Page 112 of Tips and Trysts

CORA

Tonight, Everett Logan ismaking 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’scoming 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 andglares 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

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