Page 169 of Manhattan Bossholes

Cora laughed. “Absolutely. The cheese is the whole point. Cheese and nostalgia. You’re supposed to feel like you’ve stepped back in time.”

She was right about that too. The longer I’d been back, the more I’d been consumed with memories from the past. Even now the same faded banners, decorated with our jaguar mascot, hung on the walls behind the decorations, and I was pretty sure the same sneaker scuffs marked the floor. I’d popped my head into the locker room earlier, and it even smelled the same.

Terrible.

But the same.

The room buzzed with chatter, but one voice rang out loudest of all. Trish dashed across the gym, slopping her drink over her hand, squealing as she wrapped her arms around some woman.

I took another sip from my Old Fashioned. “Was Trish always so⁠—”

“Energetic?” Cora supplied.

I’d been about to say annoying. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Cora smirked at me like she knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “At least she got back from her cruise in time to play hostess. I really wasn’t looking forward to that.”

“Small mercy.”

“Plus, it leaves us time to actually enjoy ourselves.”

“Enjoy might be a strong word.”

“Oh stop. I can’t believe you were going to skip all this,” Cora said as we made our way through the crowd toward the buffet table.

“And I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” I said, nodding to a couple of people who smiled at me.

“No, I’m being sincere. You really didn’t want to come and see all your old friends? You must have been looking forward to seeing the football team, at least.”

“I mean, it’s been nice catching up with some of the guys, I guess. But most people already know what I’m up to,” I said.

“Thanks to that GQ article?” Cora teased. “Have they started calling you Cocktail King yet?”

“Can you be serious?”

She batted her eyelashes at me. “I am so serious, Your Majesty.”

“Well, Zelda…” I said, watching her cheeks pink as I used her old nickname.

“Knock it off.”

“What’s that they say? Turnabout’s fair play.”

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered, picking up a plate at the end of the buffet table. She handed it to me and grabbed another one for herself.

“Anyway, the conversations have been a little stilted, if I’m being completely honest.” Except with her, of course. “Talking about myself here sort of feels like flaunting my success. And that’s not the vibe I’m going for.”

“I suppose it’s hard to hide the fact you’re a billionaire,” Cora said. “What with all the cars you own.”

“I think I own a reasonable number of cars, considering. You want to talk about unreasonable, ask me how much Vincent’s Bugatti cost him.” That was in the ballpark of several million dollars.

“I’d rather not know.”

I chuckled at the look on her face. “How are your catch-ups going?”

“Well, I haven’t intimidated anyone, that’s for sure. Sort of the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”