“Do it. Push me over. Break a bone. And I will find a way to call you a pedophile. You think you’re so fucking untouchable? No one is untouchable. For all I know, you might even sell child pornography.”
Jack eyes were about to pop out of his head. He wanted to snap this man’s neck, to crack every single bone in his body. But he knew he would only hurt Michelle and his sister and everyone at his company if he did that. Instead, he spat on him. It wasn’t the least bit satisfying. Then he let go, and backed off.
“That’s all you’ve got?” Nick said, taunting.
“No. That’s all you’re getting. You fucking scum.”
Nick held out his hands, like a big-shot boxer gloating in the ring. “Politics, baby. We’re the scummiest.”
“You did all this to win a councilman race?”
Nick laughed. “I did it because it’s my job. My job is to help my client win. By any means necessary. Conroy wants a victory in the Upper East Side, and I’m delivering it to him. Now, you do as I say. You go tell Denkler he needs to step down from the race by the end of next week or I will fucking bury your woman. Maybe I won’t leak any more texts. Maybe I’ll escalate,” he said, biting off that word as if it were filthy. “Hell, maybe I’ll even go straight to the ethics board and say she tried to seduce poor, vulnerable Clark Davidson in her office, too.”
“You have no soul.”
“Of course I don’t. You should try it some time. It’s freeing. Now I need to go wash my face. Because I know where your mouth has been,” he said, and Jack broke. He ripped in two. The rational, logical part of him evaporated, and instinct took over. He lunged at Nick, and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw.
Hard.
So hard, the man’s lip cracked.
Then he did it again.
Nick yowled, and the sound was satisfying for about a second as Jack shook out his hand. He reached into his back pocket, grabbed his cell phone, and showed it to Nick. “By the way, cell phones are such nifty spying devices, don’t you think? Feel free to go after me for assault. I’ve got this entire conversation recorded for posterity.”
Then he walked off. When he could speak again without breathing fire, he called his sister and told her it was time for Plan B.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Plan B
Davis wasn’t sure if he liked this guy. He wasn’t sure if he wanted him anywhere near his sister ever again. But he respected her choices, and if she was in love with him, and was happy, then he’d support her.
Right now, she was asking him what he thought about Jack’s Plan B.
Seeing as how his sister had already lost one-third of her clients, and it was only day two of the story from hell, he didn’t see how Plan B could hurt. Especially since the Page Six story had taken on a life of its own and spawned viral videos on YouTube. Stupid spoofs of patients seducing shrinks, and vice versa. Many were rising up through the social world, his sister’s friend Sutton had told him, warning him to keep Michelle off YouTube. That Page Six story had the longest legs he’d ever seen.
“Not a problem,” Davis had said when Sutton called earlier. “I don’t think Michelle even knows YouTube exists.”
“Oh, stop it. Your sister is not clueless to the social media world.”
“No. She’s not. She just prefers to do other things. But I appreciate the heads up, Sutton.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s pretty shell-shocked. Her mentor called and told her the workshop she was leading was axed. More clients cancelled. The backlash is pretty bad. They did a number on her with that story. It was like a match that started a whole fire.”
Sutton gave a sympathetic sigh. “I’m so sorry. It’s awful. Give her my love.”
“I will,” he said, then returned to his sister, who told him about Jack’s plan.
She wanted to know if it could do more damage.
“It’s so hard to say,” he answered. “But I honestly don’t know how it could do more damage. Maybe it could deflect the attention to him, where it should be.”
“It’s fine,” she said, her monotone voice an echo of his sister. She was vibrant and sharp, like a high-definition TV. Now, she was playing in black and white as she listlessly opened her fridge, grabbed her water pitcher and poured a small glass.
“It’s not fine. This should never have happened. It pisses me off that this happened,” he said, treading dangerously close to what he wanted to say. How can I not blame this guy you love?
She drank the water, then set the glass on her counter. “It’s not his fault, Davis. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”