Page 99 of The Unfluencer

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.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Whitney

Money to Burn

I’m in the line for the bathroom when Clive plants himself in front of me. “You win,” he blurts, grinning.

“What?” I laugh.

He snaps his fingers next to my ear. “Ma’am, I just spoke to your boo.”

My heart does a little flip.

“He’s in love with you too. You win.”

I blink, both stunned and ecstatic. But then I spot Terrell the Artiste and thank my lucky stars the line moves into the restroom. A few moments later, I head into a stall, still processing. I’m finished, should flush to let the next person in line relieve themselves, but I’m just sitting there with a goofy smile on my face, while some woman, loud as can be, is having an entire phone conversation.

“…That’s exactly my point.” Through the crack in the door, I spot her leaning over the sink in a backless black satin dress, fixing her mascara in the mirror. “Girl, this man done taken this woman to his island and everything. Bought out Cibo Nero on a Thursday, and you know how that waitlist is, like, a year long.” She cackles at something the person on the other end says. “Insane work, right?”

I freeze, realizing she’s talking about me.

Insane work.

But I’m smiling because if Clive’s right and Warner’s in love with me, might be nice to get some insider scoop from an unbiased party.

A toilet flushes and I miss part of what she says, but I catch the tail end. “…Mm-hmm, that man is in denial. He’s so far gone for Whitney. Just looking at him, I could see he was falling for her…”

I’m fighting for my life not to scream. I’m so happy I could pee again.

But then, as she touches up her lipstick, still talking through her teeth, she says, “I still can’t believe Cord bet that man he couldn’t just make that trip about exhibiting Sherry’s collection and meaningless sex… Another gallery had already turned him down… It was either the Artery or take Zeek’s offer…” My stomach drops. Every word feels like a punch. “He turned him down, and Zeek doubled the offer. Can you believe it?”

I flush, feeling completely empty as I come out of the stall.

The woman and I lock eyes in the mirror.

“Whitney?”

Her eyes go saucer wide.

I don’t even have the tears to cry, so I’m not about to soften the blow for her.

As I rush out of the restroom, I run straight into Warner.

“Oh, there you are. Everything okay? Still alive?” He smiles, calm as ever. “The awards are starting soon. Sure there aren’t any new life-or-death lab results messing with your ability to find romantic love? Love gene still intact?”

I can’t even look at him.