Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“Counter offer,” I say. “How about you wait to use the restroom until the plane takes off?”
Beckett stares me dead in the eyes, frustration creasing his forehead. “I have to go now, Jane.” He usually calls me sis. My name sounds like a thousand-pound brick on his tongue, weighted with anger.
“I won’t look. I’ll close my eyes,” I say quickly.
More bodies pile onto the plane than before, and since we’re both standing, people start to turn around in their plush leather seats and stare. The attention feels too hot for comfort, and it’s not so smart to draw an audience while Thatcher is supposed to be Banks.
He sticks a toothpick between his lips and surveys the area.
Beckett lets out an annoyed breath. “Just put the handcuff on Charlie. Problem solved.”
“I can’t,” I sigh out.
When we were devising this strategy, Charlie refused to be handcuffed to him. He said he couldn’t do it. That it’d be five minutes before he uncuffed his twin brother. Instead, Charlie looked at me and said, “It has to be you.”
He trusted me with this task, and I worry if I hand this off to Moffy, it’ll just fester some sort of resentment within Charlie. For once, there is another person, another option, another someone who has nerves of steel and who stands so close to my side.
I eye Thatcher.
His strong gaze returns to me.
For some reason, my heart is beating wildly, uncontrollably, and I can’t slow the pace. “Would you mind…” Breathe. I inhale. “…being handcuffed to Beckett for the next ten minutes?”
Thatcher is already nodding. “I’m good to go.”
I look to Beckett. “There. Banks can go to the restroom with you. As far as I know, he’s not your sister.”
Beckett stakes me with one final glare before hanging his head and saying, “Let’s just get this over with.”
16
THATCHER MORETTI
Sometimes I forget just how fucking rich Jane’s family is until I meet the wealth head-on.
Like right now.
I’ve never seen a gold tissue holder until this moment. Let alone one in the bathroom of a plane. Salt scrub is in an opal dish with a spoon that looks more expensive than my salary, and ornate light fixtures cast a dim glow on the porcelain toilet.
Fit for royalty.
I have enough room to do push-ups, sit-ups, and throw some jumping jacks into the mix, and usually, I’d ignore the luxuries and focus on my duty.
But Jane is my girlfriend. This is the Cobalt family jet, affectionately nicknamed Heathcliff by Audrey, which outsizes all the other private planes and can comfortably carry all three famous families. It’s also outfitted with four bedrooms, five lounges, a twenty-person dining room, cinema and fitness area.
Where Jane comes from feels leagues different than where I’m born and bred. I’m staring at the Tiffany blue walls, the two sinks, and the fucking shower with thundering caution.
They’ll never accept someone like me.
I exhale out of my nose. That out-of-place feeling wants to beat me down, but I have to push forward.
Her brother is what matters here.
I face him while we’re cuffed together. “I can turn around and give you privacy while you piss, or I can uncuff you and stay forward.” I don’t trust Beckett, and I haven’t exactly patted him down for drugs.
He shifts his weight and stares everywhere but at me. “I just need to use the sink.” He seems antsy.
“I thought you needed to go the bathroom?” I’m tentative because Jane always talks about Cobalt 4D chess games, and I’m not about to be duped by one of her brothers.
Beckett scratches underneath the cuff. “No. I just need the sink.” He still can’t meet my eyes. “Please.” His voice is a sincere whisper. “I didn’t want to worry her, but I have to wash my hands. It’s really bothering me…” He expels a taut, anxious breath.
I realize his distress isn’t some deceptive thing. He’s uncomfortable being this vulnerable in front of me.
I make a choice, and I fish a tiny key out of my pocket. “Don’t do anything your sister wouldn’t want you to do.” I unlock his handcuff.
Beckett nods, and while I stand guard near the door, he rubs his wrist and approaches the sink. I watch him pump the soap dispenser three times. He methodically lathers his palms, in between his fingers, his forearms—all the way to his elbows.
He scrubs his hands, turns the faucet on and off five consecutive times, and glances back at me. “Can you…please just look at the wall?”
I shift my narrowed gaze onto the toilet, his nerves suffocating the bathroom, and I feel badly that his OCD is riding him this hard. I have no experience helping Beckett with this, but I understand brothers who want to keep their troubles hidden and private.
Jane will want to know.
I’ll tell her, and she’ll blame herself for pushing Beckett there—but I’ll lift her as high as I can and carry the guilt. It’s what I’m good at.