I give him a look. He’s not supposed to get too close to Xander.
“But not buddies,” Donnelly says quickly, seeing me. “We’re just normal bodyguard and client. No cap.”
Quinn frowns. “No cap?”
“Means no lie, bro,” Oscar explains.
I reply to a few emails while I wait for Thatcher. Partially listening as the conversation changes among SFO.
“The leaks have to be coming from someone in the family, right?” Quinn asks, unscrewing a cap to a water bottle. “I mean, Audrey was responsible for leaking the Hot Santa Video. Anyone talk to her?”
Oscar has his arms out as the tailor (who signed an NDA) takes wingspan measurements. “How would Audrey Cobalt know half the shit on that website, little bro?”
Quinn shrugs. “Maybe she’s butt-dialing Jane and listening in on accident.”
“That’s not happening,” Thatcher suddenly says, coming into the room. Will he look at me as he goes to sit beside his brother?
That’d be a big overwhelming nope.
Awesome.
“Okay, guys,” I begin, wanting to take my mind off Thatcher and Banks and Sulli. Best way to do that is work. I open my mouth, and—
Knock knock.
We tense as all seven of our phones sound off.
“Who’s there?” Oscar jokes.
“Howie,” Donnelly replies.
“Howie who?”
“Howie gonna catch this dick?”
Oscar takes out his phone. “Throw them big dick bait. Redford attracts big dick energy.”
“He is big dick energy,” Donnelly says.
“Takes one to know one.”
“Oh my God, shut the fuck up,” Farrow says while he’s trying to read the post.
I try to focus on the website, but something Oscar said is flicking on a light bulb. But not the part about Farrow and big dicks.
THE ROYAL LEAKS
We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.
ROYAL LEAK #1: Ripley Hale needs a bodyguard. Uncertain about who that'll be.
ROYAL LEAK #2: Farrow Hale found a used pregnancy test in the penthouse.
#TodaysLeaks #WhoIsPregnant? #solvethemystery
I go still.
Someone overheard me talking about Ripley, but I can’t recall which room I said baby needs a bodyguard in. But that’s not the biggest shocker. We’re all looking at Farrow.
His eyes are narrowed on the phone. “See, this is fishy as fuck.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I found a negative pregnancy test on the bathroom counter, and I said, it’s negative to Maximoff.”
“It was Jane’s,” Thatcher informs us.
Farrow lifts his brows. “So why did the mole leave that shit out?”
It’s half the truth. “To stir up drama,” I say aloud.
Now there’s certain to be speculation about which girl is pregnant in the families. And recently, a leak stated that Sulli went off birth control.
I push my hair back.
Banks says, “Sulli is being set-up.”
Thatcher looks to his brother. “Media could predict Jane. One of the leaks is about us trying to have a baby.”
Banks bows his head, looking upset at either situation.
The same weight bears on the back of my neck, but I have to keep my head upright. To the tailor, I ask, “Can you give us a few minutes?”
He nods and shuffles away.
“That knock knock joke,” I mention, “what Oscar said before about big dick bait—he was onto something.”
“I always am,” Oscar notes.
Farrow’s brows arch like I’ve lost my mind. “It was a knock knock joke, not a guide to the end of a rainbow.”
“Go with me here, Farrow,” I say, running my thumb over my knuckles. “For the first time, the penthouse was just specifically mentioned in a leak, and the tagline hasn’t changed.” I quote, “‘These are verified and come directly from the source.’ Everything still leads back to the penthouse, and we need to ensure that’s the origin. We can bait the mole.”
“With Farrow’s big dick energy,” Donnelly says.
Everyone laughs, and Farrow rolls his eyes with a slight smile.
“No,” I say. “With lies. We have a fake conversation in each room of the house, and we see which lie leaks. Then, I’ll have surveillance come back and sweep the room.”
Oscar nods confidently. “Now, I like this.”
“I hate this,” Thatcher declares off-the-bat.
“Me too,” Farrow says. “What lie do we plan on casting out there that’ll impact our clients? And who do you want to lie because I swear, Akara, if you say Maximoff—”
“It can be about me,” Banks pipes in.
All eyes swerve on him.
“I’m the only bodyguard who’s on the website that has no connection to anyone else,” he explains. “As far as they know, I’m not dating Sulli.”
“That we know of,” I say and shake my head vigorously, not wanting Banks to sacrifice himself, but Farrow is right, I can’t choose a client.
And I’d put myself out there, but the mole hasn’t targeted me, the Oliveira brothers, or Donnelly yet. They may never.
Thatcher ends up saying, “Jane and I will do it. She’ll want to be the one.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
He nods. “Positive. We can handle the blowback.”
Banks slips him a side glare like that was a shot at Sulli.