Page 29 of The Unfluencer

“Missing your Warney Poo?” Her voice goes all sickeningly sweet.

“See, I knew it.” My whole body deflates. Low-key, my stomach turns a little, because ew… “Warney Poo, Chanel? That’s what you’re going with? You know that doesn’t even sound right.”

Chanel is outright cackling. She knows good and well she couldn’t wait to bring up this trifling man who confirmed less than twenty-four hours ago, and now he’s about to no-show.

Soulless.

“Girl, don’t act like you don’t want to finally let your walls down with that fine-ass man.” She’s still holding her stomach, gasping for air. “We saw you watching the door.”

“I was not watching the door.” That much. “I was checking on my guests who matter… who are here for Corinne Tucker.”

“Yeah, okay.” She harrumphs. “I know a my-package-is-out-for-delivery look when I see one. Even if yours is about a year and a month late.”

Ugh. “Whatever, Chanel⁠—”

“No, but sidenote…” Priscilla breaks the diva defense, not so subtly changing the subject and reaching for my ruffled hem. “I’ve been watching the way this blue dress moves on your body. The fluidity. The timeless glamour of that high pony and the deep red lip with the golden jewels… Honey, you’ve been commanding the room. The tongues are wagging everywhere.”

Tatiana snaps her fingers, giving her testimony. “Smelling all good, looking poised and picture perfect all night.”

Ebony sighs appreciatively, inspecting the texture and rich hues “What is that, indigo? Naughty Navy?”

“Bahamian blue,” I say, too excited about this vintage gown. The way its deep V-neckline and belted sash sculpts my curves. The long sleeves. The cascading, ruffled hem announcing my every step. It’s giving comfort and drama. “I love it!”

Chanel side-eyes me. “You look a’ight. I guess.”

I crack up laughing. “For your information, my good diva of little faith”—on principle, I glance at the door again before I turn back to my baddie of a bestie—“I’m certain he’ll be here. He’s probably just in traffic or held up at work. And when he does arrive, it won’t even take me ten minutes to pull him aside and convince him to choose me, I mean, the Artery, over that Harrington gallery to exhibit Sherry’s collection.”

Chanel and I are locked in a stare-off. First one who blinks loses. But this is my Ascension-nominated gallery, and I will sleep here if I have to.

“Isn’t the opening over at nine thirty?” Ebony asks, helpfully.

We break the stare to look at her, not even bothering to mask our laughter.

I flash her a tight smile. Why yes, the notorious tech billionaire who could change the trajectory of my career is an hour and a half late to an event that ends in another hour. Thanks so much for the reminder.

“What?” Ebony asks. “I was just confirming.”

As if we all don’t already know the second the clock strikes nine twenty-nine, she’s about to leave her glass slipper behind, rushing off to Linc.

A smile tugs at my lips. “Yes, E-boogie, the preview night is winding down in less than an hour. And no, Chanel, I haven’t been waiting on that fine-ass man, because this is business.” And clearly, I was right not to trust him. I know better.

She dips her chin and deepens her stare.

“Whatever. Look at me however you want, but—and this goes for all four of you—I’m not fazed by that man,” I say, without the least bit of conviction, lips twitching, barely stifling my laugh. “I told y’all I’m immune to toxic men, and love is not on my service menu.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Priscilla’s not buying it.

Not that I would either, but any attraction I’ve got toward Warner Easton is irrelevant because I don’t date folks who confuse their means with their meaning. Like, who even is he without the billion-dollar apps and the Luxe Widower label? No one knows, and I’m not volunteering to be his experiment.

“Do you have any idea what it would do for the Artery? For the ArteryBeat?” I tug the sash tighter around my waist, smoothing the draped fabric. “Having that kind of highly publicized collection exhibited here? The crowds it would draw?”

“And that’s why you had Clive making personal visits to that man’s office to hand-deliver that invitation,” Tatiana quips.

“Along with a brochure with her sexy-sassy smile plastered across the back,” Ebony co-signs.

“Can’t forget that.” Priscilla giggles.