Page 12 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

“That’s not it.” Gavin holds out his hands in defense.

“She’s…” He attempts to glance past my shoulder to get another glimpse of her.

I block his eyesight, forcing his gaze on mine.

“She’s unapproachable. This entire time, she’s looked pissed to even be here.

Hell, she’s looked angry at me. Like she might rip out my jugular. ”

Maybe she should.

Fuck, I might rip out his jugular at the end of this.

“She can’t be the only pissed-off looking bartender in New York,” I retort.

Gavin opens his palms like, you might be right. “Look, I’m not denying that, but ninety-nine percent of our patrons aren’t going to stop by the bar if she’s behind it. Some might even start fights with her.”

Dammit. I scrape a forceful hand through my hair. I want to prove Harriet wrong—that this interview wasn’t a waste of time or a flop or that she’s the issue, and there’s no way I’m going to accept a job without her. I’m not abandoning Harriet. I’d rather not take the job at all.

I straighten up, no longer slouched while I face Gavin. He doesn’t realize it yet, but I almost always get what I want.

“That’s too bad,” I tell him, glancing at the door like I’m seconds from leaving. “Because the two of us are a package deal. If you don’t hire her, then you don’t have me.”

Gavin groans, “Ben. I’m telling you, she won’t last out here. I’m doing her a favor.”

I speak hotter under my breath. “You haven’t even given her a chance.”

He threads his arms and stares at his feet. This is where he’s supposed to say, I’ll give her one chance. It doesn’t leave his mouth.

I clench my jaw. “You want a Cobalt here on the weekends, then you’re going to hire us both. Put us on the same shift if you have to.” It’s what I want anyway.

He grinds his teeth, then assesses me as if weighing the benefit of my presence behind the bar. I can see the gears cranking in his head like he’s trying to find a loophole.

“This doesn’t work if you put her in the back,” I add swiftly. “She needs the tips, so you’ll let her bartend with me.”

Gavin expels a heavy, resigned sigh, unfolding his arms just to rub his goatee. “And I thought you were the nice one.”

“Huh?” I frown.

“You know, out of the ‘Cobalt Empire’.” He uses finger quotes. “I heard the youngest boy was supposed to be the nicest, but you’re out here trying to bargain like you’re Connor Cobalt making a business deal.”

My blood goes cold for a second. He doesn’t get it. I’m really not like my dad. I’m not. I’m just trying to be a good friend. That’s all.

“Do we have a deal then?” I ask, casually ignoring his comment.

“Yeah, deal.” He extends a hand to shake on it. After which, my bodyguard approaches the bar, and I check my phone for texts, only reading the important one.

Eliot Cobalt

Our little sister is going to guilt-trip you into moving back home. Don’t let her. Stay strong, brother.

“We’ll need to discuss security on nights Ben is working,” Novak says to the bar manager, and I slip away to let him do his thing.

Harriet’s head is face down on the booth, my baseball cap on the graffitied table, and she slowly bangs her forehead onto the worn wood.

“Whoa, Fisher.” I slide in on the other side, a heartbeat away from catching her head before she pounds it into the wood again. “Is this a new drumming method?” I tease with a smile.

She groans as she looks up at me. A red welt already forms on her forehead, and my smile vanishes when I see it. “It’s a patented method,” she says sadly. “Don’t go trying to recreate it. I’ll sue.”

“Yeah, lucky for you, I don’t have any musical talent like my brother.” She, on the other hand, is pretty fucking spectacular at drums. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never actually seen her play. I nod to the cell on the table. “Who was that?”

“Manhattan Valley’s admission’s office. Apparently my transfer credit for Logic & Critical Thinking doesn’t code as a humanities class, so it won’t count toward the twelve credit hours of humanities and arts we need to graduate.”

We need. Yeah, I need those twelve hours too since the humanities and arts is a core requirement, regardless of a major.

“And that’s a big enough issue to go all Meg White on your forehead?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You know who Meg White is?”

“Drummer for The White Stripes .” I give her a look while I swig my water, then swallow. “What kind of music do you think I listen to?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Instrumental with emphasis on the violins.”

I laugh hard.

She chews on her lip as a smile forms. “Someone in your family has to be into Chopin and Tchaikovsky.”

I tilt my head, thinking. “That’d probably be Beckett since he has to listen to it all day, but he’ll go off on how he hates the music to Cinderella. You don’t want to get him started on that rant.”

