Thirty-One

CORA

“Whiskey neat for Valeria, club soda and lime for Essie, and a gin and tonic for Cora,” Dalton recites while distributing drinks across the small, circular table.

Everett’s last fundraising event is at his parents’ home in McLean, Virginia. The property is technically a weekend home since the governor and his wife stay in Richmond for most of the week, but calling it a weekend home is like calling the Ninth Circle of Hell “chilly.”

Most of us are here for moral support. Dalton Cavendish is here for the open bar.

“And the three vodka sodas?” Essie asks, eyebrow raised, glancing at the remaining beverages on Dalton’s tray.

He winks at her. “One for me, one for my daddy issues, and one for Lander.”

“Lander hates vodka,” Valeria mentions.

Dalton picks up one of the glasses. “Alright, two for my daddy issues then.” He finishes the entire drink in a gulp and winks. “Salud, ladies.”

Speak of the devil, Lander appears at our cocktail table. “I’m still working the room, so I can’t stay,” he explains. “Just wanted to tell you how beautiful you look.”

“You’ve told her seven times since we got here,” Dalton reminds him, watching as Lander kisses Valeria—with tongue. “In two languages.”

Lander separates from Valeria, whose eyes are still shut when he pulls back. Running his thumb along the line of her jaw, he says, “Well, now it’s eight,” before grinning. “Duty calls, but let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Lan,” she replies. “Love you.”

Before Lander leaves, he straightens the humongous engagement ring on Valeria’s finger, and I don’t miss the way his hand brushes over her stomach.

Calling it now: The moment she takes out her IUD, this guy is going to have her pregnant constantly .

Valeria watches Lander go, wearing this sheepish smile that hasn’t subsided over the eight months of their relationship. She faces us again and drops her shoulders. “Sorry. I know we’re annoying.”

“Don’t apologize. You guys are meant for each other,” Essie remarks. “But I have to ask: Does it get old?”

“Being in love?” Valeria replies.

“Being doted on,” Essie clarifies. “We all know you don’t need Lander to take care of you or buy you things. So, does it ever feel…weird?”

Valeria shakes her head. “It’s pretty natural, actually.”

“There’s a difference between a man taking care of you because you need him and a man taking care of you because you allow it,” Dalton chimes in while staring right at Essie. He takes a drink of one of his cocktails and doesn’t break eye contact. “There’s more to taking care of someone than money. Some needs aren’t…financial.”

Immediately, Essie’s cheeks run scarlet, and Dalton keeps staring at her with a slow smirk spreading across his face.

Across the cocktail table, Valeria looks at me and mouths, “ Oh my god ,” which is the only appropriate reaction when a six-foot five investment banker looks at your best friend and all but offers to take care of her—and let her use his legendarily large dick.

I’m about to grab Essie and tell her to scale Dalton like a sequoia when I see him.

Him .

For the first time in three years, I’m in the presence of a man who single-handedly changed the entire trajectory of my life. Beyond derailing my academic and professional career, he’s the genesis of so many trust issues I’ve had to resolve over the last three years—and he’s here .

I’ve seen him in countless articles, ads, and commercials shoved in my face like a virus, but the last place I ever expected to see him in the flesh was at a fundraiser for my secret boyfriend.

Felix J. Worthington has a magnetism about him, and it’s not because he’s tall and meticulously attired. It’s because he looks around and makes eye contact whenever he enters a room—a fleeting moment where he pretends to see people.

But Felix doesn’t actually see anyone but himself. Even when he holds my gaze for far longer than a moment, I know he doesn’t really see me.

“I have to go,” I murmur.

And when my friends look over their shoulders and see Felix, they don’t try to stop me. They know me well enough not to.

I leave the lounge, and sure enough, Felix appears in the paneled hallway, strolling with his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit pants. When he approaches me, his expression is altogether too smug.

“Well, look at you,” he comments, and his voice is still horrendously familiar.

He looks the same too. He’s such a handsome man, classically attractive in all the ways people pretend to resent: blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, a mathematically perfect jawline, and a breathtaking smile only sterling genetics and the best orthodontist on the Upper East Side could achieve.

