Page 125 of Tangled Like Us
Donnelly grins, then sticks his tongue out with half-chewed cereal to the women.
They all cringe.
“God, uh,” a blonde grimaces.
“Wait a sec.” The shortest girl with a red bob points to Farrow, then to me. “Aren’t you two dating Maximoff Hale and Jane Cobalt?”
Protocol:do not engage more than necessary.I’m about to brush them off, but Farrow does it first.
He loosely crosses his arms. “Who’s Maximoff Hale?”
“We’re not idiots,” the brunette snaps, coming to a full stop in front of us. “You’reclearlyFarrow Keene, and he’s Thatcher Moretti.”
“Why are you coming in so hot, Barbra?” Donnelly asks the brunette.
“Who the fuck is Barbra—and aren’t you the bodyguard to Beckett Cobalt? Where is he?” She stares around the hall like Beckett will materialize out of thin fucking air.
What I’ve heard: Beckett is asleep in Donnelly’s bedroom. He just got back from a ballet performance forCinderella, and apparently Charlie told him not to enter their shared apartment yet.
Their place must be a mess, and Beckett likes things in order. It boils down to Charlie protecting his twin brother, who has OCD.
Donnelly shrugs. “Never heard of a Beckett Cobalt.”
We need to shut this down. “We can’t talk,” I say, direct. “We’re working.”
“He’s in hisunderwear.” She points to Donnelly’s boxer-briefs.
Oscar is about to rebut, but our attention swerves to2166.Something crashes in Charlie’s apartment.
“What was that?” the brunette asks.
The door cracks open. Jane slips out, eyes wide on the group of women, but she’s good at course correcting.
She smiles in greeting. “Hello.”
“Jane motherfucking Cobalt,” the brunette gapes. “Weloveyour mom.”
“She’s our idol,” the blonde says.
“Mine too,” Jane smiles more, and her eyes subtly flit to me. I approach, my fingers brushing her hip, and she whispers rapidly in my ear, “Charlie doesn’t want Oscar to clean this mess. I convinced him to let you and Farrow in.”
Copy that.I wrap my arm around her waist and then motion with a nod to Farrow to enter Charlie’s apartment. He kicks off the wall and grabs his trauma bag. Too nonchalant to cause attention.
Oscar and Donnelly retreat back into security’s apartment. Shutting the door. Jane has an easy time excusing herself from the women.
We’re right behind Farrow.
I lock the door when we’re inside.
“Watch your step,” Jane cautions, the four-bedroom apartment dimly lit.
I’ve been here plenty before. High ceilings, dark wooden floors, and leather furniture—it looks like an upscale bachelor pad, and I’ve never seen a fucking dish, a wine glass, or a pillow this out of place. Now, surveying the spacious apartment, I’d think a fistfight broke out or someone raided kitchen cabinets and smashed every dish and drinking glass for dramatic effect.
And knowing the Cobalts, either one could be likely.
Broken glass crunches under my boots. Further in the living room, bourbon stains a shag rug and leaks onto the floorboards.
I spot Eliot Cobalt.