Harriet leans back in the booth. “You act like I’m going to meet your brothers.

” She shies a little from my gaze, digging in her bookbag and unearthing a…

Jolly Rancher. I watch her slowly unwind the plastic ends.

Bright glittery beaded bracelets jingle on her wrists.

The kind you’d string together yourself or buy with a quarter in an old vending machine. Blocked letters. Smiley faces. Hearts.

I’ve seen her wear similar chokers with beads spelling out words like bitch and whatever.

“You might,” I say. “You’ve already met one.”

Her face pinches into a grimace at the mention of Tom.

Shit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him up—” I cut myself off as my phone vibrates from a video call. “Hold on a sec,” I tell Harriet. On instinct, I answer my phone, and my little sister emerges. I flinch in surprise at the black veil and puffy black sleeves of her Victorian dress.

Audrey typically wears pink.

“Did someone die?” I ask her.

“Philly is in mourning, as am I.” She plops on the chaise at the foot of her four-poster bed. “I already told Eliot and Tom that I’m to wear all black until they relinquish you to me.” She flings her veil off her fair face. Tendrils of her carrot-orange hair caress her soft cheeks.

She’s number seven.

Audrey Virginia—the youngest of us all, and arguably the most dramatic. (Eliot won’t relinquish that title without a fight.) She became my closest sibling as our brothers left our childhood home one by one, but I’ve vowed to always protect her since we were little kids.

Leaving is festering a wound inside me that won’t exactly heal.

“I’m out in public, by the way,” I warn Audrey. “I’m with my friend Harriet.”

Harriet, thankfully, hasn’t put the cherry-red Jolly Rancher in her mouth because I think she would’ve choked on it. Her big doe-eyes bug in surprise.

“Hi, Harriet,” Audrey says morosely. “Tell Ben to come home.”

Harriet sweeps me. “Go home, Friend.” She says it rather unconvincingly.

I smile at her, then draw my gaze back to my phone as Audrey lets out a breathy whine. “ Ben. It’s so very unfair. They’re all together in New York. They didn’t need to take you too.”

“They haven’t kidnapped me, Audrey. Hey, look at this.” I flip the camera and crane over toward Breakfast at Tiffany’s on the projector screen just as Audrey Hepburn sits in a cab while rain splashes the windows. “Isn’t that cool? It’s like you’re here with me.”

“She looks as forlorn as I feel.” Audrey Hepburn is seconds away from crying, and as I frame the camera back on my face, I realize my sister Audrey is too.

“Audrey—”

“I hate being the youngest,” she cries into a hiccup like she’s trying to suppress the waterworks. She wipes them fast, but it’s gutting me seeing them stream more silently down her cheeks. “The house is too quiet without you.”

You’ll be okay without me. She has to be.

“I’ll be back for a Wednesday Night Dinner,” I promise.

I wasn’t planning on skipping those, even if the idea of facing our parents twists my stomach.

It’s better to stay the course and act like nothing is wrong.

If I skip a bunch of Wednesdays, it’ll sound the alarms. Ben isn’t okay! What’s going on with Ben?!

Don’t need that.

I typically always go to these dinners for Audrey, so that can’t change yet.

Keeping anything from our parents takes mental gymnastics none of us can land for too long. They’re certified geniuses with high IQs, and they consume knowledge like it’s the foundation of the food pyramid.

They know how to pull truths out of us—or they already see the answers before we’ve confessed. I’ve wondered if my parents already know I’m broke, but they don’t have access to my bank accounts. They believe in our autonomy and independence, and they wouldn’t invade our privacy in that way.

“I hope so,” Audrey says with a breathy sigh. “Theodore!” She calls out for the cockatiel, then sighs heavier. “He never listens to me.”

“He loves you.”

“No, I think he misses you most of all.”

A weight sinks in my lungs. “You’ll take care of him,” I assure her.

“Of course I will.” She lifts her chin. “I am the world’s best bird-sitter.”

“He’s yours now,” I remind her. “It’s more than just bird-sitting.”

She looks away, trying to control the sudden brimming tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for crying.”

“I’m not trying to make this harder on you—well, actually I am,” she says, and I laugh while she continues, “I just really miss you, Ben. And it’s been days .”

“A day,” I correct.

Her chin trembles. “I will be okay.” She blows her nose in a monogrammed handkerchief. “Because I’m a Cobalt, and we are built to withstand everything.”

