Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Then they talk about demoing the powder bath. Making it bigger.
“HOA won’t allow it,” Charlie says. “I’ve already tried.”
“We own the apartment,” Tom complains. “They can’t just tell us no.”
“They can actually.”
“We could buy the apartment complex,” Eliot considers. “What do you say, let’s each chip in?”
“What do you think it’d go for?” Beckett asks Charlie, as if this is a plausible option.
Blood tries to drain out of my face. For once, I don’t like that we’re rich rich.
“With financing, a hundred mil, easily,” Charlie says.
“Twenty million apiece,” Eliot nods. “Cough it up, boys.”
“Fuck no,” Tom gapes.
“Brother.”
“Do you know what else I could buy with that? For what—a bathroom?”
I keep my mouth shut.
Beckett tells Charlie, “We could just buy a bigger condo in the same complex.”
“Bigger with a worse view.”
I rub at my face. Uprooting them is the last thing I wanted to happen.
Eliot motions to the floor. “Let’s have Luna and Xander go in on it. They’re living in the apartment complex too.” Our obscenely wealthy cousins are three levels below us on the 18th floor. Our moms are the Calloway sisters, and our Grandfather Calloway (may he rest in peace) was the one who created Fizzle, one of the most popular sodas in the world. It’s where the majority of our fortune comes from. Though, our families all have a shit ton of companies beyond the soda dynasty.
I rub my face harder at the mention of the Hales.
Luna Hale.
Xander Hale.
The two of them moved in during the summer. They’re also going to MVU this semester, and Xander will be a freshman. Luna is best friends with Tom and Eliot, so I always figured I’d see her here, but I’ve been hoping Xander and I don’t cross paths anywhere.
An arctic freeze exists every time we share the same air as we’ve gotten older. It’s like being naked in the Tundra and I can’t melt the snow.
“I’ll call Luna,” Tom says, about to pose the idea.
I’m on my feet. “No one needs to fork over twenty million.”
“Could be fourteen million,” Eliot points to Tom’s phone. “We just need two more takers.”
“I’ll use your bathroom,” I announce. “Like right now.” I show them that I am happy with this outcome. I even smile on my route there. “Thanks for sharing!”
“Always!” Eliot calls out. As he lowers his voice to our brothers, I just barely hear him say, “I think he’s going to be fine.”
My chest tightens, and I shut the door.
The spacious bathroom has a massive glass shower. Black tile, black grout, and a humongous rainfall showerhead with LED lighting. Eliot already told me to download the app so I can shower in any hue of choice. I imagine he chooses the hues of hell. Bathing in red.
None of their hair products or razors are out on the counter. The stone sink is squeaky clean, and I smell sandalwood from incense. My brothers keep a tidy bathroom. Definitely not tidier than Beckett, but this is a habit from having very put-together parents who didn’t always let housekeepers clean our shit for us.
They were probably afraid of raising spoiled, nepo brats, and in a life surrounded by private jets, yachts, magazine covers, unimaginable wealth—they had to humble us somewhere.
Eliot and Tom were also consistently grounded in their youth, and our mom preferred to dole out chores as punishment. They’d joke about being well-acquainted with the Scrub Daddy.
I take a seat on the toilet lid.
My leg jostles while I scroll through the forty new text messages I received in the last half hour from various people. My eyes slow on several.
Mom
Did your move go well, gremlin? If ANY of your brothers gave you grief, I will personally smite them with receding hairlines.
A warm smile inches up my face, and we text back and forth for a second.
Ben Cobalt
I’m not sure you have the power to cause hair loss.
Mom
I’m your mother. My powers are limitless.
Ben Cobalt
They can probably be put to better use than on me.
Mom
I disagree. The greatest force of my power will always be reserved for my children. And that includes you.
“I know,” I whisper to the phone. She’s so scared I don’t feel included since I’m the least “intellectual” of our very academic, creative-minded brood. I’m the athlete who dislikes Shakespeare and has never read Austen and don’t get me started on Faulkner. It’s migraine-inducing.
All the things the great and mighty Rose and Connor love, I just don’t click with.
But my parents have never treated me like I’m inadequate for not reaching the perfect Cobalt standard. They’ve valued our uniqueness and have even fostered it. I’ve never felt pressure to achieve more or be more than I am. At least not from them.
I scroll to another message.
Dad
While you’re in New York, would you want to see Frederick?
His life-long therapist? He hasn’t even let Charlie see Dr. Frederick Cothrell. From what I’ve gathered, our dad is afraid Charlie would mind-fuck Frederick into giving details about his own sessions. We’re all in therapy, by the way. To either vent or make sense of our strange place in this world or for unknown personal reasons that we don’t openly share. The latter, being me.