The only reason I’m not dousing his blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and mathematically perfect jawline with gin and tonic is because I left my drink on the table.

Annoyingly unarmed, I resort to asking, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I feel like I should ask you the same,” Felix replies before tilting his head. “You look good, Flores. More holes than I remember, although not tonight, I see...” His eyes flick over my piercing-free face. “How interesting.”

“Are you following me?”

“In what world,” he replies, taking a step closer, “would I expect to see you at a mixer hosted by the Governor of Virginia?”

“Everett’s my friend,” I reply, lying—but if anyone deserves to be lied to, it’s this guy: a man who practically seeps manipulation through his pores.

“The infamous Everett Logan. I haven’t met him yet, but I’ve heard he’s charming. Supernaturally handsome up-close, apparently. What are your thoughts? Any comment?”

I glare. Based on how Felix posed those questions, I’d bet a tit he has a recording device on him right now.

Felix stares back at me just as hard and says, “You know what I miss about you, Cora?”

“How I used to make you come so hard that you’d cry and tell me you’ve always been the black sheep and wished your parents loved you like I did?”

Felix blinks and begins to stammer pathetically; he was never quick enough to keep up with me.

“You’re here for a scoop,” I fill in, sparing him.

Even though I’m right, he still finds his wits and says, “I wrote a bestseller. I’m not scrounging for scoops, love.”

The sound of a door opening makes Felix and me turn, and Everett appears in the hallway. His expression is expectant at first but fades when he sees me with Felix.

“Everett Logan,” Felix calls out, bobbing his chin and waving. “Or should I say, Representative Logan.”

“Primary isn’t over,” Everett remarks, holding out his hand. “Felix J. Worthington. I’ve heard so much about you.”

They shake hands. Both of them are well aware they’re not being cordial.

“Cora was just telling me what great friends you are,” Felix mentions.

“The best,” Everett replies, still holding eye contact until he looks over at me. Somehow, all it takes is a glance and he knows I want this fucker gone . He looks back at Felix and raises his eyebrow, now sporting an annoyed expression like Felix is a leaflet someone tucked into his windshield wipers. “Well, it was great to meet you, Felix. I would say I’d appreciate your vote, but you’re a New Yorker, right?”

“For now. I’m moving to DC soon.”

Everett dips his chin, pretending to care. “What brings you to the District?”

“I’m in an interview cycle for an anchor role at 24N.” He leans in, conspiratorial, and winks like a douchebag. “That’s a secret, by the way, but the two of you seem like you’re good at keeping secrets.” He straightens his spine and grins, making a show of adjusting his jacket. “Great to see you both.”

With an obnoxious salute, Felix saunters away, and Everett and I don’t move until he disappears back into the lounge.

Immediately, Everett leads me down the hallway to a dark, empty sitting room. “What was that? How do you know him?” he asks as soon as the door shuts.

“He’s an ex,” I respond grimly.

“Wait, actually ?” Surprised, Everett pulls back his head. “How many famous guys have you fucked?”

I contort my face. “Ew, did you just call yourself famous?”

“I have a Wikipedia page,” he replies, expression indignant (and truly adorable).

“Fine.” I sigh—twice. “Felix and I dated at Harvard, and it didn’t end well. It was a long time ago, but our beef has been simmering for so long that it’s practically falling off the bone.”

His nose wrinkles at once. “I’m still very much a vegan, princess.”

“Right—sorry. Well, now he’s probably here because he suspects there’s something going on between us and wants the details.”

Everett’s eyebrow rises. “Well, fuck that. I’ll make sure he stays away.”

I pause. “You’re not going to ask me about him? I was expecting more questions—dreading them, really.”

He shakes his head. “I can see how rattled you are, which is rare. That means whatever happened with Felix J. Worthington is big. We can talk another time.” He kisses me. “One secret isn’t going to ruin us.”

“I disagree,” someone chimes in from the other side of the room.

Startled, neither of us reacts until a small end table lamp flicks on, revealing Governor Logan seated in a plush armchair.

A tight, displeased glare etches into his statuesque face, and his eyes switch between Everett and me before they land on his son and stay there. “Secrets can be dangerous, don’t you think?”