Page 115 of Tips and Trysts

And before I leave, I rise on my toes, kiss Everett’s cheek, and whisper five words I hope will set the tone for this long-overdue confrontation between father and son:

“He leaked the blackmail story.”

Forty-One

EVERETT

He leaked the blackmailstory.

I’ve seen my father angry before, but right now, I’m not even sure I’m safe. He might genuinely try to murder me.

“You pay her?” he demands, and his face scrunches into a revolted frown. “Are you insane?”

I’m still straightening my clothes and righting myself, so it takes a beat for me to clarify, “I don’t pay her. I tip her when she does a good job.”

Of course, I don’t tell him shealwaysdoes a good job.

My father begins shaking his head and he doesn’t stop. “What the hell is going on with you?”

I take in the borderline manic way he’s moving and glaring at me, and all the while, I’m turning Cora’s revelation over in my head. I have no clue how she knows what my father did, but I believe her.

The question iswhy. Why would my father leak a story that nearly upended my campaignandhis in the process?

He’s too careful to admit anything outright. He’ll lie if he has to, which means I have to be strategic.

“It must bother you,” I finally say, choosing my words carefully. “I’m not what you wanted.”

“Stop, Everett. You’ve always been perfect.”

“Admit it,” I press, taking a step closer to him. “Admit I’m not what you wanted.”

“There’s no—”

“Any choice I’ve ever made for myself, you mocked. I wasn’t cruel enough for you. Not callous enough. Not enough of a man.”

His sigh is labored. “Did she put these ideas in your head?”

“She loves me.” My eyes travel over him. “And I love her. So much, in fact, that I’ve fucked her across the District.”

My father inhales hard enough to make his button-down shirt strain over his chest.

“Before the debate. In Rock Creek Park. In the big house I bought from you with the money from my trust.” I step closer and whisper in his ear, “I even fucked her in your office.”

When he doesn’t react, I wave. Cora’s bite marks are visible on my palm—red and angry and so damn satisfying. “I’m probably going to marry her,” I continue. “No prenup. Generations of Logan wealth are going to be hers. The money. The houses. The jewelry. She’ll even get our last name.”

“I certainly hope you do,” my father replies, raising a shoulder, now the embodiment of nonchalance. “She’s a lovely girl, Everett. Pretty behind all the makeup and the vile metal in her face.”

I freeze. “The fuck did you just say?”

My father’s affect is charming as ever, starting with his pleasant smile all the way to the hands residing casually in his pockets. “Tell me, is it pleasant to fuck a pussy with so many pokey things around it?”

Patricide suddenly sounds like a brilliant idea. If he knows what Cora’s pussy looks like, he obviously watched one of her streams—

“Oh god no, you stupid boy. I would never go out of my way to watch her,” he clarifies before I can ask. “And as adorable as this little bitch fit has been, standing there and listing all the places where you took your whore is a waste of time because I know, Everett. I have videos of you with her.”

“Liar.”

“I had you followed, you imbecile. I arranged for it day one after I saw you salivating over her.In a hospital. Do you realize how obvious you’ve been? It’s actually fortunate you came clean on your own. Someone would have figured it out otherwise.” He chuckles and looks me up and down as if I’m being weighed and measured. “The LBJ Memorial Grove? Really?”

---