Page 52 of The Unfluencer

A collective sigh of relief washes over us. It’s just Clive. Not Warner.

What’s happening? I mouth to Chanel, who ignores me.

For a few seconds all we hear are a few “uh-huhs” and “mm-hmms,” before her eyes snap to mine, saucer wide.

Girrrrl, she mouths, hand to heart.

And now we’re all tuned in, pestering Chanel to turn up the volume on the scoop. So when she disconnects the call with a howl of a laugh, we’re on pins and needles.

“Apparently…” she starts, “your Warney Poo called the Artery. He wants to meet in person this Thursday to discuss all the details and whatnot about Sherry’s paintings before he takes you to view the collection the following weekend.”

“But he’s supposed to meet with the Heartery on Thursday…”

Chanel shrugs. “Maybe he’s meeting with them earlier in the day, because he’s taking you on a business dinner. Clive already confirmed. Warner’s assistant will reach out Wednesday afternoon with logistics. Which means…”

Priscilla shimmies her fingers like her evil plot is all coming to fruition.

Against every bone in my body, I take the bait.

“Which means?” I press.

Ebony stands to plant herself in front of me. Pulling me up, she takes my glass of rosé. “Here’s your chance,” she says sweetly.

Tatiana nods. “Just see what the vibes are at the meeting.”

“And when your doctor discusses next steps, take it as a sign to live fuller,” Ebony says. “Infuse your life with love, adventure.”

“And all six-foot-infinity of Warner Easton.” Tatiana grins excitedly.

Priscilla hugs me from behind. “I’m going to hold your hand when I say this. There was real chemistry between y’all.”

“And before you question it”—Chanel drags out the moment—“it was a two-way street. Which is probably why he ran.”

Ebony, my voice of reason, who’s had her marriage, identity, family, and career dragged through the mud and somehow came out shining diamond bright… That’s who I turn to. She’ll break through the noise.

“You really think I should try this?” I ask. “Not that I’m even sure I can love romantically, but isn’t it kind of shady to try to build a relationship with this man when I could be on my deathbed? Especially after he already lost Sherry?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Not if it’s real, Whit.” She nods repeatedly. “That’s the very reason it matters. That’s the difference. A woman in lust strictly wants her physical needs met. No strings. No expectations. No emotional commitment. But a woman in love? She wants more. The sex intensifies everything, emotionally, mentally, socially, all of it. And she gives that in return to feel seen and cared for. And that’s timeless.”

“Oh wow.”

“Linc and I had to really learn each other.” She shrugs lightly. “And that requires shared vulnerability.”

Ew. I frown. “I don’t even know Warner.”

“So you’ll feel him out. And if he’s not for you, that’s cool, too,” Tatiana says, glancing from me to Priscilla. “Men are not complicated. They’ll let you know if they want more from you. He’ll find the time. Period. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re the one with commitment issues or the one lacking self-respect.”

We all stare at her, dumbfounded.

Honestly, I’m a little in awe that with one sentence she’s just read each one of us for filth and reframed everything. It’s that simple.

And also that hard.

As much as our Restroom Rendezvous has cemented the headlines about me and Warner, my divas have a point. Lust, I know organically. But I’ve never been in love. There’s been no man with whom I’ve felt even a spark, let alone a genuine southern tingle worthy of meeting with repeat offenders. Until Warner. And we haven’t even kissed. But where there’s smoke, there must be fire, right?

So, if there’s anyone I’d consider sharing myself with on every level, I guess it makes sense that I’d start with him.

And, technically, he did find me at the gallery, so…