Page 33 of The Unfluencer

“What can you share about Sherry’s art?” she asks, ignoring my answer and stepping into my path again.

Yeah, I’m not doing this. I sidestep her and head for the back of the gallery, moving fast.

Every inch of my body is restless, fidgety.

“This is exactly what I knew would happen,” I say to Cord at my side, taking two hurried strides for every one of mine.

He tosses me a wry look. “What the hell are you talking about? You handled that like a champ.”

Fire prickles along the back of my neck.

This fool is the only reason I agreed to attend this opening. He insisted on coming in case I needed a “backup” for the Heartery. Like, what scenario would require me to need one? He even convinced me that our late arrival meant less press. And, being naïve to this shit, I actually bought it. Hook, line, and sinker, figuring, cool, we’ll be out on the town, get a little tipsy, share some old laughs…

Tugging at my collar, I turn and meet his eyes as his eyebrows squish together.

“Is it hot in here?” Heat laces my tone. “Nah, just me?”

I change direction, weaving through a sea of high-profile whispers and plastic smiles. I’m scrambling for any excuse to leave, to tell Cord I jumped the gun on public functions. But deep down, as annoyed as I am with him, this is partly on me. The second I saw Whitney’s face on the back of that brochure, curiosity got the better of me, even though I should’ve known some PopShot influencer would find a way to ruin the night.

Maybe I should’ve let Tony make the intro at the country club.

“Warner?” Cord whirls around the moment we break free from the crowd, ducking behind a freestanding partition near the restrooms. “Bruh, you are not mad at me.”

Tongue poking my cheek, I lift my eyebrows pinning him with a stare that says, You wanna bet?

He grimaces, astonishingly baffled somehow.

“I’m telling you, these influencer types, they do that shit everywhere you go. But the way you juked her when she tried blocking you…” He blows out an impressed whistle—then, in the same breath, gives a full-body once-over to a tall Black woman with full, kinky curls and bold red lips, wearing a second-skin black dress. “Good goddamn, sweetheart…”

I let out a strangled laugh. “Nice.” I can’t even look at him directly. “So, uh… what happened to there’s probably going to be press everywhere, but I got you?”

Cord squares his body to mine. “Didn’t I just have your back?”

“No.”

“No?” He shakes his head, dead serious. “I’m right here, ain’t I?”

I half laugh. “Yeah, thanks.”

“How are you serious with this?” He stares blankly. “What did you want me to do, yank the mic out her hand and tackle her to the ground? Trust me, the last thing you need is people saying you sicced your handsome, muscular bodyguard on some poor young vlogger. Next thing you know, she’s crowdfunding your company’s cancellation and sitting pretty. On your island.”

An unexpected laugh builds in the back of my throat. “Seems like you really gave that a lot of thought,” I say.

Cord straightens, his expression hardening, and I’ll admit, it’s unnerving when he’s not cracking jokes. Or snacking.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you.” His laugh comes out tattered around the edges. “We’re boys. I’ve got you.”

“Got it. Boys.”

“Now, if you’ve got that through your thick skull…” Cord’s attention flickers to a server passing through with a platter of bite-sized quiches and mini crostini topped with roasted vegetables. “Do you want a glass of bubbly and some bougie finger foods, or not?”

There he is.

“Come here, man. You need a hug.” I reach for him, arms open, chuckling. But he steps out of reach, on autopilot chasing down fancy-looking crusted bread and pâté, and I can’t stop laughing.

The art, getting me on the town—they were never the draw for him. Not when there’s fun-sized crudités and canapés.

Watching Cord stalk servers, I’m feeling looser, lighter when I turn toward the bust perched on a pedestal to my left. At first, observing just feels like what I’m supposed to do at a gallery. But as I look closer, I start to notice the rich, dark-grained wood and white ceramic. The way they’re fused together so seamlessly, it’s hard to tell where the clay ends and the wood begins.