Chapter 21 #2
We’re both cheesing hard as I list the cons of exposing Zeek prematurely.
More headlines, more scandal, more chaos in this already messy city.
Even though I stress that the timing has to be right, she fires back, ticking off some really convincing pros: protecting other Luxe Ladies, uncovering what Sherry went through to shut down any negativity about her.
And making the collection practically priceless certainly wouldn’t hurt.
“I’ve got everything ready to send to my contact at the Ellswood Times. I just haven’t hit send yet.” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her rebuttal.
“Well… I think Monday is as good a time as any.”
“Do you, now?” I chuckle, holding her gaze before I dip her.
She snaps upright, giggling, but my heart is pounding, my pulse racing.
Just past one of the server’s shoulders, I spot Cord across the room. He’s talking to Whitney’s assistant, and they’re both staring at us. The choice to avoid Cord wasn’t just about Sherry’s drive. I haven’t shared updates about Whitney, and I’m not about to. Not before I tell her first.
“Hey, I’m going to run and try to catch that server.” I smile at her. “Grab us some champagne.”
“Good idea.”
With a quick kiss on her cheek, I step away in the nick of time.
It’s not Cord who stops me, though.
“Hey there, it’s nice to finally meet you in person, Warner. I’ve heard so many great things about you from Whit.”
Clive, dressed dapper in a bow tie, gives me a hardy handshake—a full grip that almost takes my arm off.
“Likewise,” I say, rubbing my arm.
“Heard y’all had a wild time in the Bahamas.” He stares at me, and I get the sense he’s searching for an answer. For a beat, we just smile awkwardly, then he adds, “All that action. Planes, taking down intruders, sexy yachts… Shoot, I’d be slipping and falling in love too.”
Oh.
“No, we’re just… Whitney and I are…” I smile unconvincingly.
“I know, honey.” Clive tilts his head, lips pursed, not buying a word. “It’s okay. If there’s one thing I can spot a million miles away, it’s love on a man. It’s all in here.” He wags a steady finger in front of my eyes, and I don’t know what he sees, but I feel caught.
Dammit.
Next thing I know, he’s waving at someone behind me and grabbing a champagne flute off a passing tray. Then, like his work is done, he gives me a long once-over, head to toe and back up again. “It looks good on you, though.”
And then he disappears into the crowd, leaving me feeling like I’ve said too much.
Or maybe not enough.
Ten minutes later, I’ve got champagne for Whitney and me, and I’m weaving through the guests, smiling, exchanging small pleasantries, trying to get back to her, when Cord and Alexis catch up to me.
“Hard man to track down,” he says, slapping a hand on my shoulder.
He squeezes as he tilts his head to block my line of vision.
“So, I’m assuming your time on the island went well.
I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t heard from you.
But you look good. Practically glowing.” His tone is smeared with sarcasm.
“Alexis, it’s good to see you.” I lean in, pecking her cheek, taking in her simple black satin gown and gold jewels. “You look lovely.”
She pushes back her thick auburn curls, beaming. “Thank you. I literally just pulled this from the back of my closet when Cord called me last night.”
“Yeah? Nothing like a last-minute night out,” I say.
But Cord doesn’t miss the subtext. He never wanted to come tonight, but I guess he found some incentive.
“Got to admit, they make a lovely couple, don’t they, Lex?” His attention darts from me to her, his tone far too chummy.
“Oh, yeah,” she rushes to agree.
He’s baiting me, waiting to confirm what we both already know: the Legends are looking good for the playoffs, and all he needs is a pair of courtside tickets to match his shiny new bragging rights. Strictly on principle.
But tonight isn’t the night for this.
“She’s a great woman. We have a great time together,” I say, downplaying it.
Cord’s lips twitch. “Sounds incredible.”
I glare at him, my temple throbbing with fury.
It’s not even about the wager for me anymore.
My patience thins, sending frustration prickling along the back of my neck.
As he straightens, drawing his shoulders back, mirroring my move, I feel like we’re back in his dining room, juking and dodging.
Back on the gridiron in college. We’re at an impasse, stalled on opposite sides of an I-told-you-so like overgrown children instead of forty-something men dealing with adult women.
“Actually, sounds like a meaningful new relationship.” His lips part slightly, his eyes narrowing as he cranes his neck back, studying me. He clears his throat.
Like it’s her cue, Alexis says, “Well, Warner? You love her, you love her not?”
Fuck.
Did Cord tell her about the wager?
“Not, unfortunately,” I say on principle.
She shrugs it off, unfazed either way.
And my friend, my boy, who, not too long ago, sat in my office with his fist clutched to his chest, assuring me he had my back?
“Shame,” he says, nodding. “Looked like love to me. But what do I know?”
He and Alexis slink away to the bar, leaving me baffled. All this over some Legends tickets that both of us can afford several times over? For a few minutes, I stand there, unable to move, watching them chatting up Whitney’s girls, figuring he’ll leave it alone for now.
Which is why I’m caught off guard when the Divatantes corner me a few minutes later, clearly fired up. But not at Cord. He was just asking questions, trying to figure out if Whitney and I were actually in love, and I wasn’t telling him.
Somehow, the Divatantes read between the lines and came straight for me.
Terms like “relationship guy” and “ring-hunting socialite” tend to do that.
So, I’m just standing here as they unload, warning me to stay the hell away from Whitney.
It’s all a jumble of venom-laced words—“lab results,” “family history,” “love gene”—and I barely understand how they figure into the mix.
But the last line lands loud and clear: “You booked the collection at her gallery, she got some sex on your island, now leave her alone.”