Extra Bonus #67: Guys Lunch at Cobalt Inc. (Farrow) - Part 1 (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

READING ORDER: This is a multi-POV bonus scene, and we highly suggest reading them in this order:

1. Thatcher's POV

2. Farrow's POV: Part One 

3. Farrow's POV: Part Two

MUSIC: We listened to "Hand out the Drugs" by Kite (for the beat mostly, not the lyrics) while writing this bonus scene.

I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE. Not without Maximoff, and it’s difficult to not make that abundantly clear. It’s likely all over my face, and I’m positive it’d take less observant people to notice. But I’m sitting across from Connor Cobalt. This guy could get a memoir out of a blank wall.

“How’s married life?” he asks me.

Being honest here, I wish he would just focus on Thatcher and leave me the fuck alone. I’m in a shit mood, and I’m not even loving my own company.

“New and good.” I hear the tension in my voice. I hate that.

He cocks his head, seeing through me. It’s not like I’m hiding anything. “Are you bothered that I asked you to keep something from Maximoff?”

I don’t love keeping anything from my husband. But this isn’t what’s bothering me. Because I’ll likely end up telling him in time.

“No, that’s not bothering me,” I say truthfully, and I try to sit more upright. I just want this to be about anyone but me, so I throw out the unspeakable topic. “Why would you and Garrison even be concerned about Vada and Ben or Eliot?” I chew my gum slowly. “I haven’t heard anyone bring them up before now.”

Oscar would be so proud of me in this moment. If that fucker were here, he wouldn’t be able to hide his elated grin.

I try not to smile or roll my eyes thinking about my friend.

Thatcher’s eyes flash hard to me. He’s beside me and tensing. He knows I’m kicking open Pandora’s Box with little care.

Connor takes a calculated second to answer. I can’t exactly read his expression. His face stays methodical, calm. As if I didn’t just toy with a live wire. “After the Jane and Maximoff rumors two years ago, Garrison came to me and asked if I thought one of my sons could have feelings for his daughter. That, to me and him, seemed more plausible since our kids aren’t related—and at the very least, we were now more concerned about the media picking up a story, considering they were willing to run one about my daughter and my nephew, who are actual cousins.”

I’m surprised by how frank he’s being.

He holds my gaze. “When you reiterate this to Maximoff, be sure to remind him he’s not to blame.”

My brows rise, more surprised he understands that I’m not likely to keep this from Maximoff. I don’t bullshit him and say I’m not going to spill anything to my husband. Clearly, Connor knows I will at some point.

Connor continues, “The incest rumor wasn’t his fault, and to know that the press had been willing to go there was…informative. It made it clear that they’d run any false story about our children, especially once they’re legal adults.”

Thatcher shakes his head with heat.

I have a son.

The thought of the press blasting a fake life-altering rumor about him makes me volatile. Maximoff—he already went through that and had people questioning his parentage because of tabloid rumors. I chew my gum stale for a second.

Thatcher speaks now. “Tabloids haven’t already tried to run a story about Vada?”

“They have tried,” Connor confirms. “With Eliot.”

Shit.

He must’ve squashed it. Threw lawsuits at the tabloid. Or paid them off.

For Vada and Eliot’s sake, I’m really glad Connor Cobalt is on top of that. I wish he could’ve done that for Jane and Maximoff, too. I wish someone could’ve preempted that shit storm, but I understand that I’m partly to blame there. A lot of the “evidence” that Maximoff was with someone his parents wouldn’t approve of—that was me.

I was that person.

But I don’t carry that kind of baggage around. It’s been two years, and I’ve let it go a long time ago.

Thatcher is glaring at the wall. “They’re just teenagers. A story like that would fuck with their lives—to put it bluntly.” 

Don’t know how many times he’s cursed in front of Connor. Don’t really care to ask either.

“Eliot would be fine,” Connor assures. “Ben is another matter. And Vada. But as I said, it’s not worth concern anymore. It’s been baseless, and the media has nothing to produce a well-articulated story.” He checks his watch. “Lo is late.” His brows crinkle. Worried, maybe. “I should’ve sent my driver to get him.”

“The limo?” I question.

I’m shocked no one can hear the squeak of Thatcher’s unoiled neck slowly, slowly turning towards me. His hardened gaze is slamming into me.

See, if he wanted this to be subtle and secretive, maybe he shouldn’t look at me like I just blurted out a line from his diary.

