Page 15 of Sinful Like Us
“That is both tragic and wonderful all at the same time.” Rose rests a hand on her hip. “What are you going to do then?”
Jane takes a deep, measured breath. “I don’t have a passion. I’ve run out of time to find one, so by the New Year I was thinking…” She turns to her dad. “Is there still an opening in the financial department at Cobalt Inc.?”
Connor cocks his head. “You still think you’re running out of time?”
“Yes, I’mstilljobless and twenty-three.”
Connor softens his gaze on his daughter. “I’ll look into it, but I can’t make you any promises, mon coeur.”
She smiles. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
Rose plucks a buzzing phone out of her Chanel purse. “Your Aunt Lily is calling. I have to take this.” She struts off, heels clacking on the floorboards. “No, I’m not doing another bake sale for that school. They’ve insulted my baked goods enough.” She pauses. “Yes, they were from Whole Foods. That’s not the point.”
Connor says a short goodbye to me, and then speaks in French to Jane. Something that downturns her lips before he follows his wife out.
Jane stares dejectedly at the sink.
Maybe I shouldn’t ask—but I do anyway. “What’d your dad say?”
She takes a shallow breath. “He said you’re not invited to Wednesday Night Dinner. Not yet.”
3
JANE COBALT
“Something happened?”Maximoff scrunches his face at me while he enters the townhouse from the garage, a towel around his waist, pool water still dripping from his dark brown hair.
Farrow kicks the door behind them, carrying two bags of Chinese takeout.
I’ve been ever-so-innocently brushing Toodles near the rocking chair. But I must be staring off into space more than usual. Recounting what occurred this morning.
“Is it Tony?” Moffy asks, already glaring at the adjoining townhouse door. Where security lives.
I did give Tony my preference list, but luckily, I skirted out of the interaction before I had to stare at his smug face for long. And Thatcher was with me.
Farrow raises his brows at Moffy. “I thought you didn’t ‘hate’ Tony.” He uses air-quotes.
Moffy gestures to the door. “If he hurts Jane, I’m going tomore thanhate him.”
I already know that Farrow isn’t a Tony fan.
You see, all of SFO hates Tony after he let Xander Hale participate in a pseudo boxing match at the Halloween party. They believe he should’ve intervened and pulled my fifteen-year-old cousin to safety.
Of course I wish he had, but Moffy and I—we can’t blame bodyguards for our mistakes. There is immense guilt in doing so. The security team is our safety net, but they can’t be our scapegoat or moral conscience.
Xander asked to fight, so we can’t pin fault on Tony for being “hands off” at my cousin’s request. It’s why our parents still believe he’s an asset to the team. He’s just not the right fit for Xander.
Farrow and Thatcher know the complexities behind our feelings—why Moffy can’t hate Tony for those recent events. And why I can’t either.
“It wasn’t Tony,” I tell Moffy. “My mom and dad were here this morning.” I stroke my cat’s tuxedo fur. “It was as frightening as expected.”
Moffy gives me an empathetic wince. “That bad?”
Farrow has a boot on the chair. “Moretti is still alive.” He eyes Thatcher who leaves the kitchen, carrying kibble in little cat bowls. Walrus and Carpenter make a mad dash to him, jumping at his calves.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Thatcher says seriously.
Curiosity pools, and I bow forward like he is gravity, a magnetic pull—all things that wrench me to him. “You really weren’t scared when my dad started talking about how you’re six-seven and could hurt me while we’re having sex?”
