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 know it’ll be harder for you,” Phoenix acknowledges at least. “But this is a process. And there are going to be just as many concessions I make. The name of the band is not a small thing, Tom. I’m literally adopting your middle name into my life.”
“Yeah, I know…just…let me mourn.” I take a bite of waffle, and it goes down thick.
He kneads at the edges of his eyes. “What’s significant about Wednesdays?”
Another gut punch, but this one is filled more with confusion than despair. “Dude. You don’t know about Wednesdays?”
He glares. “Other than it’s the most hated day of the week.”
“That’s so not true.”
“It’s literally called hump day because it’s an obstacle.”
I touch my chest. “It’s my favorite day.”
“It’s the day you jerk off, then.”
Holy shit. He says that without even blinking. He’s serious. “You think I marked the days I masturbate on the calendar? Seriously?”
He’s so over this conversation. His eyes pinpointed in a scowl. “I don’t know, Tom. You tell me.”
“Happy to.” I sit more upright. “First, I jerk off more than once a week. Second, maybe you need to brush up on my family’s Wiki page.”
“I’m not doing that,” he snaps.
“Fine,” I snap back. “Your loss. Just trying to avoid these awkward conversations, dude.”
“This isn’t awkward for me.” His voice is deep confidence.
Oh my fuck. Why is he like this? I’ve never been verbally volleyed so hard that I feel like someone just spiked a ball in my face. “Cool,” I say. “I guess we’ll be having more of these then.”
“Just explain it, man.”
I sigh out. “It’s called Wednesday Night Dinner. No, you aren’t invited. You’ll most likely never be invited. It’s something I’ve done since I was little, and they’re secret and exclusive.”
“So it’s a dinner party?”
I grimace. “It’s more than a dinner party—but I can’t explain it. Okay, it’s secret.” Wow, how did I just sound like I was seven years old telling a playmate he can’t come to my secret hideout. I’m roasting.
“Jesus Christ.” He groans, and his phone buzzes on the table. He shuts it off without even looking at the screen.
I stare at it. “You have enemies or something?”
“Roommates.” He pauses for a weighted second. “Who are also the members of Nothing Personal.”
Fuck me. “What?” I cringe.
He slides a hand through his hair, then lets his fingers fall to the table. “I live with the band.”
“My rival band.”
“No offense, but they don’t think of The Carraways that way.”
My brain almost can’t reason with this. Not when I’ve considered Nothing Personal my adversary for years. “You’re telling me your brother, the drummer of Nothing Personal, doesn’t hate me? I don’t believe that.”
“Okay, yeah. My brother hates you. But the others don’t. They just think you’re an idiot for not hiring Birdie as your drummer when you had the chance. They’re the ones who benefited from your dumb decision.” He daggers his eyes on me. “And they’re right, it makes zero sense. Why didn’t you hire him?”
Holy shit, I cannot admit that I found his little brother so attractive that I didn’t want him in my band. “The timing was wrong,” I lie. My only lie to Phoenix St. Pierre, I promise myself.
“Is that why you called him years later?”
“You know about that?” I’m dying under his intense brown-blue gaze.
“That he asked you to beg him? Yeah, I know.”
My voice is caught on a laugh. “And you think I’m the egomaniac. Maybe look at your fucking bloodline, dude. And I didn’t do it. For. The. Record.” I pound my finger on the table for each word. “No begging was had.”
He arches his brows. “You want that in writing for your future progeny? Let them know their dad didn’t drop to his knees.”
“Please and thank you.” I’m out of breath as I fork my waffle.
Phoenix watches me before he says, “Nothing Personal doesn’t view you as competition. That’s a good thing.”
I wince. It still stings to hear. “I don’t see how. And I take great offense to you saying I’m in a one-sided rivalry with your brother’s shitty band.” I want to bring my hands to my face and careen forward, but I force myself to stay somewhat professional and not have a complete meltdown. “How is this even going to work? You’re living with the enemy.”
“We focus on ourselves. Again, we aren’t competing with them.” His phone vibrates again. He flips it over this time to look at the screen. “Shit.”
“What?” I frown.
Phoenix scrolls on his phone for an agonizing five seconds. “I only told my brother I joined The Carraways, but I’m guessing he just spilled the news to the rest of Nothing Personal.”
“You just said I’m not competition to them. So they won’t care, right?”
He seems uncertain about it. “I didn’t think they would…” He stands up from the booth, phone in his grip. “Your schedule. Don’t forget to resend it to me without the black boxes. Or at least, let me know which family functions I can attend with you.”