“Yes, the limo,” Connor says, eyeing me, then eyeing Thatcher with intensity wrapped around intrigue. It’s a look that reminds me of Jane, and it’s obvious where she gets it. “What are you not saying?”

“There’s nothing to say,” Thatcher says, his hands clasped while his forearms lie on his thighs.

We’re not on trial.

This isn’t a business meeting.

It’s a lunch with in-laws. Technically, Thatcher’s future in-law, but it’s semantics at this point. He’s been to the Cobalt Empire’s Wednesday Night Dinners. Those invites are basically by blood or marriage.

I have a feeling Thatcher would rather wade through an uncomfortable paranoia with Jane than risk admitting to Connor that they fucked in his limo. Shit, I would love to rip this Band-Aid off because it’s honestly painful to watch at this point—but it’s not my place. If he wants to take the secret to the grave, then so be it.

I also want answers, and I’m trying to figure out how to do that without throwing Thatcher under. I sit forward on the couch. “Is there something you want to tell us?” I ask Connor outright. “Like why Maximoff wasn’t invited today?”

Connor arches a brow. “This is what has you bothered.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s always here.”

“Lo didn’t want him here.”

“Because…?”

Connor rests his ankle on his knee, relaxed. “That’s for him to tell you.”

Confirmed. This isn’t about Thatcher and Jane or the limo situation at all. Unless Connor is playing some type of Cobalt 5D chess—wouldn’t put that past him—then he doesn’t know shit about his daughter having sex in the backseat of his limo.

This is about me.

It’s something to do with me, at least, and it bugs me more.

I stand up, and I go spit my stale gum into a trash bin near his desk.

“It’s nothing you should be worried about,” Connor says, trying to ease me like I’m a raging hothead. I hear it in his leveled voice.

“You don’t need to do that with me, man,” I tell him, barely turning my head to meet his impassive gaze. Mine is hotter, more agitated, and I’m just trying to cool off the best I can.

“Do what?”

I lift my brows. “Placate me.” I can smell it a mile away, and it’s going to wind me up more. This is when I would walk out of a fucking bar, restaurant, office building, and go find my person. My person is at Superheroes & Scones with our son and his siblings, last he texted and last I heard on comms.

And I’m just thankful I have Maximoff.

I comb a hand through my hair and let out a long breath. “Lo couldn’t bring this up yesterday?”

We were all at Lily’s surprise birthday party.

“It wasn’t the right time,” Connor says vaguely.

Everyone is still vague as fuck. He’s right that I just need to wait for Lo to clarify, and so I nod and check my phone for any texts from my husband. None. What I’d give for a grammatical mess of a text from him right now.

Hit me up, wolf scout.

I reread his past text, and it almost makes me smile.

Shit, I love the fuck out of Maximoff Hale. Just being away from him is like ripping out a chunk of my paradise.

I wouldn’t consider myself a needy bastard. I’m independent, and I could do without a lot of people, but there are times where I really need to be around him.

Before Thatcher and Connor dive deep into any wedding details, the door finally opens. Lo strolls in with plastic food containers, his hair looking disheveled from Philly winds. His black Punisher tee has a giant skull on the front. And he’s not alone.

Ryke closes the door behind them, carrying brown paper bags from a burger joint in Center City.

“The beauty and the beast,” Connor quips.

Ryke shifts the bags against his chest to free a hand. Just to flip off his friend.

“Next time, we let your assistant pick up the food,” Lo says, setting down plastic containers of leftover birthday cake on the coffee table. He lifts his sunglasses to his head. “I was next-level groped outside the restaurant by a woman named Bamela or Danala. I couldn’t hear over the shouting.”

Ryke looks pissed.

Thatcher frowns. “Where was Bruno?” He’s Lo’s 24/7 bodyguard.

“Shoving back the dozen other people—most were fine. Some Halway Comics fans. I signed merch.” Lo flashes a smile over at Connor. “Sorry I’m late, love. Fame. You know how it is.” His dry tone is clear. “Free pass to third-base—”

“That’s not fucking okay,” Ryke interjects. I help him with the paper bags and unload the boxes of burgers and fries with him.

“She barely cupped the goods, bro,” Lo says more seriously this time. “I’m intact. You don’t need to avenge me.”

Ryke rolls his eyes. “The more we let people get away with that, the more likely they’re going to do it to our fucking kids when they’re older.”

