Forty

CORA

Tonight, Everett Logan is making a strong case for winning the annual ‘I Don’t Give a Fuck’ award. He’s standing next to his father, hand wrapped around a glass of straight bourbon, and his face has never been stonier.

We’re at the Cunningham, a classic DC fixture a few blocks from the White House, in a private dining room. The attendees are Everett’s biggest campaign donors, and the vibe is…interesting.

“Everyone is staring at me,” I murmur to Essie while we sit at one of the long tables near the glass doors leading into the dining room, watching guests arrive.

“You’re not surprised by that, are you?” Essie replies, brow pinched.

“Bitch, I was making an observation,” I snap before nudging her. “What’s wrong with you?”

The exhale she releases is slower and more labored than a centenarian blowing out their birthday candles. “My dad’s coming back, and the boys are flipping out—half excited, half pissed off. I’m already over it.”

Essie’s father is a vagabond. After Essie’s mom passed away, he spent a lot of time finding himself. Apparently, whatever he was looking for was abroad, and his travels left Essie to raise her younger brothers with the help of her grandmother, who passed a couple years ago. Now, her father shows up every few months, looking for a relationship. He typically leaves carnage in his wake.

“Sorry, babe.” I work my arm around her waist and rest my head against her shoulder.

Her body relaxes and she tips her head to touch mine. “Between him, school, recruiting for banking jobs, and camming, I’m so stressed.”

“Sounds like a really good time to bang Dalton,” I reply, which makes Essie’s jaw drop.

Speak of the devil, Dalton, Lander, and Valeria all enter the room before Essie can respond.

Lander, stately but modelesque as usual, guides Valeria with a gentle hand on the small of her back. She brushes by Warren without looking at him and gives Everett a hug while the governor shoots the tiniest of glares at the back of her head.

Lander spots the glare like a sniper and gives the governor a handshake that makes the older man wince. “Mr. Logan,” he greets.

The governor clears his throat before yanking his hand back, flexing it. “It’s Governor Logan, Lander.”

“It’s really not,” Lander replies before drawing Valeria into his arms and moving on to greet Everett.

Dalton does better, saying, “Warren,” before slapping him on the back. This time, the governor nearly crumples forward but catches himself on Dalton’s arm. Dalton turns his head and glares at the governor’s hand before his eyes slowly drift to his face. Warren recoils immediately.

Smirking, Dalton moves on to Everett, greeting him with, “Ev, baby boy, you look handsome tonight,” and a bear hug.

I’m so captivated by the spectacle that I don’t notice Beverly until she lowers into the seat next to me.

“Cora, it’s good to see you.” She perches on the edge of her chair, prim and put together as usual.

“You too. How have you been?”

“Fine.” Her swallow is audible before she dips her head toward me and whispers, “I just wanted to say, I thought what happened on the Rutherson Report was horrendous, and I’m sorry you were dragged into it.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Beverly insists, glancing to the side before she leans closer. “I was the one who booked the interview…” She pauses, eyes closed, and exhales through her nostrils. “Cora, I respect you for always being civil in spite of difficult requests I’ve made. I know I—”

“I would never judge a woman for doing her job. It’s that simple for me.” Gently, I squeeze her knee. “We’re good.”

Beverly nods too many times. “I’ve learned that. Thank you, Cora.” And before she departs, she smiles.

***

Everett is a table over, seated next to his father, but hasn’t stopped staring at me all night. Every time I look up from my plate, he’s reclining in his chair, fingertip circling the rim of his empty bourbon glass, watching. “ I love you ,” he mouths, enunciating the shapes of the letters. He’s sporting the same hooded gaze from a few nights ago, when he sat in a chair by the end of my bed and watched me stream from mere feet away.

Carrying out our relationship in secret trysts was hot, but dating Everett out in the open is an entirely different beast. I’m damn near feral—and he’s just as bad. We reach for our phones at the same time.

Politics Boy

Meet in the bathroom in ten

Me

Grow a pair and make it five

Politics Boy

You win, princess. Five.

I leave first and head through the Cunningham’s oak paneled hallways, detouring through a central lounge separating the hallway from the main bar. The lounge is bustling on a Saturday night, packed with a mix of suits and locals like so many places in the District in the summer.

I certainly wasn’t expecting to see Felix in the crowd.

From a distance, he’s absurdly attractive, like a fever dream of wealth and poise that could make even the staunchest socialist see the merits of capitalism. His posture is so relaxed that the velvet stool he occupies should thank him. Still, he’s obviously positioned to see and be seen. He smiles when I enter, and I’m certain he was expecting me.

He waves.

“What are you doing here?” I demand when I’m by his high-top table.

“When did you block my number?” is his response. He clicks off the tablet in front of him before tilting back, arms folded.

“Literally three years ago.”

“Unblock me. Get me an interview with Logan. I want to be the first.”

I part my lips to object, but Felix holds up his hand.

“Hear me out,” he urges.

“Hear this: Leave me alone. Move on . I certainly have. And I hope the rest of your life is as great as you are.”

When I move to leave, Felix reaches out and catches my wrist. “A sitting congressman dating a sex worker is right up my alley, and you know it. Get me the story. I could do wonders with it.”

“It’s not that interesting.”

