Page 8 of Tips and Trysts

Interesting. There’s a touch of a sneer when he says the wordfather—clearly not intentional, but it’s there. His father is the Governor of Virginia—and not a popular one at the moment.

“And I assume the Logan political machine told your father not to mention the most recent state budget, which slashed childcare subsidies in favor of tourism.”

Everett doesn’t acknowledge my comment but holds up his phone instead. “I’m looking for advice. You’ve had practicefiguring out what people want, and I need to give people what they want. You could help me write it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t owe you anything.”

He’s standing close to me now. There’s a muted pink flush over his cheeks, but he’s stoic as ever—and I’m certain I’ve never met a man more enigmatic than Everett.

“Fine. You want my advice? Delete it,” I respond without looking at his phone. “Associating yourself with your father isn’t going to have the effect you want.”

“But—”

“Your father is a shitbag,” I inform him.

Everett blinks quickly before his brow knots. “He’s not.”

I tilt my head to the side again. “He’s the worst governor in Virginia’s history, which is saying something because I’m fairly certain one of the earliest governors somehow misplaced the entire colony of Roanoke.”

Everett hesitates, losing his words for once. “Look—”

“People abhoryour father,” I go on. “His approval rating is the lowest it’s ever been. If he mentions that budget—if he so much asalludesto it—he’s going to hurt your candidacy.”

“It’s massive publicity.”

“It’s a massive mistake.”

Now, Everett is shaking his head nonstop, and even though we’ve always avoided each other, I know it’s rare for him to be unsteady. “I can’t distance myself from him. Logans have been in politics for four generations. Two governors, three congressmen, and one senator. My great uncle was shortlisted for a Supreme Court nomination. My godfather is a former Secretary of the Treasury. Most of my family is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.”

“So, you’ve never tried to be successful without your family—without your daddy. Wow, Everett, do you really have so little faith in yourself?”

He’s still shaking his head. “Not an option.”

“It’s always an option,” I reply, shrugging. “I haven’t talked to my parents in three years. I’m plenty successful and couldn’t be happier.”

Everett’s scoff borders on disdain. He bows to eye level. “It’s that easy? Do I just go no-contact, whip out my dick, and show off my stimulus package?”

“A camming insult? How predictable,” I comment, dropping my gaze to Everett’s chest before I press my black nails into his sternum and push. He doesn’t budge. “You’re a coward.”

“You’re taunting me.” His hand rises and wraps around my wrist, swallowing it. “You couldn’t get under my skin if you tried.” He removes my hand from his chest and all but tosses my arm away before he takes a step back, putting more space between us. His shoulders are tight. Coiled.

…Yep. This reaction issounlike him.

“It’s interesting,” I mention, wiggling my fingertips and shaking off the ghost of his hard chest. “The night we met, you said to me, ‘If you think I’m going to risk a shot at the White House to take naked pictures of a camgirl I met in a bar, you’re out of your fucking mind.’”

At once, Everett’s tight expression flattens. I wonder if his words sound as cruel on his ears as they did on mine.

“If you had told the truth that night,” I go on, “we’d be in a very different place right now.”

“What’s the truth?”

“You’re not afraid of losing the White House,” I venture before taking a step closer, rising on my toes, and whispering in his ear, “You’re afraid of your father.”

I’m not prepared when Everett lunges forward, so I retreat instinctively, clearing the scant space behind me and flattening myself against the elevator’s wall. His body surrounds mine, arms resting on either side of my head, caging me. He’s unbelievably close, and I can see the hint of five o’ clock shadow on his chin and the immaculate curl of his eyelashes.

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