They already do.

“Your kids are already older,” I mention.

“Some of them,” Connor corrects me.

I raise my brows. “Then some.”

Thatcher is quiet, but he stands up to pull over another chair to the couch and coffee table.

I’m not going to paint a picture of the amount of hands I’ve had to pry off Maximoff. They don’t see this that often because it mostly happens when they’re not around. The Calloway sisters and their men—what they’ve been dubbed in the media way-back-when—are the brightest spotlights. When they’re out in public, people flock to them and leave their kids alone.

Lo lets out a long sigh. “Hi, Farrow, how are you? Hopefully better than my brother here.” He pats his shoulder.

I’m not getting in the middle of that.

Ryke’s eyes darken. “My girls aren’t desensitized to handsy fucking people, Lo.”

“And you think mine are?” Lo counters with a sharp glare.

Connor rises. “We’ve gone severely off topic.” He basically glides between them. Lo cools off when Connor intervenes.

Ryke is still fuming. “I don’t like knowing that your bodyguard got overwhelmed while I was in the fucking restaurant.”

“Oh, so this is about you,” Lo realizes. “You’re upset that you weren’t out there and you couldn’t protect me. Is that it?” His jaw sharpens. “I’m fifty-years old. I can protect myself, Ryke. It’s not on you to do that for me.”

Ryke nearly softens. “You’re forty-eight.”

Lo begins to smile. “Christ, I’m old.” He has a watery look in his eye. Like he never thought he’d be here.

Ryke intakes a breath, and he nods to his brother, letting go of whatever disagreement they had today.

After taking a boxed burger, carton of fries, and a water, I return to the couch where Thatcher and Ryke join me. Lo sinks into the chair beside Connor. We all begin to eat lunch, and Thatcher assures them that the security team is trained for “handsy” situations.

I understand that as more of their kids become adults, they’re more concerned about things that are out of their control. Security, paired with their kid’s safety, is one of them.

Hell, I’m hanging onto the fact that I get to control who protects my baby, and I’m not looking ahead to the moment where Ripley is grown and that’s on him to decide. I’m staying in the present.

I’m also hoping to stay far out of this conversation. For one, I’m still not in a great mood, and I’d rather not piss on everyone’s afternoon more than I already have. For another, I don’t have much to contribute.

“Do you think you would’ve done differently in Italy?” Connor asks Thatcher. “If you’d been Audrey’s bodyguard?”

The girl squad snuck out in Anacapri before my wedding. It wasn’t that long ago, really, so I’m not shocked this is being brought up now.

“I can’t say,” Thatcher answers diplomatically.

The office goes silent.

Ryke washes down a bite of burger with a swig of Ziff. “Price assured us it wasn’t anything their bodyguards did wrong, and I’ve known Greer for fucking ever. He’s a good guy.”

“You’re referring to ‘good’ as a moral attribute,” Connor says smoothly. “Not aptitude.”

I pop a fry in my mouth.

Lo makes a face. “Is there a difference to you?”

“Cobalt is saying he’d rather have an immoral bastard protect our kids, as long as they get the job done,” Ryke tells his brother.

“The inverse is that the job isn’t complete, which implies our kids are either put in harm’s way or harmed, and if I had a choice, I would choose the immoral bastard over an incompetent, moral one.”

I shouldn’t be silently agreeing with a Cobalt, but here we are.

Lo looks to me.

Please don’t ask me what I think.

“Farrow,” Lo says. “What do you think about Cruz Jr., Greer, and Sinclair?” He’s named the 24/7 bodyguards to Kinney, Winona, and Audrey.

I can feel Thatcher reminding me not to shit-talk Price’s guys. Akara’s Kitsuwon Securities might be “competing” with Price’s Triple Shield—and we might have a big leg up after they made a mistake in Italy—but we still work alongside them.

“I don’t think about them, to be honest,” I tell my father-in-law.

Lo frowns. “You don’t know them?”

“Not personally.” I set down my half-eaten burger and wipe my fingers on a napkin. “They’re co-workers.”

Lo digests this, then nods. “What if we put out a poll among all the bodyguards, Triple Shield and Kitsuwon Securities, they vote anonymously for the person they believe shouldn’t be on the team anymore? We’ve weeded out the weak.” Lo raises his burger. “Write it up, Connor. We’ve got a plan.”