Felix moves closer to whisper, “It is when you throw in the part with a storied political family and a governor’s only son falling out with his father over it. It’s television, Cora. Tell Everett to return my calls.”

… Oh.

Now that I’ve heard it, the pieces fit. Of course. Of course . I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

But then a look of surprise on Felix’s face is the only warning I get before another hand grips my bicep and whirls me around, breaking Felix’s hold. I see a flash of Everett’s cocky smirk before his lips press against mine, drawing me into a kiss that ripples out to the pads of my toes. His firm hands fix on my waist, and his tongue slips into my mouth, making me part my lips. I rise, giving myself the height I need to deepen the kiss.

The gravity of the moment isn’t lost on me: Everett and I have never kissed in public before.

When we separate, our eyes meet, and I am so ridiculously proud to be with this guy—and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he feels the same way.

His smirk fades when he acknowledges Felix, who immediately extends his hand.

“Everett—or should I say, future congressman.”

Everett glances at Felix’s outstretched hand with obvious distaste before he looks back at his face. “I know what you did,” he states evenly. “I know you go to bed at night, smug motherfucker you are, and you think you’ve got it all.”

Felix frowns. “What—”

“Do I look like I’m finished speaking? No. So shut the fuck up.” Everett glares. “You should never—and I mean never —sleep too soundly, Felix. Because one of these days, I’m going to make you pay. You won’t know how or when, but I will. And when it happens, you’re going to regret everything you’ve done.” Pausing, Everett tucks my hair behind my ear. He faces Felix again. “But I promise you this: Whatever I do will be mild compared to what she does to you.”

The smile is long gone from Felix’s face. He finally draws his hand back.

Everett snickers. “About time. It was bold of you to leave your hand sticking out for so long. Because let me be clear: If you ever touch Cora again, I’ll personally remove any part of you that touched her and ensure it’s displayed in a glass case in a Smithsonian Museum. Understood?”

Felix’s handsome face has never looked less handsome or more befuddled.

Everett sighs, bored of this. “Stop wasting my time. Are you incompetent? Give me your card.”

“My what?”

“Your card,” Everett repeats, holding out his hand. “Your business card. Do you want an interview with me or not?”

Felix fumbles his billfold to take out a business card, and Everett doesn’t even look at it before tucking it into my dress.

“Listen,” Felix levels, “I know there’s bad blood here, but an interview with you is exactly the thing that could get me in at 24N.”

Everett’s face pinches, and I know he’s about to verbally annihilate Felix, but I stop him. We have far, far more important things to deal with right now.

“He’ll call you,” I say.

Felix looks surprised but satisfied. Reclining, he crosses his arms again. “Okay, thanks, Cora.”

“Don’t ever say her name,” Everett warns, stepping forward, but I take his hand.

“We’re going.” I tug on his arm. “Come on.”

Once we’re in the hallway, I lead the way back toward the dining room. “Your father is going to come looking for us soon.”

“Wait,” Everett protests, rushing to fall in step with me. “What was that? You know I’m not going to give Felix an interview.”

“You better not,” I reply. “The last thing I want is for you to sit down with an entitled piece of shit who has no sense of humor. Seriously. When he tells a joke, he looks like an alien who hasn’t fully acclimated to his host body.”

Everett snorts. “I love you.”

I stop and put my hands on his cheeks. I could spend eons shit talking Felix, but I have to hurry if I want to make this work. “Take me somewhere you can fuck me.”

No objections. None. Grinning, he leads me straight into a small, empty event room with bookshelves along one wall and a bar on the other. It’s a few doors down from the private dining room, and it’s exactly what I need.

I head directly to the bookshelves. “Hurry,” I urge, hiking up my skirt. “I need you inside me for this to work.”

“For what to work?”

“Fuck me,” I order before I turn around, prop my phone on the bookshelf in front of us, and press the red record button.

When Everett realizes I’m filming, his face brightens. “God, you’re the best,” he says before kissing me.

Within seconds, he notches my panties to the side, enters me from behind, and takes me fast—borderline frantic. When I come, he presses the heel of his palm against my mouth, silencing me, and I bite so hard that I taste his blood.

He follows immediately after, and the heat of his cum makes my already sensitive pussy tingle. He groans, digging into my flesh and gripping my hips over the thin straps of my thong, and bites the back of my neck. “So good,” he whispers, blowing warm air over my tender skin. “I can’t believe how well you can take a dick. A generational talent, princess.”

And moments later, when I’m starting to catch my breath, Everett is still inside me—and the door behind us creaks open.

Most people would be mortified to have their father walk in on them balls-deep in their girlfriend, but most people care about what their father thinks.

Everett is no longer one of those people.

And because he’s no longer one of those people, he takes his sweet time pulling out of me, careful to put my panties back so the cum he pumped in me stays in place.

Likewise, I’m not one of those people who gets mortified, so I shamelessly take the five hundred dollars Everett procures from his wallet and tuck the bills into the top of my dress while watching the stony expression on Governor Logan’s face grow impossibly stonier.

Perfect.

And before I leave, I rise on my toes, kiss Everett’s cheek, and whisper five words I hope will set the tone for this long-overdue confrontation between father and son:

“He leaked the blackmail story.”