She murmurs, “Like Farrow to Maximoff.”
I stare into Jane. “And me to you.”
“Yes…please.” She’s melting against the boxing bag, and it takes all of my control not to lift her up in my fucking arms.
I inhale strongly. Her spring scent floods my senses. Trying to overpower the last restraint I have. “Jane,” I say in the core of my chest.
I hear the click of a door shutting. My reflexes buzzing, and I see a familiar face sauntering out of the Studio 9 office like he’s the number one draft pick in the NFL. I do a literal double-take.
To the point where Jane follows my boiling gaze.
He’s not a football player. He has a self-important swagger, slicked-back, dark-brown hair, thick eyebrows, olive skin, and light stubble along a narrow jaw. He looks like he could be a soccer player for Italy. But he acts like the most expensive socket wrench in a fucking toolbox.
Tony shouldn’t be here. He’s not on the security team. He’s not on the med team.
He’s not a part of the famous families.
If I were a lead, I’d know what the fuck he’s doing here. This lack of knowledge stabs my eardrums. A shrill ring in the pit of my ears.
I hardly blink.
“You recognize him?” Jane whispers to me.
“Yeah.” My muscles are tensed.
He should be in LA. It’s too early for him to be home for Christmas since it’s still October. I’m about to clarify to Jane, but Tony catches sight of me.
“Moretti!” He grins and saunters over with outstretched arms. “I thought I might bump into you.” He gestures to my chest. “Heard you’re the talk of South Philly these days.” South Philly sounds like Sow-Philly .
“What are you doing here?” I ask bluntly. I’m not shooting the shit or playing patty-fucking-cake with someone I can’t stand
“Flew in from LA ‘bout an hour ago. All anyone has been asking me is have you seen Thatcher and Jane?” He’s still approaching us. Still talking a mile-a-minute. “Should’ve known you two were a fake couple. She’s not anything close to your type.”
Jane shifts uneasily beside me.
Goddammit.
Lethal agitation and hate tighten my eyes on Tony. He just told Jane that she’s not my type. And on top of that, I’m concerned.
Because he shouldn’t know I’m fake dating Jane.
He was told. By who?
Tony stops short of us, his gold cross thumping against his chest. He sticks his hands in his green aviator jacket.
I need to fill in Jane, so I introduce him first. “This is Tony Ramella.”
Realization washes over her face. She’s smart, and I don’t need to add more for her to connect the pieces. “I see—”
“Moretti and I go way back,” Tony cuts her off. Which is a fucking sin in my book. “We both went to Saint Joseph’s High School, same grade. Same age. We used to ride our bikes down the street together.”
“When we were eight,” I clarify. “We’re not friends.” We haven’t been since early childhood. We grew apart like most kids do.
Jane slides off her boxing gloves. “You’re Michelina’s grandson.” She met Michelina Ramella in the fabric store last month and recognized his last name. “Your grandmas play cards together.”
He looks her over with quirked, smug lips. “My grandma said she met you.”
“She’s a sweet woman.” Jane sounds more guarded than usual, and she has to be feeding off my mistrust. She hasn’t homed in on his striking light-blue eyes. What most people usually notice first about him.
Tony cocks his head at Jane. “Not sweeter than you—”
“You’re not flirting with my client,” I cut him off now.
“Is that how it—”
“Yeah, that’s how it is,” I growl. “I don’t know why you’re here or how you know about the fake dating op, but one thing’s certain—you don’t know me and you sure as fucking hell don’t know my type. If you did, you’d realize it’s the girl right next to me.”
Jane presses her fingers to her lips.
My pulse is hammering my eardrums, and the gym—the gym has gone quiet. Bodyguards heard that minor declaration.
My jaw tenses, tendons pulled taut in my neck. I’m not backing down from Tony. I don’t need to unfuck a thing. As long as I act like I didn’t just profess eternal love and devotion to my client —she’s fine.
We’re fine.
Tony motions to me. “You’ve only been with girls over six feet.”
I almost roll my eyes. “That’s Banks. ” My brother has only been in serious relationships with tall girls.
“You’re basically the same person.” He’s serious, and this isn’t the first time I’ve heard that. Not just from him.
You’re the same person.
You share one brain.
And Tony rarely uses his.
“Why would you say that?” Jane questions hotly, like she’s putting him on trial.
Tony motions to me. “He’s an identical twin.”
“Yes, and clearly identical twins are not the same person. They’re two people with two separate thoughts and feelings—”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Tony interjects.
She huffs. “It’s scientific fact—”
“Is it?”
I’m going to kill him. “Don’t cut her off again.” It’s a threat.
He gives me an aggravated look. “You’re not on-duty, Moretti. Your client can defend herself.”
“I quite like a right-hand,” Jane says strongly. “And you’re being positively rude to him.”
“He can defend himself too,” Tony shoots back.
I tell him point-blank, “I like a right-hand just as much as Jane.”
She can’t restrain a smile.
Tony bobs his head a few times, laughing under his breath. “Guess your type of girl must be the ones with your balls in their purse.”
