Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
We’ve gotten along fine until recently. Banks thinks he’s going on a power trip. Akara thinks it just has to do with Sinclair disliking SFO.
When you’ve been a bodyguard this long, there’s history, bad and good. He’s had an axe to grind with Oscar Oliveira for years, and he’s hated how Omega gained some fame through the Hot Santa Video.
Now he’s in charge.
“Thatcher isn’t stepping on your feet,” Akara retorts, his tone more authoritative. “He’s doing his job.”
“Good,” Sinclair says. “That’s what I want to hear.” Yeah, he sounds like my dad. Sternness wrapped in this quiet paternal concern.
Price chimes in, “This honeymoon phase will be over down the line, and when this all ends, we’ll be going back to a more appropriate routine. Remind him of that. His face isn’t going to be up against his client’s face forever.”
My muscles flex.
Loud and clear, sir.
I’m not thinking about a public breakup yet. Not when we’ve just started dating. It’s too soon to go there.
Akara stares at me as he answers Price. “Thatcher knows this isn’t forever.”
My expression hardens.
Banks unscrews the bottle of cachaça. Looking me over like he’s seeing how I feel. I’m fine. I know this is just an op.
I breathe out a hotter breath, and my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I take out my cell.
My brows pull together.
I called my mom a lot earlier. Right when I got back from the Acme, I told her about the photos that were about to leak. Told her to lock the fucking door and contact me if media contacted her.
Now she’s calling me.
I lift my phone to Akara. Silently saying, I have to take this.
He instantly puts his call with the leads off speaker. “Thatcher understands,” he tells them, phone to his ear.
I drift further towards the stove. Not worrying Banks yet. Rotating my back to my brother and Akara, I answer the call.
“Everything alright down there?” I ask first, my Philly accent making down there sound like down’air.
“Which headline is true? Should I be invitin’ her down soon?” my mom asks, humor in her voice. “She’s got Nicola’s approval already, but you know Nic would bake the devil a pie. It’s why I love her.” Nicola is her wife, my stepmom. “And your grandma is already crocheting Jane a scarf for Christmas.”
We’re months out from December. “Ma,” I say tightly, but I hear my grandma shout to be heard from the background.
“They’re saying youse two are an item!”
Severity tightens my eyes. “Who’s saying that?” I worry someone is at their house.
My mom answers, “We were reading the tabloids. Some think you’ve been with her for a while. Coulda told me about her sooner, but it must’ve been hard for you with work.” I hear her warm, slightly teasing smile.
To kiss a client in public—she knows I’d never do it. So she thinks what’s going on with Jane is serious.
I rub my mouth. “It just happened,” I say, voice deep.
Banks and I agreed that our family shouldn’t know that Jane and I are fake dating. To them, this is real. If the media were to contact our family or if their friends pry about Jane, it’s too much to ask them to lie on my behalf.
“We wanna meet this girl!” my grandma says. “Bring her here! Nicola and I will cook up a big pot of braggiol’. Banks can come along too. It’ll be real nice to see my boys again.”
Lately, we haven’t had as much time to stop by and see them. “I don’t want the media hassling you three, grandma.”
“Don’t youse worry about us now,” she says. “How’s your brother doin’?”
“Menzamenz,” I tell her. Half and half. Banks had a small migraine this morning. Didn’t last long. “Has anyone been at the house?”
My mom cuts back in, “A journalist kept knocking on the door, but I shut the blinds. Your uncles already came over and scared him off.”
Good.
One journalist is more than I’d want, but I’m aware of what Farrow’s stepsister dealt with—and this is nothing in comparison. Banks and I have been expecting some media to find our mom’s address and phone number.
We’ve been preparing for worse than that, and we’re putting 24/7 security on their house tonight. Everything is set up to protect our family in South Philly.
After another short exchange, we say our goodbyes, and as I return to Akara, I notice he’s off the phone too.
“How are they?” Banks asks me, tossing and catching a lime.
“Fine. One journalist so far.”
He bobs his head. “They’ll be alright.”
I nod too.
I turn to Akara. “What’s the word on Grandmother Calloway?” The last we’ve heard from her, she cancelled her afternoon tea. She didn’t even call or text Jane. Just let her assistant email her. Letting her know that under the circumstances with the current headlines, an afternoon tea with potential suitors would be inappropriate.