I suck in a breath with a wince. “Yeah, that’s not going to go how you think, Lo. In a popularity contest, you’re not really voting out the weak, and I’m not exactly well-liked among Alpha and Epsilon.”

“They wouldn’t vote you out,” Thatcher says, sounding assured. “They know you’re an asset.” He’s reminded me of that before, back when SFA sent me a box of cigars and a card on my wedding day.

“Wait, hold up.” Lo raises a hand. “You’re not well-liked?” He points his burger at me.

I shake my head, not wanting to dig into my history with the security team. And I can see why Lo would be confused. When I was solely on the med team, Lo is the one who made it happen to where I could also join security, and if the security team didn’t want me back, I wouldn’t have both right now.

Thatcher is smiling—likely because I’m going to have to advertise my “maverick” behavior on-duty, and I’m sure this is entertaining as fuck to the Hall Monitor.

“I don’t always follow the rules, and I’m not always punished for it.”

“Jealousy?” Connor wonders.

“Envy,” Thatcher corrects. “Most men want to be like him.”

I roll my eyes halfway around the office. “That’s a hot take that I’m not subscribing to.” I stand up to go grab another wad of napkins we left on Connor’s desk.

Connor watches me. “What do you think then?”

“They just hate I get away with shit that they can’t get away with. It’s not that complicated.”

“But you get away with it because…?”

I’m the best at what I do.

“I’m charming,” I quip with the widening of my eyes.

“He’s an asset,” Thatcher tells Connor.

“He’s competent,” Connor says.

I sink back onto the couch. I’m starting to wish Oscar or Donnelly were here to rib me.

Donnelly would say something like, “Nah, he’s not all that. I’ve seen him unroll a burrito and eat out the insides.”

“Legitimately a monster,” Oscar would chime in.

Or Maximoff—he’d screw up his face and say, “I could do exactly what he does. It’s not that hard.”

I smile softly down at my tattooed hands, and I stare at the ring on my finger for a beat.

“Forget the poll,” Lo interjects. “Why don’t the two of you just tell us which bodyguards you think are incompetent?”

I look up at Lo. “That’s Akara’s job. But I can vouch for all of Omega.”

“But not anyone on Triple Shield?” Lo wonders.

“Price has been with us for how long?” Ryke says to Lo. He’s defending the bodyguard who’s protected his wife since her twenties and built the entire security team. Ryke gestures a hand to Lo. “He's also been a mentor to Akara.”

Thatcher sets down his burger. “I’m not sure I would classify their relationship as that.”

Ryke furrows his brows. “Akara…he’s like a fucking son to me, and Price knows that. He said when they split firms, it’d benefit everyone.”

Price just wanted to get rid of the “liabilities”—the younger bodyguards he believed were out of line. I haven’t heard anything about Price lending a hand to Akara since then, but I’m also not involved in the business aspect of security like Thatcher is.

Thatcher and I have the chance to explain this to Ryke, but both of us stay quiet. See, Ryke’s feelings about Price go back decades, fortified through trauma that I’m sure Price has protected Daisy from, and he’s going to trust whatever Price tells him.

Thankfully, Lo interjects, “I’m not asking about Price, bro. I’m asking about Price’s bodyguards. Maybe he’s biased towards them.”

“They’re all biased,” Connor says more calmly. “You won’t find an impartial answer.”

“That’s true,” Thatcher states. “To all of Triple Shield, Farrow and I aren’t upstanding bodyguards worthy of choosing bad from good. We’re the ones who crossed a line of ethics that shouldn’t be crossed, and they’d likely vote me out, if they could.”

I want to tell Thatcher no like he told me, but I can’t foresee what Alpha and Epsilon would do. It’s a hypothetical situation anyway. I do know that all of Epsilon were livid at Thatcher when he started dating Jane, and if they could’ve voted him off the security team then, they would’ve.

Lo crumples his burger wrapper. “I just want to know Kinney is protected.” He stares at me, like I can assure him without a shadow of a doubt that Sinclair is the perfect guy for the job.

I can’t.

I can’t even choose someone to protect my own son outside of myself. And the only reason he's prying is because he now has an "in" inside security. 

Me. 

Thatcher. 

We're not just bodyguards anymore. Shit, we're not here as bodyguards, but neither of us are going to rat out the team and air personal grievances. It'd cause way too many problems. 

