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)
I grind my jaw as curiosity piques. Who booed him? Why? I can’t imagine it was for his singing. The guy didn’t miss a note yesterday. He sounded immaculate.
Remembering how he sang to me has my body flexing like I’m about to be shoved backward on the bed. I tense at the feeling and reach over for a cigarette.
I can’t pry his voice out of my brain. Not any more than I can his face. Those pulsing blue eyes strangled me, challenged me, rattled me. For Tom, a guy I could probably easily throw, I felt pummeled. Then revved like a V12 engine.
“Your schedule,” I tell him, tossing the phone on the bed while I smack a pack of cigarettes on my palm. “What the hell is going on with it?”
“Are you illiterate?” Tom asks without a hint of sarcasm, dryness, or humor. He’s completely serious, I think.
I glance over at the classic dystopian novels stacked on my bedside table. 1984 and Brave New World. On top is Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel, my current library checkout.
“No,” I force.
“It’s okay if you are. Judgment free zone.”
“This is not a judgment free zone.” I slip a cigarette behind my ear, too amped from him to even smoke. “I am fully judging you. And I can fucking read, man. But why does your schedule have all these black boxes?”
“Those are my blackout days. I’m busy.”
“Busy?” I stare at the phone on my sheets. “With what? Golf?”
Tom bursts out laughing. “Yeah, no. I am banned from three different members-only golf clubs for flipping the carts.”
All right, that is unexpected. “Pickleball then?”
“Also banned for snapping the nets. And before you ask, I don’t know how to sail. Never been skeet shooting. Can’t ski for shit. But I do know how to snowboard, and my family owns a yacht.”
“Just a yacht,” I say dryly.
“It’s a big yacht. I also have a black card and can take you out for a five-course Michelin-star dinner, but I’m getting the sense that you won’t be impressed by either.”
I feel myself in a daze watching the phone, like Tom will appear out of thin air. I stop myself from asking whether he’s used to buying guys dinner.
Not important.
He’s just a big question mark, and I need some answers now. His schedule is not flying with me.
“Then what is it?” I ask.
“Hold on a sec.”
My patience is razor-thin, and as I hear him rustle around, I almost ask to go on video chat.
Don’t press.
It’s fine.
He’s probably getting dressed, not fucking off in the background with a one-night stand or a bottle of Jack. I thumb my temple in slow circles. My stomach contracts.
He’s busy.
I’ve never hung out with anyone as wealthy as Tom. The Cobalts are like gilded-gates, Hyannis Port rich. I have no clue if his parents have rubbed elbows at the Kennedy’s summer compound in Mass. All I’m picturing is this high-society family roping him into snooty charity galas and elitist banquets of the ilk.
“Back,” Tom says. “Sorry, my computer was about to die.”
I can’t even relax knowing he wasn’t partying late last night. I pick up the phone and hold the speaker near my mouth. “Look, I’m not joining your band if you’re not committed to it.”
I bet this is why all the other members dropped out. Because he’s not putting in the effort.
“I am one hundred and fifty percent committed to The Carraways. It’s insulting you would think otherwise.”
“I’m so sorry I insulted you,” I say snidely.
“Apology not accepted since you are clearly not apologetic.”
Jesus Christ. I can’t remember the last time I met someone who has a rebuttal for everything. That’s usually me.
“Clearly,” I say. “But I can’t be in a band with someone who’s unavailable almost half the week.”
He sighs heavily. “I have obligations…family stuff.”
I run a tense hand through my hair. Maybe his parents have an iron fist around his schedule.
“Family stuff? Like sitting in board meetings?” I ask.
He laughs again. “If I were sitting in board meetings, I’d bail on those for you in a heartbeat. No, it’s other stuff.” He pauses for a beat. “I’m trying to be the best brother to my little brother this year. It’s a goal of mine—and I don’t have many of those outside of music. So…if you can spot me this one, that’d be great.”
“I’d be spotting you four times a week. Can you be the best big brother without taking this much time off?”
“It’s complicated. Showing up is important, and this year in particular matters the most. The timing, I know, is shit.” He groans out into an exhale. “But I do have a solution. I don’t think you’ll love it.”
“Let’s hear it.” I grip my phone harder.
“Would you consider coming to some of these with me? We can technically work on songs anywhere and set up rehearsal time later to flesh them out.”