I didn’t know that.
I glance at Akara. And I just read his protective features really well, and I nod to myself,he knew.
Jack smiles more warmly. “So truth: that’ll be a thing. It’ll cause a lot of press, but it’s up to you whether you want to share. The good: I can see a lot of girls relating. The bad: a lot of guys will…”
“Be fuckwads?”
“Yeah.”
More bluntly, Farrow interjects, “Perverted fuckwads.”
Sulli holds her bent leg to her chest. “It shouldn’t be such a big fucking deal. So what? I haven’t been kissed and I’m nineteen. Who cares?”
“So make it less of a big deal,” Jack says. “Make it ordinary. Make it normal. You have that power. And it’s all up to you.”
30
MAXIMOFF HALE
Board meetingsat eight in the morning are like an average human’s ten-minute sprint. Come prepared to my table—then we’ll be back in our individual offices by 8:10.
Fifteen other people sit in leather chairs. At twenty-two, I head the table. It’s not just hard work that put me here. Clearlynepotismplays a vital role.
I don’t ever forget that.
“We have three grant applications that look promising,” Yara says, a longtime board member and also the COO of Cobalt Inc.
Outside of our own projects, H.M.C. Philanthropies funds local and regional nonprofit organizations, but with the amount of requests we receive every year, we need to be selective in where the money is allocated.
“Are those the ones you emailed me last night?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Approve them all,” I tell her. My eyes lift to the clock on the wall. 8:05.
Farrow will pick me up at 8:10 on the dot. I’m scheduled to drop by the local animal shelter and talk about future fundraising events.
Just as I start wrapping up the meeting—the damn door blows open. Heads swing.
People freeze. Coffee cups to lips and pens raised midair. Silence invades the room like an airbornevirus.
What the fuck is he doing here?
Charlie Cobalt stands in the doorway, all six-foot-three of him looks like he just fucked someone. No shit. White collar popped on his button-down, half-tucked into black pants. His sandy brown hair sticks up in odd places. Artfully messed.
“Sorry I’m late.” He saunters inside with a commanding, oxygen-vacuuming presence. Everyone is caging their breath—everyone butme.
Charlie strolls past my chair and the long row of board members. Reaching the opposing head of the table. They watch.
Staring.
Like he’s a reptile in the terrarium, burrowing underneath the dirt. Only exposing himself when he wants you to see him.
My phone pings on the table. I read the message without clicking in the text.
I just learned that Oscar is at the H.M.C. office. Heads up, if Charlie’s not there yet. He will be.– Farrow
Justoneminute too late, but I appreciate that Farrow tried to warn me.