I give her a few big nods, that statement not sitting as confidently inside me as it is within her. After we say our goodbyes in French, we hang up, and I shove my phone in my pocket.

Harriet has questions in her eyes. She shifts the Jolly Rancher slowly in her mouth with her tongue, then says, “Wishing you never transferred to MVU?”

It’s not what I thought she’d ask. “Going back to Philly didn’t even cross my mind,” I say honestly. “So I’d say no.” Then I nod to her, “What’s going on with the forehead, Friend?” It’s still red as fuck, and I didn’t forget where our conversation ended.

She bites down on the hard candy and rotates her bracelet on her wrist. “I busted my ass in that class, and now I have to retake it.” Her eyes tighten, more upset.

“Which could set me back for applying to med school if I can’t stack certain courses together or if some aren’t offered in the right semesters.

It’s just another roadblock, and I’m tired of those. ”

Pre-med. I can’t imagine how intense and arduous the path to becoming a doctor is. I haven’t even declared my major yet. I’m not striving for a specific career. It’s not like I’ve been great at anything other than hockey.

“You don’t want to pack it all up and become a drummer?”

“Like that’s any easier,” she mutters, pulling a bracelet off her wrist, just to put it on the other.

I scrape my hand across the back of my neck, then bow toward her. “Maybe there’s a bright side to this.”

She looks interested. “I’m listening.”

“I have the same core requirements for humanities,” I tell her. “Why don’t we take the same class?”

“Take…the same class?” she repeats like I’m speaking French.

“Yeah,” I nod. “If the course you need is filled, I’ll go to the dean and get us in it. They’ll usually pull strings for Cobalts.”

Her face draws into a confused wince. “What the hell do you get out of it?”

“I don’t have to suffer through a humanities course alone. I like taking classes with friends.” I tip my head in thought. “And I get to help you.”

Her brows rise. “I’m your charity case?”

I seesaw my hand. “I get off on making people feel good. So in that instance, maybe, but maybe not because I feel like it’s more for me in a way, less for you.”

She fights against an emerging smile. “You’re weirdly honest.”

“You don’t hate it,” I state.

“I don’t,” she agrees, sitting forward. Closer to me. Our knuckles nearly brush. She goes quiet. Deep in thought while sucking on the Jolly Rancher.

I feel on the verge of being rejected. “Unless,” I say, “you don’t like having friends in your classes, which I get if you think I’d be a distraction.

But I’m a decent classmate. I won’t bug the shit out of you.

Though, I do make an average study partner.

My flashcards are always pretty fucking basic. ”

She blinks for a second before she says, “You realize you don’t have to ask, right? You could just wait and see if I can get in it myself, then figure out which humanities course I’m taking and…enroll in the same class.”

I smile. “I don’t much like stalking.”

“Is it stalking or using your resources?”

“Just trying not to give you a jump scare when you see me in your class, Fisher.”

She glances at my ballcap on the table, then at me. “What if I choose a class that you’ll absolutely hate?”

“I don’t really care what it is,” I admit. “Just pick whatever you need to get into med school on time.”

“Yeah, okay?—”

“You two,” Gavin cuts her off, and the rise of my pulse suddenly flat lines at his presence. “You both start this Saturday. I’m sending you your onboarding paperwork by email.”

“Wait…” Harriet frowns. “Both of us?” She casts a skeptical glance from me to the manager. “I got the job?”

Gavin, thankfully, doesn’t stare me down when he says, “Yeah, you’ll work the same shift together. It’ll be easier to train you at the same time.” He pauses. “And Harriet.”

I slip him a warning glare. Don’t be an ass to her.

“Yeah?” She’s bracing herself for a wrecking ball swing.

“You can smile once in a while, you know.” He says it like a jab and not like friendly advice.

Still, Harriet nods, “Yeah, I’ll work on it.”

Once he’s gone, I tell her, “You don’t have to smile if you don’t want to. He probably won’t even be around when we’re bartending.”

She grabs her backpack strap. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.” She snatches my ballcap, then holds it out to me. “Here you go, Friend.”

“Keep it.” I like seeing her wear it.

Harriet sucks in, not releasing the breath. “Uh, I can’t.” She slides out of the booth, then shoves the hat in my chest when I stand up. “It’s yours. See you later?” She’s bolting toward the exit, but she slows and spins around, just to wait for my response.

“I’ll call you,” I tell her.

I swear she smiles as she walks out the door.