Page 109 of Tips and Trysts

“Furious,” I admit, recalling what happened in the privacy of his car after we left 24N—the plastic water bottle he hurled at me.

She’s quiet again before she says, “He’s a horrible man, Everett.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you cut him out?”

Because I’m a coward. Because he made me—and he can destroy me. Because I’m not like Cora—I don’t knowhowto get away from him.

When I’m quiet for too long, she shifts, blocking my view of the stars. Her hand goes to my cheek. “You don’t need him. You could win the election without him—in spite of him.”

“He controls every resource I have. Every media connection. Every donor. Without him, I would have nothing.”

“Not true. Your money is yours. Your intelligence, your strategic mind, and the fact that you are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met but in a sexy way—they’reall yours. He can’t take them.” Cora traces my jaw. “And you have me.”

“I know I do,” I reply, smiling softly.

“You have me,” she repeats, dipping her chin, “and all our friends. You think I’d be anywhere without Valeria and Essie? No. Let us help you.”

All our friends. No shit.

I blink as the epiphany washes over me. I’ve clearly overlooked someone.

I rest my hand on hers. “You’re the most brilliant fucking person I’ve ever met,” I tell her. “Far and away. And I’m so damn glad I met you.”

A smile breaks across her face. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

I nod. “I do. And it’s what we always knew it would come to.”

Thirty-Eight

CORA

“Three minutes,” Lander saysbefore he fusses with Everett’s hair. “Hm. You need a haircut.”

“Absolutely not,” I object before swatting Lander’s hand away.

Immediately, Lander surrenders and takes an emphatic step back.

Seated on the surface of his dining table, Everett chuckles. “Are you getting territorial? That’s so hot.” His hand dips under my skirt, and he clicks his tongue. “Commando. You’re supposed to wear panties to a press conference.”

“Is it a press conference if you’re livestreaming from your kitchen?” Lander chimes in.

I shoot a look over my shoulder. “Your fiancée makes thousands of dollars a night livestreaming from her bed. You tell us what this is.”

“Fair enough,” Lander concedes before he walks to the other side of the table.

Beaming, Everett looks me up and down. “I love when you’re out of fucks.” His eyes drop to the hem of my skirt once more. “Do you think we can be quick?”

Behind me, Lander clears his throat. “We’re live in two minutes. And Cora, if you’re allowing this guy to finish inside youin two minutes flat, we should stage an intervention.”

“He’s right,” I agree, facing Everett. I put my hands on his cheeks. “We’ll play after you’re done telling the whole world you don’t support the unsubstantiated lies about Felix J. Worthington and your platonic friend Cora Flores.”

That’s the official line. Everett worked with Lander to craft a statement that he’s going to deliver live on one of his social media accounts in a minute or two. It’s straightforward—admittedly more straightforward than the governor’s request for Everett to cut ties with me and find a nice Kennedy to marry—but it’ll do.

“Give me something to look forward to,” Everett requests. He grabs a marker from the stack of campaign materials strewn over his table and passes it to me.

The way we both know what’s about to happen is the most twisted and delicious mind meld I’ve ever experienced.

---