“He’s beyond qualified,” Thatcher reminds him. “He served in the Navy, and he’s the Epsilon lead.”

“Farrow?” Lo asks.

“He’d do anything to protect Kinney, I believe that.” I nod a couple times. It’s the honest truth. “I believe the men who’ve been around for a year or more are good at what they do in some form. If they weren’t, they would’ve been sacked early on.”

Ryke turns to his brother. “We keep their fucking bodyguards the same. The girls are getting older, and unless they have a problem with them, we shouldn’t add too much change in their lives.”

“I agree,” Connor says.

Ryke almost rocks back. “You agree with me?”

“Surprising only to you.”

He ignores that comment and takes a massive bite of burger. Lettuce falls out of the bun and onto Connor’s carpet.

Lo licks ketchup off his thumb. “Before we change topics, I have another security question.”

This has to be it.

Why he didn’t want Maximoff here.

“What’s the over-under on another bodyguard-dating-one-of-our-kids situation?” He stabs a daggered look at me, at Thatcher, like he’s threatening us to not follow with deceit.

“I don’t know,” Thatcher says vaguely and busies himself with eating the rest of his burger. I can’t read him at all.

I frown, just genuinely confused now. “Why are you asking? Are you worried about someone…?”

He goes from all bark to looking like a wounded puppy. “I don’t know.”

“Well, this is productive,” Connor says.

I lean back against the couch.

After the adoption at the lake house, I’ve warned Lo not to say a bad thing about Donnelly in front of me, so I’m wondering if he was about to say something he’d regret and he caught himself. It’s the only thing that makes sense in my head.

“It better not fucking happen again,” Ryke mumbles through a mouthful.

Thatcher moves more slowly, but if I could crack a guess at who actually notices outside of me, I’d say Connor. Only Connor.

Lo slurps his fountain soda. “It’d be a bodyguard epidemic.”

I laugh.

He smiles back at me.

“That was pretty good,” I mention.

“I have more.”

I tilt my head. “I don’t doubt it.”

The only people I believe might end up together are Akara and Sulli, but I’m not sharing that, especially when Akara hasn’t even said he likes Sulli beyond a friendship.

I nod to Lo. “So that’s why you didn’t want Maximoff here?”

He tenses. “No.” He glances around at Connor’s office, then turns back to me, eyeing my hair. “Back to blond?”

My hair had been dyed black since my wedding. “Bleached it late last night.”

“Bleach?” Lo scrunches his face. “How has your hair not fallen out?”

“It’s on its last leg.” I run my clean fingers through the strands, my hair feeling coarser from this last dye. “I’m going to have to go shorter at some point and let it grow back.” I smile at a thought. “Maximoff will hate that.”

Buzzing it would be worth his reaction alone.

“Any updates on surrogacy?” Lo wonders, and I can feel him skirting around the topic he planned to surface.

“No, we’re concentrating on Ripley for right now.”

Thatcher chimes in, “They’re revisiting having more kids when our wedding is over.” He’s involved since Jane is going to donate her eggs. I’ll never stop being grateful for her.

“When’s the magazine shoot?” Lo asks now, eating a fry.

“Next week.” I’m going to be on the cover of Out Loud magazine, and I can admit that it took me a while to agree to it. But I feel better than okay with the decision. “How’s Samantha taking the disinvite to the wedding?” I’ve been wondering about this, since she made Lily’s life hell until she was invited to ours, and then Lily kicked her out at the reception.

Thatcher and Jane planned to not invite her at all, but as far as I know, they were leaving that for Connor to handle.

“Yeah, how is Samantha taking it?” Lo puts a seething emphasis on her name and cocks his head to Connor.

“She’s fine.”

“Fine,” Lo says with bite.

I’m confused. “How is she okay with missing Jane’s wedding? That’s basically her favorite grandchild.”

Lo gestures again to Connor, as though he has all the irritating answers.

“Samantha is otherwise engaged on November 1st.” Connor looks to Thatcher. “She hasn’t formally told you or Jane yet, but she’s sorry she can’t make it.”

Fucking hell. “Engaged with what?” My stomach tosses in a strange pattern, and I glance down at my half-eaten burger. I’m not eating the rest of that.

“You planned something on that date?” Thatcher questions. “For her to attend?”

Cobalts.

“Rose and I thought about it, but she wouldn’t miss Jane’s wedding for just anything. We weren’t entirely certain she’d even attend an award ceremony if she were the sole honoree.”

