“Her favorite. Did you know that? That sunflowers are her favorite?Iknow because she’s my boo. I pay attention.” He shook off his umbrella. “Whoo, it’s pouring out there. You picked a bad night to be Cinderella, honey.”
“It’ll stop. So are you ready to make this happen?” Cora asked him. “She’s in a good mood at least.”
“I’m ready. I need to make this right.”
Cora led Darnell into Maggie’s room with Fritz and Josie in tow. She was deep inside her closet, singing softly to herself. Darnell cleared his throat and held the flowers up in front of his face.
Maggie popped her head out of the closet. “Wait—what?”
Darnell lowered the flowers and smiled shyly at her. “I’m so sorry, Mags.”
“Oh my God, D!” She dropped the silky blouse she was hanging up and ran into his arms. “I’m so sorry for being such a bitch to you!”
“I’msorry for screwing everything up! I hate myself!”
They separated and fell into a torrent of catch-up conversation, and Cora quietly backed out of the room, smiling at her victory. She walked into her bedroom, Darnell’s and Maggie’s voices trailing her down the hall, and was once again startled by the luminous gold dress hanging from the ceiling fan like an elegant ghost.
Her excitement about the gala had been tempered by the next steps about the show. The fizziness she’d felt about spending an evening with Charlie was taking a backseat to the new career reality she was facing. The final contestants’ video clips were being reviewed by Dalton Feretti and his people any minute, and she would be contacted for a face-to-face meeting with the World of Animals team if they liked what they saw. Cora’s stomach twisted as she envisioned Simone—the only client to date to ever truly fire her—taking part in the review process.
Mia’s e-mail didn’t say who else had made it to the final three, but Cora was convinced that Brooke Keating was one of them. She was a solid trainer with impeccable credentials, and if networking was a factor in securing the position, she’d be a sure thing. Plus, she probably hadn’t been fired by Simone Feretti.
Cora ran her fingers along the hemline of the dress. She hadn’t seen Charlie since the night of fails at Toya, and even though she simmered when she thought of all the ways he’d let her down that evening, she still wanted to make sure that every inch of her body was exfoliated, moisturized, and perfumed. Just in case.
Darnell burst into the bathroom as she wrapped a towel around her head postshower, oblivious as always to boundaries. “We’re back, baby. Reunited and it feels so good.”
“It’s about time!”
“Thank you for being the bridge, I couldn’t have gotten through to her without your help. And in return, I’m gonna make you looksogood. Johnny Gill is gonna rub you the right way for sure.”
“It’s Charlie Gill.”
“Whatever. Meet me in Maggie’s room when you’re all lotioned up, her light is better in there.”
Cora slipped on a pair of loose shorts and a button-down shirt and joined the party in Maggie’s room. Josie and Fritz were mouth-wrestling on the bed, and Maggie was helping Darnell unpack his supplies from a rolling suitcase. He had an arsenal of palettes and tools laid out in formation on clean white towels.
“Oh my God, C, did you hear the latest about Aaron?” Darnell motioned for her to sit on a barstool facing the window. The rain was still coming down in sheets, with occasional cracks of thunder.
She sighed. “Now that the show’s over, I’ve been repurging him. What happened? I thought all failed reality stars are taken out to pasture and shot.”
“Yeah, either that, or they leverage their fifteen minutes into something even more stupid. Turns out your boy is quite the singer.” He handed her his phone, cued up with a video.
“No, he’s not. What is this?” Cora asked Maggie.
She shook her head. “Darnell told me something’s up, but I waited to watch it with you.”
Cora hit play and the ubiquitous guitar and boom-boom-smash of bro-country music filled the room. She paused it.
“Country? Seriously?”
Darnell nodded. “Wait till you see it. You’re gonna die.”
She hit play again, and Aaron sauntered on-screen wearing a tattered baseball cap pulled low on his head and a sleeveless Henley unbuttoned so that his hairless chest showed. He reached up to adjust the cap and Cora noticed a new American flag tattoo on the inside of his bicep.
“Barf,” she said. And she meant it. His good looks had a new unnaturalness, as if Hollywood had put him through the leading-man machine and spat out a shinier, fitter, less human version of the Aaron she had known. When they’d first started dating, his rugged good looks had been a source of pride for Cora, as if being with such an attractive guy validatedherattractiveness. Then she started to realize that he used his looks as currency, flirting with anyone who could do something for him. No matter how many times Cora pleaded with him to tone it down, he never did, leaving her to fester as he captivated every waitress, bartender, and bank teller he encountered. Now he was cashing in with a bigger audience.
The video cut to a beautiful ponytailed blonde in a tight white tank top and jean shorts climbing on a dirt bike in slow motion in a bucolic country setting. Aaron started singing.
“The way you’re hopping on your muddy bike,
