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)
“Fisher,” he greets with a wide grin. “How have you survived without me?”
“Well, I was denied a Modelo. Called Shortie. And your brothers had a heated exchange in spitting distance of me, so I would say, I am thoroughly alive.”
Ben frowns. “Who called you Shortie?” His gaze narrows to hot pinpoints at the crowds, and I bite my lip, feeling my perpetual scowl morph into a smile.
“This Leo Valavanis jerk,” I say more upbeat because I am fucking giddy right now at Ben wanting to defend my honor. Calm yourself, Harriet.
Recognition hits Ben. “That’s Beckett’s rival in the company.”
“Makes more sense. He was definitely taking jabs at him.”
“Which of my brothers were going at it?”
“Tom and Beckett.”
“Because of Leo?”
“Yep.”
He nods strongly like that checks out. He peeks at his phone into a deeper frown.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m just seeing if Guy Abernathy is stopping by. Beckett let me invite him to the afterparty.”
I go cold. “Guy Abernathy?” My jaw drops. “As in the president of the Honors House?”
“The one you’ve been insta-stalking all semester, yeah that one,” Ben slides me a teasing smile.
My cheeks are hot. “You invited him?” I’m about to ask how he got his number, but this is Ben. I wouldn’t be shocked if he had Patroclus on speed dial and every other Trojan War hero.
“Yeah, you said networking was a big deal to get in.”
So he invited him to Beckett and Charlie’s birthday outing at Pink Noir? The thoughtfulness nearly dampens the anxious anticipation surging through me. “And he said yes?” I ask, my pulse racing.
“He said yes,” Ben tells me. “But the bouncers cut off the line, so I’m just trying to make sure he’ll be let in if he shows late.”
Yes…yes. That’s a good idea. I try to waft my shirt, but the fabric of my crop top is too tight. Pit stains are likely. Thankfully it’s white. My phone buzzes at my hip. I unclip it, and all my nervous, excited energy plummets in a pit of despair.
“Fucking…no,” I growl.
Ben leans closer, placing a hand on the small of my back. He’s leading us to a darker, more secluded corner of the club near a metal trashcan. His towering concern should calm me, but this night is seriously taking a turn. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“The grad student who’s mentoring me with my research project just texted. And I need to go into the lab.”
He frowns. “Now? It’s midnight.”
I don’t know how to explain this without divulging the truth. I speak so quickly, I half-hope he can’t piece apart some of it. “I can’t access the clean room as an undergrad, so I rely on the grad student to pull the pregnant mice for me. She was supposed to pull one this afternoon, but she got busy and just did it now. I need the embryos to be exactly seventeen days in gestation. So I have to dissect tonight.”
His eyes go big. “Dissect? As in…?”
My heart hurts. “I’m killing the mouse, Friend.”
“The pregnant mouse,” he says without blinking.
“…yeah.”
I can’t read his expression. I’m not sure I want to. He says nothing else, and I think this might be too much for him to process.
Air is brittle in my lungs, but I manage to say, “I…I have to go. But I think I might be able to come back.” It’s not just for Guy Abernathy. I don’t want to bail on Ben or this night or his brothers, but mostly just Ben.
He nods slowly. “We’ll be here late-late. Four, maybe.”
I let out a breath. “Okay, I might be able to make it back.” I crane my neck to hold his gaze. “If you want me to come back, that is?” My chest tightens, dreading his response. I hate that I’ve hurt him, and by the pained look in his eyes, I know I have.
He nods even slower. “Yeah. I want you to come back, Friend.”
I repeat those words over and over in my head as he walks me out, hails me a cab, and makes sure I leave safely.
31
BEN COBALT
After Harriet texts that she’s on campus, I think I’ll relax, but tension still flexes every tendon in my body. I’m back inside Pink Noir, and Eliot and Tom have already pulled me onto the dance floor.
I have to pretend for thirty minutes that I’m not dying inside. The club feels too small. Bodies packed too tight. I can spot the NYBC dancers on the floor, not just because I recognize their faces.
The beat of the music seems to flow through their limbs, their veins, with soul-bearing rhythm in each lithe movement. Leo rolls his neck like the melody is a drug he’s high on. Beckett lifts a girl in his arms and twirls. She sways her hands upward like she’s skimming the surface of a lake and not the air. A couple dancers drift off to the side complaining about being sore and exhausted from their performance earlier tonight.