“She’s vain,” I say, a little defensively because I’m processing the fact that Maximoff’s narrow-minded grandmother has fought harder to be at his wedding and Jane’s wedding than my father fought to be at mine.

I don’t care.

These caustic feelings are rising, and I hate them—I thought I was over them. And my stomach is in a brutal fucking knot right now.

“She is vain,” Connor agrees, “but in her circle, it would look badly to accept an award on behalf of herself over attending her granddaughter’s wedding. A wedding, I might add, that all of her friends want invites to.”

“Living friends,” Lo cuts in, and right now, I appreciate the petty comment about her age.

Connor looks sympathetic at his friend.

Lo keeps shaking his head. “I’m glad it was so easy for you and Rose to get the wicked witch not to come without a fight, I am, but I also hate it because it was hard for us. For Lily. For me. And why does everything have to be such a goddamn uphill battle?”

Ryke reaches out and puts a hand on his brother’s knee.

“You were the guinea pig, and I’m sorry for that,” Connor says, genuine emotion on his face, or as genuine as I believe he is. And I believe he honestly wishes he could’ve figured out this tactic for Lo and Lily, but they failed so he could succeed.

I understand why anyone would feel protective over the Hales. Why Ryke came in here feeling protective of his brother.

But I don’t just feel protective of them. I don’t just feel like I’m waving little “Team Hale” flags.

I am a Hale now, and the family Maximoff and I are growing with our son is what I live for.

Lo shakes his head again. “No, Connor.” His nose flares. “I wasn’t the guinea pig. My son was.” He clenches his jaw, his eyes reddening. He pushes out of his chair, then sits back down and swallows hard. His gaze flashes to me. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like he’s apologizing for more than his emotion.

Like he’s apologizing for Samantha.

For not being able to do for Maximoff and me what Connor did for Jane and Thatcher.

“You don’t need to be,” I tell him.

He pinches his eyes for a second, then leans back in the chair.

“You’re a good father, Lo,” I remind him.

I can’t help but visualize my own father, and my stomach hasn’t untightened. Nausea builds slowly. I wad a napkin in my fist, trying not to focus on the roiling.

Thatcher pipes in, “Where is Samantha going to be on November 1st?”

Connor unscrews a water bottle. “Greg has scheduled his double-knee surgery for November 1st. He told Samantha that he can’t change the date, and considering his age and since he’ll be under anesthesia, this surgery is high-risk. She’s a lot of things, but she’s been nothing but loyal to her husband, so she’ll be at the hospital.”

I didn’t hear about the surgery. “My old man booked the surgery, or my uncle?”

Greg would’ve gone through his concierge doctor to handle appointments with surgeons, and I’m a part of the med team along with my dad and uncle—but no one told me about this, likely because I don’t really handle Greg’s medical care.

“Your father,” Connor says. “Greg needed the surgery in the next six months or so, and he decided to have it earlier for Jane. His gift to her. He knows how Samantha can be.”

Wow.

I rake a hand against the back of my head. And I just think, I’m so glad Maximoff isn’t here right now. It’s the first time it’s crossed my mind, but I don’t want him to hear how his grandparents couldn’t give a flying shit about him. How Greg couldn’t award his grandson even a quarter of what he’s given Jane—not even an apology for what his wife has said to Maximoff.

And I feel terrible for Lily.

I genuinely hope her father at least apologized to her and conveyed some type of regret for not being able to do more and defend his daughter.

The office has deadened, and all four men are staring at me. 

I’m visibly pissed and a lot of other things, and I can’t hide it.

Lo clears his throat. “This is actually what I wanted to talk to you about…without Moffy here.”

“Samantha?”

“No. Your dad.”

Thank you so, so much for reading this one. It's been so much fun to dive deeper into events through Farrow's POV, and the lunch still isn't over. Tomorrow, you'll be able to read Part 2 where Lo brings up "the conversation" he's been skirting around about Dr. Edward Keene. Plus, we can say that Marrow lovers will also likely enjoy the next bit 😉 

This concludes the content for November! Thank you all for being here with us this month. We're so grateful for your support here 🥹🫶 *sprinkles fairy dust* 

xoxo Krista & Becca

“Guys Lunch at Cobalt Inc. (Farrow) - Part 1," Copyright © 2022 by K.B. Ritchie