Thatcher.
Thatcher.
Thatcher.
His name is a heartbeat in my head.
I look directly at him. He’s still beside the staircase, and I’m frozen on the other side of the room.
His forehead is creased, brows drawn together, and his strong gaze pierces me so deeply that I wonder…is he actually considering this?
My mouth falls little by little, and my head tilts sideways off my neck. Does he want to do this?
His eyes detour to Banks.
My pulse has jumped on a trampoline, soared, and splattered on hard grass.
“Everyone, take a breath,” Akara says, then he turns to the most tactical bodyguard. “Explain, Oscar.”
Oscar crumples the chip bag in his hand. “I meant pretend to date. As in, just do it long enough that the unstable men outside can take a hint that she’s taken.”
Farrow lifts his brows at his friend. “You want Jane to pretend to date her bodyguard. Do you even know the consequences of that?”
“Not more than you would,” Oscar admits.
Jack slips a pen behind his ear. He always has one handy for note-taking. “From a public perception standpoint, you’re looking at two different headlines.” He picks up my black cat, old and wise Lady Macbeth. “It’ll be Heiress is Dating Her Bodyguard versus Heiress Seeks Rich Husband.”
Maximoff shakes his head, neck tensed. “Either way, there’ll be crowds. Christ, there might actually be more if she dates a bodyguard.”
We saw an exponential increase in fans outside the house after Maximoff and Farrow’s relationship went public. What they’ve experienced is a good basis for what would happen publicly if I dated Thatcher.
I clear my throat. “So there’d be no point to go forward with this.” I hope I don’t sound disappointed.
Oh my God, I can’t believe my stomach is sinking in actual disappointment right now.
Why do I even want to take this dramatic turn? Is it because I’m a Cobalt? I’m a part of the most tragically dramatic family.
Or maybe my curiosity has piqued and finally punctured the atmosphere. Dating my bodyguard would break down doors that have been cemented shut.
Pretend dating, of course.
“It’d help,” Oscar tells us. “It won’t clear out the crowds, but it’ll change the temperament of whoever surrounds Jane and the townhouse.”
“More hecklers,” Donnelly pipes in.
“More obsessive fans,” Banks adds, sticking a toothpick between his lips.
Farrow peels a piece of Winterfresh gum. “Not to mention drunk fucks screaming outside bedroom windows.”
“None of that is good,” Quinn says with furrowed brows.
“But it’s better than these unstable motherfuckers, little bro,” Oscar tells him. “The ad lit something in some strange bastards, and now they think they have a chance with Jane. We can rid about sixty-five percent of the could-be stalkers if we nip this early and they think Jane’s taken.”
Farrow pops a bubble in his mouth, and he wraps an arm around Maximoff’s waist, territorial and protective. “Okay, but there are still some hostile fuckers who think they have a shot with Maximoff, and he’s not just dating a bodyguard like Jane would be. He’s a fucking step further and engaged.”
“That’s why it’s not a hundred-percent, Redford. Can’t rid them all.”
“Sixty-five percent success rate,” Akara says. “It’s not bad.”
I lift a finger. “Pardon, but where did that number come from?”
Oscar answers, “Seven years of experience handling a thousand different kinds of motherfuckers.”
“Amen,” Banks nods.
It reminds me that I wasn’t always a part of these serious security meetings. Not until Maximoff and I became closer to SFO. I trust their knowledge and what they’ve been through and dealt with as bodyguards.
I can’t assume that I know best when I actually know very little about what they’ve each experienced.
But I have witnessed the consequences through Maximoff and Farrow.
I lock eyes with Thatcher, his stern expression yet to change shape. To lessen the risk of another Nate situation—I wonder how far he’d be willing to go.
I think being thrown into a media and public wildfire is too great of a sacrifice. “You can’t go through what Farrow has gone through just to protect me,” I tell him. “You’ll be doxxed, and your family in South Philly could be harassed.”
