“And Farrow is good looking enough to be a model,” Jack tells my boyfriend.
I raise my brows in a self-satisfied wave at Maximoff. He tries not to stare at me again. He almost hasfuck meeyes.
By the way, Jack is straight. And I’d agree, I’m a 10 out of 10, but coming from Jack…
“That loses its meaning when I’ve heard you use the same compliment for forty-two different people,” I say, being precise on the number because I have a great memory. So I can be preciseandaccurate.
See, Jack has a way of making people feel good. It’s his job to ensure everyone in the room is comfortable. Then they can share information with him.
Even now, his eyes soften on me. “You’re a gorgeous guy. Better?”
“We’re getting slightly more original. But not by much,” I say and return to my beanbag beside Quinn.
In a matter of seconds, we’re all seated around the low table again.
Maximoff refills his tea and says to Jack, “It still doesn’t make sense. If you put Farrow in the show, he’d become famous. He wouldn’t be able to be my bodyguard.”
“Exactly.” I pick up my croissant sandwich. “Jack wants me in the showactinglike a bodyguard. What he hasn’t grasped yet is that I like my job as a realbodyguard.”
Maximoff makes a concentrated effort not to look at me and draw attention. But he knows the fuller truth: Ilovemy job because I’m around him.
Jack opens his notepad, slouched coolly on a yellow beanbag. “All I’m saying is one day you may want a change.” He flips a page. “Before Sullivan arrives, we can start with the two of you.” Pen between his fingers, he motions to Maximoff and Jane. “Next season is about big topics. Is there anything specific you want to talk about?”
29
MAXIMOFF HALE
Is thereanything specific you want to talk about?
Jack always pitches this question first. My mind reelsthrough various issues I could possibly discuss. Everything circumnavigates to one.
One topic, one plight, one goddamn annoyance.
“Yeah.” I set my cup on the table. “I want to talk about my uncle.”
The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing inAvengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.
Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which uncle?”
“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’to mine. I don’t even sayfuckas often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.
I sense Farrow and his at ease nature, and you know the weirdest thing? It calms me. Makes me feel like I have someone prepared to jump on my side. Right now. This moment.Anymoment.
He’s with me.
My bound shoulders unwind.
Jack isn’t the type of person to just sayno. He tries to hear people out, but he reminds me, “You talked about this last season, Moffy.”
“It’s been worse this year.”
“But it’s not going to change with this show,” Jack says. “You’ve discussed the topicat lengththree times. We’ve reached the max. One more time, and the public will believe you’re overcompensating for something. As a producer, I’d tell you to just go ahead and talk about it. It’ll bring us ratings. But as your friend, I’m telling you not to bring it up.”
Goddammit.“What about if I talk about my dad?”
“It depends.” Jack twists off a cap to Ziff, a sports drink. “If you’re going to just tell the audience how great of a father he is—no.”
I rub my aching shoulder. I need to stretch. “Just tell me what I should be talking about then.”
