Maximoff’s brows knit. “What offer?”
I cross my arms loosely. “Jack wants me on the show. So fucking badly.” I emphasize those words. “How long have you been asking me?”
“Three years.” He bites into the blueberry muffin. “The more you keep turning me down, I’m going to start believing it’s personal.”
“Wait.” Maximoff stands. He hates sitting when other people are standing, I swear. “You want Farrow, this Farrow”—he points at me—“on the show?”
I give Maximoff a once-over. “How many Farrows do you know?”
Maximoff shoots me a middle finger.
Jack is used to exchanges like these, not fazed. “I’ve always wanted to showcase a bodyguard on We Are Calloway. Farrow has a good look, there’s a gif of you two…” Using one hand he scrolls on his phone and flashes me the gif first.
We’ve seen that one.
A Tumblr user made a gif from the footage when the court suspended Moffy’s license. In the gif: Maximoff and I push through the courthouse doors, exiting with sunglasses, side-by-side, cameras flashing repeatedly.
We look hot together.
“And Farrow is good looking enough to be a model,” Jack tells my boyfriend.
I raise my brows in a self-satisfied wave at Maximoff. He tries not to stare at me again. He almost has fuck me eyes.
By the way, Jack is straight. And I’d agree, I’m a 10 out of 10, but coming from Jack…
“That loses its meaning when I’ve heard you use the same compliment for forty-two different people,” I say, being precise on the number because I have a great memory. So I can be precise and accurate.
See, Jack has a way of making people feel good. It’s his job to ensure everyone in the room is comfortable. Then they can share information with him.
Even now, his eyes soften on me. “You’re a gorgeous guy. Better?”
“We’re getting slightly more original. But not by much,” I say and return to my beanbag beside Quinn.
In a matter of seconds, we’re all seated around the low table again.
Maximoff refills his tea and says to Jack, “It still doesn’t make sense. If you put Farrow in the show, he’d become famous. He wouldn’t be able to be my bodyguard.”
“Exactly.” I pick up my croissant sandwich. “Jack wants me in the show acting like a bodyguard. What he hasn’t grasped yet is that I like my job as a real bodyguard.”
Maximoff makes a concentrated effort not to look at me and draw attention. But he knows the fuller truth: I love my job because I’m around him.
Jack opens his notepad, slouched coolly on a yellow beanbag. “All I’m saying is one day you may want a change.” He flips a page. “Before Sullivan arrives, we can start with the two of you.” Pen between his fingers, he motions to Maximoff and Jane. “Next season is about big topics. Is there anything specific you want to talk about?”
29
MAXIMOFF HALE
IS THERE ANYTHING specific you want to talk about?
Jack always pitches this question first. My mind reels through various issues I could possibly discuss. Everything circumnavigates to one.
One topic, one plight, one goddamn annoyance.
“Yeah.” I set my cup on the table. “I want to talk about my uncle.”
The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing in Avengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.
Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which uncle?”
“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’ to mine. I don’t even say fuck as often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.
I sense Farrow and his at ease nature, and you know the weirdest thing? It calms me. Makes me feel like I have someone prepared to jump on my side. Right now. This moment. Any moment.
He’s with me.
My bound shoulders unwind.
Jack isn’t the type of person to just say no. He tries to hear people out, but he reminds me, “You talked about this last season, Moffy.”
“It’s been worse this year.”
“But it’s not going to change with this show,” Jack says. “You’ve discussed the topic at length three times. We’ve reached the max. One more time, and the public will believe you’re overcompensating for something. As a producer, I’d tell you to just go ahead and talk about it. It’ll bring us ratings. But as your friend, I’m telling you not to bring it up.”
Goddammit. “What about if I talk about my dad?”
“It depends.” Jack twists off a cap to Ziff, a sports drink. “If you’re going to just tell the audience how great of a father he is—no.”
I rub my aching shoulder. I need to stretch. “Just tell me what I should be talking about then.”
“Sex,” Jack says. “It’s what people want to know most about you, especially with those photos.” The bite marks. “Who are you seeing? What kind of pressures do you deal with being the son of a sex addict? Are you more careful? Do you have insecurities?” He lists the questions rapidly.
I’ve heard them all before. Jack broaches the topic of sex almost every production meeting.
“Are you ready to talk about this stuff?” he asks.
“No,” I say firmly. “Not this season. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”
“This is a no apology zone, remember? Whatever content you want to share, good. Whatever you don’t, that’s good too. It’s all up to you.” Jack already jumps to a new topic. “What about your relationship with Luna? She’ll be eighteen and be on her own for the first time. It’d be a great arc.”
Out of my siblings, Luna is the only one who’s on We Are Calloway with me. We’ve bonded a bit while filming together, and I already know she’d love a whole arc about our relationship.
So I agree.
“Jane?” Jack asks. “Any personal topics?”
Janie and I already scooted closer to one another. I stare down at my best friend who wears a cheetah-print sweater, pale yellow pants, and sequined high heels. Whatever she’s about to say, she hasn’t brought up with me yet.
“I’d like to discuss my weight,” she says assuredly.
Our bodyguards have no idea how to react to these issues if it doesn’t involve security. Even Farrow, I think. They just keep eating and drinking. Doing their best not to appear concerned. It’s not their job to be emotionally invested in us.
But a lot of them care, I’ve fucking realized.
Obviously.
One is my boyfriend. Don’t look at him. I’m trying. Christ, I’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes.
“More specifically?” Jack asks my best friend while jotting notes. He bites into his muffin.
I wrap my arm around Janie when she says, “That I love my body the way it is. I have tiny boobs, no ass, love-handles and a bigger belly. How chubby isn’t a nasty word. And their hatred won’t change me.”
Farrow and Quinn start clapping in genuine appreciation.
Can we do takebacks?
Our bodyguards actually do know how to react. They’re our friends.
I know. I know.
I squeeze Jane around the shoulders and kiss her freckled cheek. “Je t'aime, ma moitié.” I love you, my other half.