlie hands him a medium fry, then pulls out the fish sandwich. “Son frère est le batteur. Celui que Tom n’a pas embauché parce qu’il le trouvait trop canon.” His brother is the drummer. The one that Tom didn’t hire because he thought he was too hot.
The fuck? I bite down, my jaw tensing. Birdie. They’re talking about Birdie. Tom told me he didn’t hire my younger brother because of timing. That little fucking liar. I want to stake a glare at him, but he’s nibbling on a nugget and muttering something about chicken kingdoms.
And I don’t have time to think about Tom finding Birdie hot. Beckett’s confused tone catches my ear. “Ils pourraient se croiser?” Would they run into each other?
“Tu veux prendre le risque?” Do you want to take the chance?
“Non.” No.
While I unwrap my Big Mac, the car starts moving again. I can’t keep my mouth shut. “Do you two always talk in French in front of other people?”
“You’re in our car,” Beckett reminds me as he tosses a couple fries in his mouth.
“We could switch back to English for you,” Charlie says. “Mais je ne pense pas qu’on en ait besoin.” But I don’t think we need to.
Fuck.
I grind my jaw again.
Beckett’s lips part. “What the fuck?” He looks from me to Charlie and back to me. “How long were you going to let us keep talking?”
I shrug. “I had all night.”
Tom lets out a breathy sigh. He’s starting to pass out. The half-bitten nugget is in the footwell, and I’m holding him upright against my chest. His head is practically nuzzled in the crook of my shoulder and neck. I make sure he’s okay, brushing my fingers through his hair to see his eyes as they shut.