“Can’t you buy what you need from one of his conquests?”
He gives me a grim smile. “Tried that. The three ‘conquests’ my people have had contact with are scared. They won’t talk and no amount of money is moving them. My guess is Richard is threatening something bad will happen to their family members. My best course of action is to hire someone to get me the information that I want.”
“Why not date someone and use them?”
He gives a small, humorless chuckle. “And you call me ruthless.”
I flush. Bad idea, but his idea isn’t much better. I have no experience in the upper echelon of Manhattan society. “So I'm supposed to lure this guy in with my supposed charms and he’ll give me stuff you can use to ruin him? I think your plan is seriously flawed. I'm not going to make any guy throw up, but I'm also not the type to make them go crazy and put themselves in jeopardy over.”
“You underestimate your appeal,” he replies. Reaching out, he takes one of my hands in his. “Besides, Rich is a man of little imagination. He likes what others find appealing.”
“He’s that type of guy?”
“You have no idea,” he responds wryly.
But I will, I think to myself.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not what I expected—that I’d help you make a scandal or ruin someone. What happens to me when it’s over? Will I be hounded? I don’t have any desire to appear on a picture next to him.”
“You won’t. You’ll only need to supply me with the pictures he sends. There does not have to be any information about you. I’ll have someone else leak them.”
“Why do you think there’ll be pictures?”
“I don’t. But there’ll be something or these girls wouldn’t be afraid.”
I cover my face with my hands because I can’t think with Ian staring at me so intently.
“I can’t do it. I’m not very good at texting.”
“All the better. He’ll know you can’t write and will be forced to send you images.”
“I swear you have an answer for everything.” I start to rub my forehead and then remember the admonition of the Red Door people against touching my face.
“Do you have some moral objection? You do work for Malcolm.”
Okay, right, so a drug mule has no conscience, but it isn't the same thing. The people who are taking the drugs are participating in their own ruin.
“But what? We want bad things to be said about him on Page Six?”
“On page six and page one and all the pages in between,” he says softly.
“And you expect that while I'm carrying on with this Howe dude that I'm going to sleep with you?”
“Not expect. Hope.”
“You're crazy.” I push his hands away, feeling incredibly cold.
“I don’t expect or want you to sleep with Howe. I only want you to talk to him, be friendly. He’ll be interested because I’m interested. The idea that he could lure someone away from me will be too much to resist. A few pictures and we’re done. I don’t anticipate it taking him longer than a few encounters before he tries to express himself in some embarrassing fashion.”
“Why don’t you just ruin him financially? Can’t you do that?” I fist my hands in my lap wishing I am anywhere but here.
“I could,” he responds. His head is turned out the window and in profile he looks less stern and more thoughtful. “Not yet, though.”
Ian turns toward me and in his eyes I see both pain and determination.
My character was set at the age of fifteen.
Without conscious thought, I reach over to squeeze his hand. His grip is firm in response but implacable. Ian has been alone for a long time and even though I don’t entirely agree or understand his plans, I realize I’d do just about anything for him. That’s an uncomfortable feeling.
Chapter 19
STEVE DROPS US OFF IN an alley in Hell’s Kitchen, and the recessed door of a four-story brick building opens before we can reach it. Barely any light spills out, and once inside I can see why. The door opens onto a shadowy landing with steps going in both directions.
“Mr. Kerr, I’m Priya Kulkarni. Mr. Kaga’s assistant. He asked me to show you to the private viewing lounge first.” She extends a hand toward the second floor.
“Lead the way,” Ian responds, giving me a little push so that I head up the stairs in front of him. As Priya walks ahead of us, the stair treads begin to illuminate. I peek behind me and see that the entryway is again shrouded in darkness.
“These lights are so cool,” I comment, allowing my mind to be distracted from the Howe deal.