Her nose crinkles, pissed. “Excuse me?”
“No offense to you,” Tony tells her but only looks at me and my caustic glare.
Jane and I are both alphas, and I’m attracted to that part of her. Anyone who thinks I’m less of a man because I’d rather uphold all of who she is, including her dominance—they can go stand on their own dick and spin around in twenty circles.
Their opinion will never fucking matter to me. I value none of the horseshit out of his mouth.
So arguing with him, debating him, doesn’t matter to me. “How do you know about the op?” This is what’s important.
Jane scrutinizes him more. Wondering this too.
He has no clearance for this kind of information.
Unless he’s joining the team.
No.
It’s not…
It is possible. Tony is a bodyguard in LA. He works in private security, but he used to say he’d never “slum” it back in Philly.
“Got a call from your boss last week,” Tony says.
“Which one?”
“Price, the Alpha lead. Apparently your team isn’t up to par with pro-level security services, and he wants someone to pick up the slack. Someone who knows their shit, and that’s where I come in. There’s no one better than me.”
There is.
His name is Farrow Keene, and he’s across the gym. Akara Kitsuwon and Oscar Oliveira are also ten times better than he will ever be.
Hell, I would take every fucking bodyguard on the team over Tony Ramella. I wouldn’t trust him to have my six. I punched Farrow and I still trust that he’ll have my back at the end of the day. Because that’s who he is—but that’s not Tony.
Jane tenses. “You’re a bodyguard?”
I glance down at her. “Tony protects a boy band out in LA.”
“The most popular boy band in the entire country,” Tony amends with outstretched arms. “Worked my ass off, and now I’m a hot commodity.”
It was a big deal among family and friends when Tony Ramella, Banks, and I ended up in th
e same career field. Gossip, mostly. People comparing and talking about who works for the most famous celebrity.
Like I give a fuck about that.
“Why leave the most popular boy band?” Jane wonders.
“It wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to leave LA,” Tony admits. “Philly is a fucking armpit in comparison. But Price sounded desperate, and I like to think of this as my civil service.”
I hate how he’s talking about this team like he’s doing charity work by being here. We’re not fucked enough to where we’d ever need Tony. “The 24/7 roster is full,” I tell him.
It’s what I know. There are only openings for temp guards.
Tony grins and rocks forward on the balls of his feet. “Not true. I just signed-on for a full-time position, Moretti.” He lowers his voice. “My training course starts tomorrow, but it’s just for show. The Tri-Force doesn’t want the other guys to think I’m getting special treatment.”
I clamp an iron-stiff hand over my mouth. Furious.
Because Price is rolling out the red carpet for Tony and pushing him into the fold fast . And truth is, I have no idea why. He could be thunderstruck by Tony’s experience working for Hollywood celebrities for all I know.
I’m not used to being in the complete dark. And I have no power to complain or overturn this hiring.
Neither does Akara, who’s a part of the Tri-Force. He’s one vote against two.
“Full-time?” Jane repeats. “Who exactly are you protecting?”
“Guy named Silvio is retiring,” Tony says. “I’m taking his spot.”
I unclamp my hand and rake my fingers through my hair. Silvio is Xander’s current bodyguard. I hadn’t heard about him retiring, and I doubt Xander knows. He would’ve mentioned something earlier today.
“You’re going to be Xander’s 24/7 bodyguard,” Jane realizes out loud.
Tony rests his hands on the back of his neck. “The best he’s ever had.” He grins smugly at me. Knowing that I was on Xander’s detail. “I always gotta come behind you, Moretti, and pick up your slack.”
Don’t sock him in the face.
It’s the only thing I can think right now.
Do not put your hands on him. My breath heavies in my burning lungs. I’m not hitting another bodyguard, and he’s about to be on the team.
Even if I’ve knocked him out before.
In middle school.
In high school.
Right before I deployed.
He’s tried to punch me, but he’s never landed a single one.
“Why don’t you go pick up my slack then?” I retort. “And stop talking to me.”
He lets out a drier laugh. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.” He flashes a smile to Jane. “Nice to finally meet the one and only Jane Cobalt. I’ll be seeing you around.”
“I suppose so,” she says cautiously.
We watch him leave the gym, and then Jane spins to me, her head tipped in deeper thought. “You two have greater history, don’t you?”
She suspects something.
I’m just going to say it. “Tony slept with my high school girlfriend.”
Her lips part. “You said she cheated on you with a guy you can’t stand.”
Yeah. “That’s the guy I can’t stand.”
Her face falls. “Merde.”
And now he’s on the security team. Being trusted to keep a secret from the world. Our secret. That I’m fake-dating Jane.
31
JANE COBALT
“Someone’s coming for you, I’m sure of it.” I scratch underneath a short-haired brown tabby’s chin. She purrs and turns her head into my knuckles.
Pumpkin is the only cat remaining in the local shelter, and my heart aches thinking she won’t be adopted today.
I’ve spent the last four hours here, trying my best to promote the shelter on social media. And since I’m still going dark on my socials, Maximoff let me log into his Instagram and do live stories on his account. I was able to find homes for the cats. Even some of the dogs were adopted too.
