Page 70 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

G hostbusters sounds painfully loud as chatter falls hushed in the bar. Whispers and gasps of, “is that Charlie Cobalt?” and “those are the Cobalt brothers, look, look ” are heard.

None of Ben’s brothers ham it up for attention.

They act like the bar only consists of me and Ben as they plant their asses on the barstools.

Very rarely are these stools occupied. The projector screen faces the opposite wall, and the actual stools themselves are so wobbly, I’m shocked they maintain composure and don’t teeter even slightly.

Cobalts are just fucking built different. I’d be aggravated if I wasn’t a teensy bit jealous and honestly happy they’re even here. They haven’t given up on reeling Ben closer, and at times, I do wonder if he’ll stay in New York longer for them—even if maybe he won’t be living with them.

“Ben Pirrip,” Tom bows forward, forearms on the bar. “This is really where you want to be at the end of the world?”

“Without us?” Eliot feigns hurt, his grin appearing soon after. “How dare you, brother.”

Charlie says nothing. He pounds a pack of cigarettes on the bar.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asks them, already worked up from Beefy Dude. Their arrival isn’t ridding the steam from his ears.

Eliot flicks out a lighter. “We heard it’s Harriet’s birthday, so we’re gifting her with our presence.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say flatly, but inside, I am elated. Best b-day present would be Ben’s brothers convincing him to stick around indefinitely. Hands-down. Sorry to my new choker necklace.

Tom forces out a winced smile at me, and I force a grimaced one back. Our attention veers to Eliot when he asks Ben, “Better question, what are you doing here?”

“Bartending.”

“For money?” Charlie asks, almost disinterestedly.

“No, for funsies.” Ben is in a grouchy mood. They can tell, probably since this brand of sarcasm isn’t his usual approach. “I’m guessing Audrey told you I work here?”

Tom steals a cocktail stirrer. “Dude, whatever you tell her, she will spread like gangrene until it comes back and infects you and then you’ll need Pre-Med Harry, here, to check you out,” Tom waves a hand at me. “Which is worse than the actual infection.”

I cross my arms. “So you’re saying Audrey would fulfill my ultimate birthday wish and kill you?”

Eliot grabs his brother’s shoulders in a playful gesture of protection. Tom’s jaw has unhinged, until he sees Ben’s slow-forming smile, and then Tom smiles victoriously as if he was the one who flipped Ben’s mood and made him grin.

No, that was me. I did that.

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t save me, great,” Tom slips the cocktail stirrer between his lips. “The feeling is mutual .” Ben is frowning now, and Tom quickly adds, “But I’d still call upon you so do with that what you will, Harry.”

“You knew Audrey would tell us,” Charlie states plainly to Ben, redirecting this conversation.

“Eventually, I figured she might. It’s not a big secret I work here. I just didn’t want that to constantly be around.” His gaze drifts beyond his brothers, but none of them turn to look to understand what “that” means.

People have whipped out their phones to snap pics and record videos of them. I notice their bodyguards making rounds around the bar. Ben said some of his brothers will have strangers sign NDAs and delete footage if they’re being filmed outside of a public space.

I’m unsure of which brother has requested this tonight.

“Any of you want a drink?” I ask them since I’d prefer if they stayed until closing. Yes, even Tom.

“Glenfiddich, neat,” Charlie says. It’s easily one of the most expensive bottles we stock, and I stiffen when I see it’s on the highest shelf. Not again.

My joints need oiled. I can’t fucking move for an unbearable second.

Skin pleats between Charlie’s brows as his gaze bores through me. Before I reanimate, Ben grabs the bottle, then slides a comforting hand down my back, knowing why I just had a minor internal freakout.

I breathe in.

Charlie asks Ben something in French. What calms me more is realizing I’m not Charlie’s punchline. He just wanted a drink, Harriet.

While I pour whiskey in a tumbler, their French conversation picks up intensity. Eliot is joining in with a fiery emphasis on some words. Tom has a distraught yet irritated expression—on his phone. He’s texting, not listening to whatever his brothers are passionately discussing.

As Eliot’s blue eyes flit from me to the beefy dickhead from earlier, I know for certain Ben is relaying the minor shitshow before they arrived. Seeing Eliot, and even Charlie to a degree, appear incensed on my behalf feels strangely good.

I didn’t think I needed more people to look out for me. I’ve been okay on my own, but to witness it happening is spurring a sudden onslaught of emotion. I can’t tamp it down fast enough.

“Eliot, Eliot ,” Ben whisper-hisses as his broad-shouldered brother has a murderous glare on Beefy Dude and purposefully tries to catch this dickhead’s attention.

