Page 30 of Tangled Like Us
But I’m fortunate enough that I get to see all of who she is on a daily basis.
I process what she’s telling me, and my jaw hardens. “Whoever made the ad has money to burn.”
“Precisely.” She squints at the paper. “That picture they printed is from my Instagram.” Her fingertip brushes the photo. “They retouched my hair and face.”
I grip the newspaper with two hands and lift it higher. Inspecting the headshot of Jane where she’s smiling mid-laugh and wearing a turtleneck.
All the normally frizzed strands of her hair are erased, and her freckles are gone.
The fucking jackass who did this—they shrunk her nose and moved her eyes closer together. Naturally, one of her blue eyes is round, the other oval, and they’re the same size in this picture. Her features more symmetrical and even.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
“It’s so odd,” Jane mutters. “You’d think if this were an elaborate prank—‘make Jane Cobalt look like a snobby heiress with shallow taste’—that they’d choose an unflattering photo, notPhotoshopme to look prettier.”
“You’re prettier without it,” I say without thinking.Goddammit.It’s too late, and I’m not about to retract what I believe and form a fucking lie. I glance down at her.
Shock slowly breaks apart her lips.
Because I rarely word vomit anything. Anger makes me say what I shouldn’t say, and right now, I’m pissed at an unknown jackass who’s fucking with Jane.My client, I remind myself.
Shouldn’t be thinking about her as anything else.
My stance is stern. Hopefully this just blows in a more appropriate direction.Hopefully it doesn’t—yeah, that devil on my shoulder can take a fucking hike to hell.
Jane presses her lips together, suppressing a bright smile. “If you’re just trying to make me feel better, I’m okay, really. I don’t need reassurance.”
“I know you don’t,” I say seriously. She rarely ever looks for it. “I didn’t say it with any motive.”It just slipped.
Her smile dimples her cheeks, more flushed. She tries to focus on the ad. “Regardless of…that… these Photoshop alterations make me fit with media and societal standards of beauty, so whoever is behind the ad must’ve wanted me to look prettier to the public.”
I drop the newspaper back down to her height. “Could be created by a fan who wants to see you fall in love.” My harsh gaze scorches holes into thosefiverequirements. This jackass wants Jane to be with someone in high society. A business mogul. A helicopter-riding, yacht-owning educated rich prick.
Someone so unlike me.
“It could be,” she says with a nod. “That seems most likely. I could exhaustively tell the world a million times that I’m perfectly fine on my own and I’m closed for dating and sexforever, and they’d still pull a stunt like this.”
I hear her emphasis onforever.
My bones are iron. I can’t help but think about Nate. That fucking bastard. His name makes me want a boxing bag. Searing a red-hot aggression in my veins.
She’s made a life-long vow of celibacy because of what happened with him. I’m aware. The entire security team is aware. It’s a hot topic among some bodyguards that I’m trying to turn cold.
Every time I walk in on men shooting the shit about Jane and sex, I shut it down.
“Is there a back?” she asks.
I turn the page, and we both read small print at the bottom:turn to page 23 for the accompanying article to the Cinderella ad.
We both flip pages of the newspaper together. With a lot more urgency.
“Here it is,” Jane breathes.
We stop on the article, the ink faded in some spots.
JANE COBALT IS READY FOR LOVE
A close source to America’s most famous families—the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts—has told the Chronicle that the 23-year-old American princess is “over” being single. Jane is seeking a Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet.
