I’m unable to concede. He can’t beat me. “An unbiased F.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. It’s light and nowhere near as rough as I’d want. He knows this.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I cringe.
“Be honest.”
I scoff. “Fine. I’d give you a B. Are you happy, Richard?”
“Immensely.” This time when he kisses me, he grabs the back of my head, his lips parting mine with a breathless wave. We’re in public, I remember, just once.
It freezes me. He doesn’t reduce my grade by a letter, but I would.
Right now, I deserve an ugly D.
[ 27 ]
ROSE COBALT
“Get over to Hale Co. now.” Theo’s normally meek voice has turned acidic, burning my ears, the cell pressed way too close. I’m in no mood to be taking orders from anyone, especially at 10 a.m. on a Saturday. But his sudden change in demeanor puts me on guard.
I retract the phone, narrowing my eyes at the air. “I think you’re forgetting who the boss is in this relationship.”
Just as I say this, Connor exits the bathroom, leaning against the door frame in nothing but a towel. Beads of water roll down his chest and abs. We had a late morning since Jane kept us up most of the night, wailing and shrieking and being a terror in general. I would still throw myself in front of a speeding vehicle for her, but hopefully that situation won’t ever arise.
Connor motions to my phone and mouths, Theo?
I nod, pressing the speaker button.
Theo says, “Look, I’m exhausted. The board finally approved what you wanted last night, and this morning it’s all about to go to shit.”
They signed off on the new CCB labels. It’s a win I can’t celebrate yet. My head is reeling. “What do you mean?” I find myself touching my sapphire necklace, just like my mom would finger her pearls. I stop immediately, a gross taste in my mouth. You’re not like her, Rose. I smooth my airy black skirt and roll up the sleeves of my white sweater, hot all of a sudden.
“You and Connor were photographed inside an adult store. It’s front-page news this morning on all the tabloids. One of the older board members wants to switch his vote. He’s already called an assistant to go into your office and shred the contract on your desk.” I don’t ask how he’s heard this. He’s a shadow, I remember. He hears things. “I thought you had a good idea, Rose. I really did. It would have worked, but no matter if you seem to still hate this new design, he’d rather not have Calloway attached to the product at all.”
My throat bobs. “This isn’t anything new,” I snap. “I have sex tapes. How does walking into an adult store change my public perception?”
“Your sex tapes aren’t really a hot topic right now. You being a new mom and your fashion style—that’s why the board believes women admire you and why you have a lot of fans. He’s worried this photo will begin to jeopardize your current image.”
He thinks I’ll lose my fans.
Well, if my fans love me for me, then they’d stick around after this photo. This isn’t even incriminating, but they’re saying it is for someone who designs baby clothes.
Theo continues, “All the other board members are keeping their votes the same. He’s more conservative, and unfortunately…he’s the swing vote.”
Translation: You’re fucked, Rose.
But Theo called me for a reason. He thinks I still have time to fix this problem. Maybe if we sign the contract before his assistant destroys it, the man will concede. Loren will tell him that it’s done and to move on.
This is how we win.
“Don’t you live five minutes from Hale Co.?” I ask hurriedly. “Get to the office and fax me that contract.” I pause, needing to add a larger threat. “If you don’t make it there before the other assistant, you’re fired.”
“I’ll sincerely try my best.” His sincerity causes a wave of guilt to slam into me. No. I am a warrior that must take casualties.
We both hang up.
Connor stares at me, his brows raised as I scroll the Celebrity Crush website on my phone. “He’s sickeningly nice,” I tell Connor. “I honestly thought it was a ploy.” Maybe I still do.
“It could be,” Connor tells me. I don’t hear the concern in his voice, and I wonder if he’s pacifying me. In one breath being honest and in the other trying not to worry me.
I need a roadmap to people’s true intentions. It’s all way too confusing.
My cellphone screen blinks with answers.
The first headline: [EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS] Connor Cobalt & Rose Calloway spotted at a Sex Shop! Look what they bought!
In addition to the picture of me dangling licorice panties, Walter Aimes snapped photos of Connor checking out. The photographer said he was done taking pictures before this, but clearly not. Maybe he hoped we’d do something out of the ordinary.
Thankfully, Connor only bought a bullet vibrator rather than the anal plugs, which he’ll purchase later. He mentioned that bit of information when we left the store. To prepare me, I’m sure.
I dazedly sit on the edge of our bed, and Connor sinks down beside me. He reads the article over my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I say, “for buying the vibrator.” Like hell did I want the world to know that we’re having anal sex. We may have lost the majority of our privacy, but there are a few things I’d like to keep between us.
Connor rubs the back of my neck. “Bien sûr.” Of course.
I log onto Twitter and check my notifications, curious to see how the world is handling this news.
@CeleryHair: @RoseCCobalt Waiting for your sex toy line to come out. Obvs that photo is research. Imma right?
@PoPhilly4Life: @RoseCCobalt You’re a goddess. Seriously love that you don’t give a shit about being caught shoppin 4 sexy things with your bea *heart eyes*
@LilyHaleLOVE2: @RoseCCobalt You should ask Lils for some sex toy advice. Seems like she knows whats what. Just sayin.
@LindsayL453: @RoseCCobalt You’re a fame whore and a slut. Worse than all your sisters combined.
I loved that last tweet. If I can take any of the heat off Lily and Daisy, I’ll gladly withstand the flames.
I send out a tweet: there’s no fear in pleasure #Coballoway
The hashtag is the name that fans use to designate Connor and me. It’s just easier than saying Rose plus Connor, and I like how it sounds.
I scroll through my feed, and notice a flirty Twitter conversation from Ryke and Daisy, tweeted yesterday.
@daisyonmeadows: You know whose scar is as big as my scar now? *wink wink*
@meadowsryke
His scar from surgery. And her scar from the Paris riot.
I’m used to these types of conversations between them since we’ve been on Twitter for a while now.
@meadowsryke: @daisyonmeadows mine is bigger
@daisyonmeadows: @meadowsryke prove it ;)
I imagine their texts are ten times dirtier than this. I check Instagram quickly, noticing that Connor posted a photo this morning.
We always post pictures of each other, so I’m not surprised that he uploaded one of me in bed, the sheet covering my lips and only my smoldering eyes exposed. He took that right after he quoted Steinbeck. I ended up glaring like this, and he immortalized the moment.
Among thousands of comments, most are positive. I glance at a few negative ones:
Your wife looks like she wants to kill you.
I would hate to wake up to that in the morning #crazychick
That’s when you take an axe to bed!!!
They’ve added a variety of knife and devil emoticons that Loren would find funny.
“People will always speculate,” Connor tells me, rising off the bed and stealing my attention. I’m reminded of Connor’s own tactics of manipulation. Ones I never used.
“If you were in my position, would you have slept with the board member?”
He runs a hand through his damp hair, smoothing it back. “No,” he says resolutely. He opens a dresser drawer. “I don’t do that anymore.” Because we’re together.
“Before I was in the picture,” I rephrase.
He pauses. “It would have depended on the circumstance and the variables in the equation. I never jumped into bed blindly.” So he’s saying maybe. It would have to be the path with the highest benefit in order for him to choose it, and he’s telling me that sex isn’t always the answer.
“Was it easy?” I ask.
“Yes.” His voice is even-tempered, his expression even more so. He removes his towel, giving me a view of his toned ass before he puts on navy boxer-briefs.
I watch him walk to the closet, and he disappears inside. I follow him there, rolling down the sleeves of my sweater.