Page 30 of The Unfluencer

“That’s why Clive got a call the same night,” Chanel adds. “Why we’re getting the good champagne tonight. Why our good sis pulled out all the stops to make Corinne’s exhibit the event of the season.”

These four traitors fall out cackling.

At my expense.

Then they have the nerve to clink glasses.

“Sometimes, you’ve got to step out and show ’em,” they say in unison, just as movement near the entrance snaps our attention to the door.

No, it’s not Warner waltzing in late to silence the haters.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter as soaking-wet chaos erupts in front of our eyes. Because—of course—the night I’ve laid out the literal red carpet, flanked it with velvet ropes and tuxedoed, tailed servers at the ready with champagne flutes to usher in any guest ready to partake in artistic brilliance—the night the spotlight should be shining on Corinne and the Artery—the sky decides to break open.

Like nature’s broom, outside, the rain comes down in sideways sheets, sweeping the drenched crème de la crème of Ellswood in their heirloom jewels, velvet gowns, and tailored tuxes every which way.

Panic surges through me.

“Oh no.”

“Is right,” Ebony agrees solemnly.

If there’s one thing the moneyed and magnanimous don’t do, it’s rain. Anyone would think it was acid pouring from the sky the way they run, ducking and diving for cover.

Immediately, my mind goes into overdrive, cataloguing anything and everything, figuring how to salvage the night. I hurry back to the framing room, turning up the heat and grabbing towels before I return to the main exhibit room.

Across the room, my eyes connect with Corinne’s and my heart stalls.

I’ve got this, I mouth.

I’m all smiles to the guests, really laying it on thick. “Thank goodness you made inside when you did” this, and “At least your hair’s dry” that. But with the servers, it’s nothing but subliminal “more champagne” stares.

There’s an entire motorcade of six-figure automobiles to transport them from the wrath of God’s precipitation at nine thirty. And not a moment sooner.

Two at a time, I climb the staircase off the entrance and loudly clear my throat just as the thunder rumbles loudly.

“Yes, please, everyone come inside,” I say, smiling welcomingly at the crowd gathering along the walls. “Thank you, yes. It’s warm, dry, and most importantly, right now, we’ve still got an unopened case of champagne to help celebrate the opening of Earth Bound, featuring the incredible work of Corinne Tucker.”

A collective wave of laughter washes over the room.

Behind me, Clive descends the steps and joins me, looking… off? Confused? Constipated? I can’t quite put my finger on it yet. But I don’t have the bandwidth to handle another crisis at the moment, so I slip my hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“As a gallery,” I say to our captive audience of smiling and familiar faces, “our mission is always to create a space for dialogue. Between the artist and viewer. Between imagination and experience. Corinne’s work does exactly that. Through sculpted wood, textured ceramic busts, and an unmatched, layered narrative, these pieces invite you to pause and reflect on sensory joy.”

The low hum of chatter cuts into my speech, stealing the moment during which Clive shifts closer to me.

I turn my head, giving him my ear.

“While you were setting up with Corinne earlier, Jada Banks’s assistant called to change her plus-one.”

“Mm hmm.” I smile, not catching the urgency.

Jada and I have known each other since we were eighteen, in the same Zion & Zara debutante season. She was nice enough, a little quiet, but we were never close. More wave-in-passing than real friends. She knows I’m at the gallery the same way I know she went the Luxe Lady route, so I didn’t think twice when she reached out about attending tonight’s preview.

My pulse quickens as I stall, searching, suddenly eager to place her face in the crowd.

“So, who’s her plus-one⁠—”

I zero in on her just in time to watch Zaire “Zeek” Harrison, VP of programming and development for Luxe Ladies of Ellswood, all long-limbed and dark, towering frame, shaking out a black umbrella as he enters behind her. His smug smile is on full display. He knows I specifically declined his guestlist request. All of his requests.