Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
I want her in my arms.
I want her to be mine.
Instead, I’m veering toward the door like a tornadic wind, and Easton blows out of the way. Glaring, he says, “It’s not a French exit. It’s the Ben exit.”
I shoot a glare back.
When I’m in the hall, I head to the elevators. Each step away from her hurts. The sound of a shutting door jolts my body, and I look backward.
Harriet is running to catch me.
My lungs expand. I hang on to her appearance, not even caring if she’s a mirage and I’m imagining shit now. I’ll take this fantasy. But full disclosure, she’s real.
She slows at my side, digging in her black backpack. Our eyes meet a few tender times. Then I say, “You looking for a cross to excise the demon within me, Fisher?”
“You’re a Cobalt. The only demon within you is hubris, and sorry to say, you seem to lack it the most of your immortal fam.”
“So you say,” I smile more and more.
It pulls a tiny one out of her too.
Harriet does make me feel so much fucking better, and I can’t explain it at all. I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.
“Damn,” she mutters, a plastic baggie of hard candies in her hand. Her shoulders drop in defeat when we reach the elevator. “How are these not vegan?” She’s reading the ingredients label.
She wanted to give me candy? I smile down at her.
She looks up at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, then I drape my arm over her shoulders.
Harriet leans a little into me. I feel her skin go warm, and I scrunch her hair with my hand. I think I’m falling in love with you. I wish we could be together. I’m sorry.
Thank you.
It all rolls over me like a tidal wave.
30
HARRIET FISHER
“What birthday presents did you get them?” Tom asks me. He’s leaning his arms on a sticky bar, waiting for a bartender to notice him. It might be a decade before that happens. This club is packed. The bouncers stopped letting people in about fifteen minutes ago.
Tom and I are wedged up by the bar side by side like we don’t hate each other, when he was the one throwing popcorn at me in our boxed seat at the ballet tonight. Okay, I might have been throwing popcorn back, but I wasn’t going to surrender with kernels stuck in my hair. And now my head spins at his words. Birthday presents. Did I lose this memo in the mail? Surely, Ben would have told me if I needed to get Charlie and Beckett gifts.
It’s September 19th.
Girls in high school were obsessed with this random ass day all because the Ryke Meadows was born on it, and then twenty-eight years later—his nephews, Charlie Cobalt and Beckett Cobalt, came into the world on the same exact day.
I’ve never marked it on my calendar. I honestly forgot all about it until Ben invited me to the ballet for Beckett’s “birthday” performance. He’s invited me to see Giselle before, but I’ve opted out in favor of studying. Tonight should’ve been another easy pass since I have a Latin exam tomorrow.
But my heart won over my head, and I blurted out, “I’ll be there.”
Little did I know that “there” also included an afterparty at Pink Noir.
I’m digging the cool ’80s Blade Runner slash Disco Barbie vibe of this club. Hot pink strobe lights stroke sweaty bodies in the dance pit, and the light refracts colorfully against revolving disco balls. Film noir posters hang on the black walls, and racks of liquor bottles at the bar are backlit with a pink neon glow.
Apparently, most ballet dancers from NYBC frequent this club after their performances to blow off steam. So while I should be memorizing Latin adverbs, I’m crossing my fingers and toes that the bartender doesn’t ask for my I.D.
I’m also really wishing Ben were next to me right now to clear up this “birthday present” confusion. But he left five minutes ago to use the restroom, and I’m almost positive he’s not making it back through the crowds anytime soon.
That leaves me with Tom.
He’s waving a hand for the bartender, who’s busy helping a group of girls at the other end of the bar. He lets out a heavy sigh and rotates back to me. “If you got them both a book, I’m going to warn you now, that’s just so generic of you.”
My face heats. He’s serious? “Was I supposed to get them something?”
Tom’s brows lift. “Harry? You didn’t get my brothers anything?”
“They’re turning twenty-four,” I say in defense. “Not five.” As soon as I utter the words I feel like an asshole because I don’t really mean it. I’d gladly accept a birthday gift at the ripe age of fifty. I just don’t know how else to deflect the brewing guilt bubbling in my stomach. I was the only “friend” invited to sit in the Cobalt brothers’ boxed seat at the ballet with them. So maybe I should’ve bought Charlie and Beckett something just to be nice…even if they’re mind-bogglingly wealthy.