I’d like to think it’s a success.
But Pumpkin curls up on my lap, kneads my leg for a second and then closes her eyes.
Merde.
I sit on the floor in the front room, the owner and manager doing a stack of paperwork at their desks. Far enough away that the only real company I have right now is the handsome man leaning against a shelf of cat food.
Thatcher meets my eyes and then looks to the cat. He doesn’t say anything, but I’m sure he’s thinking Jane Cobalt, you have six cats already—seven is going over the edge.
In actuality, I have zero clue what he’s thinking.
But I’m having a hard time imagining leaving this tabby in the shelter. I’m not sure I physically can.
“How many cats is too many cats?” I ask Thatcher.
His brows knot the longer he looks at Pumpkin. “Before I met you,” he says. “I’d have said three.”
“And now?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t really know.” He looks me up and down and shifts his arms off the shelf and crosses them over his chest. “Are you thinking of bringing her home?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “I promised myself I’d stop at six because I live with Moffy and now Luna and Sulli. It feels selfish to bring another animal in the house, but it feels heartless leaving her here.” Conflicted, I take a tighter breath and glance to the clock.
I’ve already been at the shelter much longer than I previously planned.
I was supposed to be home and working on reading Wildfire Heart two hours ago. I have zero experience narrating audiobooks, and so I have to research and do more vocal work before I even start recording. I’ve failed at so many things already, I don’t want to add this on to the list.
But it’s just so easy to toss aside my obligations for other things. My family. Cats.
I do love cats.
And I don’t regret the amount of time I spend at the shelters and cat sanctuaries, dedicating one day a week to the local ones. I also try to donate as much money as I can to the shelters in other cities.
People often ask if cats are my passion.
I love them.
But I don’t want to run my own shelter. It’s a managerial headache, and charity work has always been a hobby but not something I crave to devote every waking minute to.
Like right now.
Holding Pumpkin is shattering my heart to a million pieces. I couldn’t do this every day. Go to sleep with the faces of each and every animal in my head. Knowing they haven’t found their forever home yet.
“Jane,” Sasha, the owner, rounds the corner with a clipboard and beaming smile. “We’re closing up in twenty. If there’s anything else you need, just let us know. It was a great day today.”
It was.
Truly great.
Except for this little one…
Sasha walks away, her sneakers squeaking on the tile.
Thatcher bends down closer and pets the sleeping tabby’s tiny head, which seems even tinier against Thatcher’s large palm. “I can take her and keep her in security’s townhouse,” he tells me. Our eyes meet, my mouth falling.
What…he’d do that?
“Is that even possible?” I ask, surprised. “There aren’t rules against having animals in security?”
“Not specifically,” Thatcher says. “It’s not really recommended, but there’s no rule against it either.”
I shake my head. Even if there’s a part of him that might want her himself. I know it’s also for me. And I can’t let him do that.
The door jingles open. We both perk up. The only people allowed in the shelter have been potential adopters. Otherwise, the curb is home to cameramen and fans waiting for Thatcher and me to exit.
A girl with French braids and burgundy overalls enters. “Hi, I’m looking to adopt a cat.” I hear her say to the employee at the front. “Jane Cobalt, she…um had an Instagram video of her. Her name is Pumpkin.
Is she still here?”
Relief wells inside me. Thatcher touches my shoulder, and I smile while he nods like it worked out, Jane. It did.
“Ready to push out?” he asks me. Already knowing I’m beyond behind schedule. I’m about to reply but he suddenly frowns deeply. I’ve come to recognize that look. Someone is talking to him in his comms. And it’s not good news.
He touches his ear—his mic. Confirming this.
Something isn’t right.
32
JANE COBALT
There was a break-in.
At our townhouse. The security alarms were triggered, and thank God no one was home at the time. It’s the saving grace that I cling on to.
Police and our bodyguards have canvassed every inch of the townhouse.
Secure , they decreed.
Whoever broke in has fled. I’m not sure of the details yet. So many missing links unnerve me and unsettle my stomach.
How did they break in?
How many intruders were there?
Do we know the intruders or are they merely strangers?
How did they slip past security guards who watch the townhouse?
What did they even want?
At the moment, the police and our bodyguards are trying to answer those questions. They’re reviewing security cam footage in the living room while Moffy and I head upstairs to take inventory of anything that may’ve been stolen or destroyed.
So we can file a police report.
I carry old and wise Lady Macbeth up the creaking staircase, my black cat snuggled against my chest. “What happened here, my love?” I whisper.
She meows contently. Not so frightened or skittish—she rarely is. Yet Lady Macbeth saw who crept into the empty house.
Only my six cats were here, and I’ve triple-checked each one and hugged them to death. They’re all accounted for. None are hurt.
None escaped.
But an eerie feeling pricks my arms and the back of my neck. Just picturing an intruder touching my cats.
Imagining one or two or even three pairs of feet ascending these stairs without our permission. Entering our bedrooms. Hands skating over our belongings. Maybe with malicious intent.
Tangled Like Us Page 29
