Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(60)

“I’m forever indebted. Seriously, though. I would lick your gym shoes if you asked me to.” I throw my arms around my sister’s shoulders, only narrowly avoiding stepping on the hot-glue gun.

She inches away from my smothering hug. “Really not necessary.”

“Are you gonna DM him?” Trevor asks, not looking up from his latest attempt at a horse cutout.

I shudder at the thought. “Oh, no. I can’t reunite with him via DM. I only have a week and a half before the gala. It’s not enough time to reestablish our rapport. I need to run into him naturally.”

Trevor sighs. “You’re going to stake out the front of his workplace, aren’t you?”

“Correction: we are.”





? chapter twenty


EVERY STATION IS running ads. Posturepedic mattresses. Car dealerships.

Trevor emits a tortured sigh as I fiddle with the radio dial, finally landing on an old Wilson Phillips song.

“I will turn this car around if you change the station one more time,” he warns, alarmed that I’m messing with his preset channels.

“Sheesh. You sound like my dad,” I say wryly. “It’s not my fault you don’t have Bluetooth. I’m just trying to enhance our experience. Now smile and wave to your fans,” I order, angling my phone to him.

When he sees it’s on Live video, he grumbles, promptly covering my phone with his free hand. “No. You’re distracting me while I’m driving.”

“Oh, come on. Give the people what they want. Just a quick hello,” I urge.

He rolls his eyes and gives a frosty hi before fixing his stare toward the slush-covered road. I take this as a sign to end the video.

Unsurprisingly, Trevor had to be bribed with Five Guys milkshakes to accompany me to Daniel’s workplace during a snowstorm. The windshield wipers are working overtime to clear the flurry of snow streaming off the SUV ahead. Trevor is aggrieved, muttering softly about the legalities of wiping the snow off one’s car. He’s driving turtle slow, simply to make the point.

He’s also taken to posing hypotheticals:

What if he works from home?

What if he’s sick today?

What if he exits through another door?

What if he already left the building for a meeting?

What if he’s on vacation?

What if he got facial reconstruction surgery, rendering him virtually unrecognizable?

While Trevor makes (some) valid points, at least I will be able to say I exhausted every avenue before desperately sliding into Daniel’s LinkedIn DMs.

“You’re kind of killing the mood here,” I say, dropping my phone in the cupholder. “This is my very last and most promising ex. The only one on that list who knows the real me. I would regret it forever if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

He peels his eyes from the road to meet my gaze. “I’m just . . . worried you’ll be crushed if it doesn’t work out with him.”

Oof. I rest my head against the seat as the stifling wave of reality washes over me. In all the excitement of this ex-boyfriend goose chase, I haven’t fully considered the possibility of none of them working out. My hands clench in my lap, envisioning Seth’s smug face if I fail in my pursuit and show up at the gala alone. And worse, I think about the crushing pain of scratching Daniel’s name—the very last name—off the list. I can’t let that happen. After Seth, my heart simply can’t withstand more carnage.

I avert my stare out the window, avoiding Trevor’s worrywart expression. “I know it’s dumb. I know the whole ex thing seems frivolous. But how pathetic would it be if I, the biggest romance novel fan ever, failed to find book-worthy love in real life?”

“Tara—”

“I never told you, but this time last year, after Seth broke off the engagement, I was at a real low point. I could barely get out of bed. I thought no one would ever want me. Even a year out . . . I still can’t help but think that sometimes.”

“If this is about going to the gala, I’ll go with you.” His offer is so casual, I’m unsure I’ve even heard him correctly.

“Really? You’d waste your Valentine’s Day to come to a random gala with me?”

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah. Why not? It’s for the heart center. And what else would I be doing on Valentine’s Day?”

I fiddle with the heat vent, considering this proposition. “Maybe. If things don’t work out with Daniel, I guess.”

“Right,” he says, distracted as he parallel parks in front of the building. “Here we are.”

I expected Daniel’s workplace to be an all-glass modern skyscraper. But upon arrival, it’s a Romanesque medium-rise with ornately detailed windows and doorways. It’s bougie, kind of old-school.

The prospect of coming face-to-face with Daniel after nearly twenty years is hot flash–inducing. I imagine him in a corner office, thumbing through urgent files, dressed in a perfectly tailored sharkskin suit. He channels some Devil Wears Prada energy, icing out his staff with just one glance. Everyone knows Daniel doesn’t do small talk. His receptionist only bothers him with important stuff, although he will take calls from his beloved mother.

As I gawk up at the building, Trevor nudges my arm over the console. “Look, three o’clock. Pale, six-foot, brown hair. Is that him?”