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)
Rich people still like presents. Right?
Tom narrows his eyes at me as he studies my expression. “Are you—actually—wrecked by this?” His face twists. “And here I thought you were made of iron. Relax, relax. Don’t cry—”
I’m scowling. “I’m not crying, Tommy.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I was fucking with you.”
“Clearly,” I shoot back. “So what did you get them?”
“Nothing.” He tries flagging down the bartender again. “No one gives them gifts. Pretty sure Charlie would chuck it into the dumpster. In front of your face.” He laughs at the visual.
On the other side of me, an old stocky man lets out a frustrated curse before he grumbles under his breath and abandons the bar. His presence is quickly replaced by a younger, taller, more athletic, more picturesque-looking guy in a gray sweatshirt and jeans. He pushes back the wet strands of his dark dirty-blond hair. Perspiration isn’t beaded up on his olive skin, so he’s not sweaty from dancing. More like, he just showered. He has a soap scent and “just shaved” smoothness to his strong jawline.
I wonder if he’s one of the dancers from Giselle. Seems likely, but I wasn’t exactly memorizing their faces during the performance tonight.
He glances to his left over my head and makes direct eye contact with Tom. I watch him assess Tom in a quick sweep—up, down. “You’re having trouble getting a drink? Fucking hell. This is going to be a nightmare.” He puts two elbows on the counter and leans half his body over. “Marjorie!” he shouts at one of the brunette bartenders. “Marj!”
“In a minute!” She shoos him like she’s swatting a fly.
He lets out an annoyed breath, then peers back at Tom. “What do you want to drink?”
Tom’s brows spike. He points at himself where a silver skull necklace hangs against his black muscle tee. “Me?”
“No, the bodyguard behind you.” He jerks a thumb to the towering guy that’s standing directly behind Tom. “Because I’m sure he’s allowed to drink on the job.”
I am thoroughly lost now. “How do you know he’s a bodyguard?”
This maybe-dancer looks down at me as if the mouse on the floor just decided to squeak. “Who are you?”
“Harriet,” I snap into a scowl. “Who are you?”
Tom’s eyes bug so wide at me like I’m making a fool of myself. I don’t understand. Does this guy piss gold or something? He seems to be a grade A asshole from my point of view.
“She’s new,” Tom says swiftly. “Tonight was her first time watching an NYBC ballet.”
“What a shame.” The maybe-dancer gives me a tense smile. “Your first would’ve been better tomorrow night when I’m the lead.” He outstretches a hand for me to shake. “Leo Valavanis.”
I hold in a breath. This is…messy. Tonight, Beckett danced the lead male role, and I recognize the clear shot taken at Ben’s older brother. The literal Birthday Boy tonight. No way am I touching Leo, not even with the tip of my pinky.
Five seconds pass, and he drops his hand like he never offered it to begin with. He turns his attention back to Tom in a casual, cool way. “Drink?”
“Yeah, uh, sure.” Tom bops his head to the beat of the music, but he’s clearly into whatever charming asshole vibes Leo is projecting. “Vodka and Fizz.”
“I’ll take a Modelo,” I tell Leo, shooting my shot. Hey, there’s a ten percent chance I’m going to be the one to get a bartender over here.
Leo doesn’t let on if he heard me, but he pulls himself halfway over the bar again. “Marjorie!” he yells. “I’m grabbing the Grey Goose!”
“No, you are not, LV!” The brunette whirls toward us in a rush, then swats his back off the bar. “What do you want?”
“Two vodka and Cokes. And a Shirley Temple for the shortie.” He points at me in the middle of him and Tom. My face flames.
“He means a Modelo,” I correct.
Marjorie scans me in a quick sweep, then offers a pitying smile. “Sorry, hun. That won’t fly with me.” Great, so why am I standing here? She starts pouring the Grey Goose when I feel a body walk up behind me. At first I think it might be Ben, until I glance up to see Beckett’s chiseled, angelic jawline and hardened expression. I’ve found it’s scarier when someone like Beckett—who’s considered the calmest of the Cobalt Empire—goes nuclear. And right now, he is pissed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Beckett snaps at Leo.
Oh, I really don’t want to be in the middle of this. But it appears I’m stuck between Tom and Leo with Beckett right behind me. No way out.
Leo leans a casual elbow on the bar. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
“He’s fine, Beckett,” Tom interjects. “Harmless, even.”
Leo throws a hand toward Tom. “See that—I am harmlessly buying your little brother a drink.” The smile crawling across his face is just for Beckett. A big FU.