Page 44 of The Unfluencer

“Put your money where your mouth is, Mr. Know-It-All.” I shift restlessly on my feet. “You willing to pony up those Legends tickets?”

“Call Whitney,” he says smugly.

“I will.”

“So do it now, then.” Cord doesn’t hesitate to call my bluff. “Ask to meet in person Thursday⁠—”

“Where?” I frown, thinking about the vultures circling my house and my office. “Should I bring her here?” Did you think of that, Sherlock?

“Seriously? Why are you acting like you can’t afford privacy?” He taps a finger to his temple. “Spare me the dramatics. Meet her this Thursday. Same time you were set to meet at the Heartery. And when she eagerly agrees—as I suspect she will, after seeing her face when you left that restroom—I want you to invite her to Clover Cay.”

“What?”

Cord nods slowly. “Two days to assess Sherry’s collection.”

I flick my gaze skyward. “Two days?”

“Better yet, make it ten. Starting that Friday, you leave for the island, and… have meaningless sex.”

How did we get here?

“Have you lost your mind?” I ask.

“No, but you deserve to.” Cord laughs. “You get to be the fuckboy the media thinks you are. Sex, no feelings⁠—”

“And when I prove she’s a social climber out for money and a ring, I get your Legends season tickets. Plus, courtside playoff tickets if they win…”

Cord tosses me a self-satisfied grin. “If you can spend that much time with her, without your heart getting involved, husband material…” He licks his lips, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well, then I’ll pay up and back off.”

“Oh, really?” I say, eyebrows lifted, ears perked up, utterly amazed that his silence can be bought.

“I’ll stop pressing you about going out, and you can collect dust in your McMansion. But”—of course there’s a catch—“if you fall—and trust me, I’ll know if you’re lying—then I want the same. Season tickets and courtside playoff tickets when they make it.”

Oh, this asshole’s confident.

Too confident.

On some level, I sense this isn’t even really about my proactively moving or even my chemistry with Whitney. It’s about Cord being a damn know-it-all.

He scratches his jaw. “These bragging rights are about to be priceless.”

As we shake on it, sealing the wager, though, an uneasy laugh tumbles out of me. It’s just ten days. I can work with an unnervingly sexy single woman and not fall in love.

So why am I worried?

“Okay, I’ll call.” I unlock my phone to Google the Artery’s phone number. “But not yet. Since I can afford privacy, I need a favor first.”

Chapter Ten

Whitney

Noblesse Oblige

On my phone screen, Priscilla, my heartbroken little hermit, stares at me puffy-eyed, exhausted, and curled up beneath her blankets at home.

“He left again.” She forcefully blows her nose into a tissue. “God, I love him so much, Whit. I just don’t know what to do.” Fresh rivers of rage tears stream over her flushed cheeks onto her pillow.

Lord, it’s killing me not to jump through this phone right now and go straight down the tough-love route. Point out all the crimson-red flags. Reiterate for the millionth time why a man who leaves her in shambles, questioning her self-worth on a quarterly basis, doesn’t deserve her, and she should immediately block, delete, and repeat on every device and social media app.