He’s one of the most private people I’ve ever met. More private than even Farrow, and by publicly dating me, he’d expose himself to so many probes from paparazzi, tabloids, and internet fiends without the ability to say no or stop.
They will dig up his military service.
They will dig up more than he could even think of or imagine.
Akara looks to Thatcher. “The tech team can try to wipe out web searches that pop up your mom’s home address, phone number, all of that. They think it’s how Reddit users found out where Farrow’s stepsister lived.”
Maximoff slides an arm over Farrow’s shoulders.
So there’s a slight ability to circumvent some negative attention to his family. Keeping them safer if we were theoretically publicly together.
It seems like such a dreadfully high risk, but now mostly it’s just on his shoulders and Banks.
“Your life will be fodder for the public. I can’t let you do this for me,” I tell Thatcher. “If you’re considering it at all, that is.” I’m not even sure what he’s leaning towards.
“I’d do anything to keep you safe, Jane,” he says deeply and without falter.
I hear what he just told me: I feel a strong responsibility to you.
I inhale a sharper breath.
Can we do this?
Should we do this?
Am I in the strangest dream?
And do I even want to wake up?
No.
I’d rather see what happens next. Selfishly. This may be the most selfish thing I’ve ever craved.
“Will her parents care?” Oscar asks.
Every person turns to me for the answer.
The attention doesn’t cause me to balk, but Thatcher’s intensity heats me up from head to toe.
My parents.
That hasn’t even crossed my mind yet. My parents. My brothers. My little sister. What will they say?
“My parents,” I ponder quickly. “No, they won’t think it’s unprofessional if I fake-date a bodyguard.” I smile in thought. “I’m sure they’ll actually think it’s a bit of fun strategy. Like chess.”
SFO relaxes more at this news.
Banks rotates to Akara. “Wh
at about Alpha and Epsilon? They’re already on Omega’s ass about all of us being barely famous, and they’ve limited our ability to go on-duty during events. So having another bodyguard as famous as Farrow will…?”
“The other forces may try to tie our hands, guys,” Akara says diplomatically to all of SFO. “But we already have less power on the team right now, regardless if we take a risk today or down the line.” He snaps his fingers to his palm and then glances between Thatcher and me. “Whatever you both decide, we’ll all back.”
Every bodyguard nods in agreement.
Even Farrow, who easily rises above his dislike for Thatcher if the outcome means protecting me.
Thatcher steps away from the staircase. Eyes set on Banks, he motions to the adjoining door, and then he glances at me. “We’ll be back.”
I nod, understanding completely.
Whatever happens will affect Banks, and possibly, he’s confirming with his brother that he’s okay about their military backgrounds being exposed to the team and the world.
As they disappear, SFO whispers quietly to each other, and I head to the fireplace where Maximoff and Farrow stand.
I’m so confused, and my voice is a whisper as I ask, “Shouldn’t you two be anti-this-plan? It involves me being closer to someone you both dislike.” I don’t blame them at all for not loving Thatcher.
Maximoff puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m pro-Jane.” His intense green eyes speak a thousand promises. To always stick by my side. Through every terrible and wonderful thing.
My eyes burn with emotion, and I feel a smile at my lips.
Very casually, Farrow tells me, “I’m also pro-Jane more than I’m anti-anything-else.”
Maximoff smiles at Farrow like he beat him at something strenuous. “You just copied me.”
Farrow chews gum while grinning at him.
They both love one-upping each other.
His smile vanishes, and he gestures to Farrow’s chest. “You did copy me, man.”
“Technically, I said a hell of a lot more than you.”
Maximoff grimaces, trying to hide his affection for his fiancé in this moment. He does a very decent job. I give my best friend a solid 7.5 out of 10 for effort and execution. His arm is still around Farrow’s shoulders or else he’d be a perfect 10.
He’s about to speak, but the adjoining door swings open.