Ben speaks in forceful, blazing French, recapturing Eliot’s gaze.

Then he rests his hands on my head, then my shoulders, as if mentioning me in the equation.

I lean back into his chest on impulse.

Ben is stroking my hair, calming me even if his words sound aggressive as fuck.

“Anyone want to clue me in?” I ask.

“Learn French,” Charlie bites back.

I do not have the fucking time right now to pick up another language. “It’s about me, dude,” I say.

“Astute.”

I glower, then tell Eliot, “It’s fine. They’re fine. We have it handled.”

Eliot is on his feet, unable to even sit. “He’s still breathing, so it’s not handled to my homicidal standards.” He motions to Charlie’s drink that I slide over. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

I pour another whiskey. Loving Ben’s hands on me. Loving him behind me, really. Literally and figuratively. Don’t get used to this.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I sigh to myself.

Eliot exhales the fire, then centers his focus on Ben. “We’ve hardly seen you at the apartment since Charlie and Beckett’s birthday. You’re really taking leave no trace behind to heart, brother.”

I feel Ben tense behind me. I pass Eliot his drink, his grin flickering out before he takes a sip.

“I told you,” Ben says, “once the frat gives me a room, I’m out of the apartment.”

“Your days are numbered, we’ve heard,” Charlie says with irritation.

Ben glares. “Don’t act like you won’t love it when I’m out of there.”

“I love very little, so I can promise you I won’t bother loving that.” He picks up his whiskey. “Beckett wants you to stay with us, truthfully. Almost desperately . In case you didn’t realize the last fifty times he’s told you.”

Ben didn’t mention that Beckett has pleaded with him to stay at their apartment.

“I can’t,” Ben shakes his head. “I can’t be there.”

“Why?” Eliot’s brows knit together. “Beckett said it was nothing you did.” I assume Ben doesn’t believe this. “He’s ok?—”

“ I can’t .”

Charlie pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s aggravated. It seems like anything Ben says is an annoyance to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tom gapes at his phone, then puts it to his ear.

“No, dude. No, the song isn’t ready. We’re not playing it—it’s not good enough.

Yeah, I said so, Warner.” He’s on a call with his bassist. “I’m not a tyrant!

I just know what sounds good and what sounds like shit.

Warner— Warner .” Tom plugs one of his ears as the Yankees fans grow noisier in the back.

They’ll likely want another round soon. “ Shit .” He looks up.

“Ben, is there a storage room or somewhere quiet I can go take this?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you. We need to restock the Jameson anyway.” His hand slips off my back as he leaves.

I’m rarely alone with Charlie and Eliot. Last time I was truly alone with Charlie, I offered to blow him. It still makes me cringe, but weirdly that whirlwind of a night feels forever ago. No one has necessarily buried what I did. It’s become the sand. Harmless in light gusts, blowing past us.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Charlie says to me while Eliot angles sideways, observing the beefy dickhead’s every move from the corner of his eye.

“Okay?” I grab an empty pint glass a girl brings to the bar and say to her, “Thanks, you want another?”

“Uh, no I’m good. I’ve already closed out.” Her voice trembles with nerves being so close to Charlie. I want to tell her this bitter Boy Genius is not worth the anxiety. She side-eyes him, likely yearning and praying for a single glance from him, even if it’s a mean one.

He’s ignoring her existence.

When she shuffles away, Charlie immediately resumes the conversation. “Why is Ben working at a bar? Is it for you or for the paycheck?”

I shrug, not wanting to be an untrustworthy friend. Even if I think they should know. I asked Ben why he doesn’t just tell his family about his money issue and how he’s leaving New York soon.

He said, “It’ll turn into a bigger ordeal. They’ll try to stop me, and I don’t want them to.”

I want them to.

But I can’t break Ben’s trust. There is no coming back from that—our friendship would be obliterated , and I’d rather not cause him that type of pain, especially when there’s no guarantee telling Charlie and Eliot anything will make Ben stay.

“Does it matter why he’s bartending?” I rinse out the pint glass.

Charlie twists the glass on the wooden counter, scrutinizing me. “It does if he needs money. That would imply he’s burned through millions.”

I process this. “How would you know he has that much money?”

“Because we all receive the same amount on the same day. Ben first asked to access his trust fund on his sixteenth birthday. To buy a car. The car he would eventually crash.”

Okay…I’m shocked Charlie is just delivering this personal information to me like it’s a greeting card and not gold bars locked in a vault. “And you’re saying he has millions?”