Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
The Hot Santa video.
Beckett shakes his head repeatedly, arms outstretched. Like that’s not right. It can’t be his little sister, but she just admitted to it. Charlie softens his gaze on Beckett.
And then Jane motions for everyone to remain quiet, but Thatcher and Akara stand and pull out their phones. Texting the security team.
Donnelly barrels forward, face in hands. Yeah, his precious Cobalts fucked up. Guess what, they’re all human.
“I don’t understand, Audrey,” Jane says. “Why would you do that? You knew it was private.”
“I didn’t intend for the press to have it,” she cries softly. “All I ever wanted was for Emma Rodwin to believe that Oscar existed. She said I was lying, and I’m not a liar.” She cries harder but still speaks clearly. “When Beckett sent the video in the group text, I only thought of what it’d feel like for Emma to know the truth. And I copied the video to a flash drive to share with her.”
Charlie says, “And Emma sent the video to the press.”
Beckett relaxes. “You didn’t actually leak the video, Audrey. It was your friend.”
She sniffs. “I’m an adjacent party to this treachery, you have to realize.”
This is exactly why I’m fortunate to never be on a Cobalt family getaway. She just turned thirteen in January, and she speaks like she’s fifty. And this is just one Cobalt. When all seven are together, it’s an instant migraine. Stick me with the weirdo Hales any day. Fuck, I actually miss Luna right now.
“You didn’t,” Beckett says. “We can’t trust anyone but family and security. Lesson learned, and now you move on.”
“I can’t,” she cries. “What if I feel like I’ve done the worst thing a person could ever do?”
“You haven’t murdered anyone,” Oscar notes, cutting into his chicken.
Audrey blubbers more apologies to Oscar, and most of us start to relax. It’s better that it’s Audrey and not someone from security. As much as I dislike Epsilon, I wouldn’t want them to hurt the families. But I wish the leaker and the stalker had been the same person.
Then I could’ve closed the book to the other one, too.
“I’m deeply, deeply sorry,” Audrey says with a hiccup. “To everyone, I’ve failed the family. I should be banished.”
Beckett and Charlie smile.
“We won’t banish you until sunup,” Charlie teases.
“I’ll make all my amends before then.” She sniffs, sounding better.
“Have you told Mom and Dad?” Beckett asks.
Audrey sighs. “No…Mother and Father will be so disappointed. I couldn’t call anyone. I thought the cookies would do…but I should’ve called. I’m weak, so weak.” I imagine her throwing herself on her bed in a dramatic heap.
Half of us try not to laugh.
“You’re not weak,” Maximoff says, eyeing the phone. “You’re a Cobalt.”
“Toujours,” Charlie says, and I can translate that French word: always.
Audrey sniffs one last time.
“You have to tell Mom and Dad,” Jane urges. “Tonight. Wake them.”
“Will you throw flowers at my funeral?” Audrey asks.
Jane begins to smile. “Only roses. And you, mine.”
“Of course, sister.” She exhales, the conversation between the Cobalt girls weird as shit and slightly fascinating.
“Bye, Audrey.”
“Bye, Jane.”
They hang up.
Donnelly has unburied his face. “I love Cobalts.” He smirks.
“That’s called blind, stupid loyalty,” I say. “One of them may’ve just fucked up our jobs.”
38
MAXIMOFF HALE
Almost a hundred FanCons under our belt, we speed through March in seamless fashion.
I booked interviews in Forbes and Vanity Fair to publicize the tour, and most media outlets pulled this quote from a business magazine:
H.M.C. Philanthropies’ FanCon Tour moves onto its last leg stronger than ever. With an estimated $150 million earned in just three months, Maximoff Hale has capitalized on his fame for non-profit. He’s revolutionizing philanthropy by bringing in a new younger wave. It’s not just about blue-blooded Wall Street investors anymore. He’s found a group of twenty-somethings willing to spend money on him rather than a ticket to that new Taylor Swift concert. And the benefit: all proceeds go to charity. This twenty-two year-old is bulldozing his way through the philanthropy world. His last name is one of the most recognizable—but make no mistake—he’s carving out his own piece of history.
I wish they would’ve mentioned my cousins and the work of the crew and security. I couldn’t do this without them, but my spirits are still high throughout the Seattle FanCon. I didn’t need the accolades. I’m just happy with the number.
$150 million will help a lot of fucking people.
A line coordinator guides a lanky boy out after I hug him. Farrow stands several feet off to the side, and a few fans gift him portraits they drew. Bodyguard Fame is alive and thriving.
But weirdly, it’s not bad. So far, they’ve all been able to ignore the attention. Mostly thanks to my mom and dad. It’s easier for Omega without a giant, all-consuming paparazzi presence.
Our FanCon banners are erected on the Seattle concert stage, and velvet ropes section all five lines. In between greeting fans, I look around at the excited crowd, the overwhelmed smiles, and I think about the first meet-and-greets. How we smoothed out a lot of kinks.