“When Mrs. Fontaine finds out you’re harassing female staff, she’ll fire you.”
“No, she won’t. I have more celebrity clients than anyone else, and thanks to me, the center has grown in leaps and bounds the past nine years. And,” he said, his tone dripping with pride, “I’m a shoo-in for the vice-president position.”
Sharleen rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe his nerve, his complete and utter disregard for everyone.
“I have things to do and people to see,” he boasted. “See you around, toots.”
“Off to terrorize another intern?” she said, too angry to bite her tongue.
“If you must know, I’m off to meet Zoe Archer-Ross at her Brookhaven mansion.” He adjusted his marine-blue tie and buttoned his suit jacket. “Since your friend was dumb enough to get fired, I took on all of her old clients. It sucks to be Jocelyn, but it’s great to be me!”
As she stood there, listening to Brad bad-mouth her best friend, she had to resist punching him in the face. He deserved no less for what he’d done to Jocelyn. She’d have the last laugh, though. No doubt about it. Once she landed the VP position, she was getting rid of him once and for all, and no one was going to stop her.
“How’s Jocelyn doing?” He cocked an eyebrow and licked his lips suggestively. “I should swing by her place later. I bet she’d like that.”
“You’re delusional. You’re the last person she wants to see.”
“And you’re jealous. I have girlfriends in every county, and you have no one.”
You’re wrong. I have Emilio, and he’s all the man I need.
“You wish you had a man like me,” he bragged. “I’m the kind of lover women dream about. Ask Jocelyn.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Sharleen struggled to keep a straight face. “Erectile dysfunction is nothing to be ashamed of, Brad. There’s help available. My aunt Phyllis is a urologist with decades of experience helping impotent men like you. Do you want her business card?”
His face fell, and the grin slid off his mouth.
“Stop harassing Jocelyn, or we’ll go to the police and file a complaint.”
“What for?”
“You drugged her and lured her into bed.”
“That’s a lie,” he argued, his voice a nervous squeak. “We had consensual sex.”
Curling her hands into fists, she stared him down. “I don’t think the new female district attorney will see it that way. She’s tough on crime, and after she hears Jocelyn’s heartbreaking story, you’ll be booked so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
“It’s her word against mine, and I have friends in high places.”
“A hair-follicle test will prove she’s telling the truth.”
Brad tugged at the collar of his dress shirt.
“You’re looking at serious charges and years behind bars.” Sharleen saw the color drain from his face, the flicker of fear that flashed in his eyes. She knew, without a doubt, that her suspicions were true. “Leave Jocelyn alone, or she’ll go to the cops.”
Her legs felt like rubber, but she marched toward the door. Without warning, Brad grabbed her arm and slid in front of her. He looked out of it, like a crazed man with nothing to lose. His nostrils were flaring, his face was quivering with rage and he was shouting his words. “Who the hell do you think you are? You think you’re better than me, but you’re not...”
Panic welled up inside her, made it impossible to breathe, to think. Self-preservation kicked in, and she wrestled her arm away. Sharleen stepped on Brad’s foot and broke free of his fierce grip. He staggered back into the table like a drunk and knocked over his mug. Coffee drenched everything on the table and dripped onto the floor.
Brad yelped, as if he’d been bitten by a dog. “You stupid bitch!” he shouted, scooping up his dripping cell phone. He ran into the kitchen, wiped it with a dish towel and tapped the screen. “It won’t work! You destroyed it!”
The door flew open, and Mrs. Fontaine stalked inside. “Brad, what’s going on?” she asked. “I can hear you shouting from the other side of the building, and so can the crew from Channel 6 News. Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“It’s not my fault.” Brad raised his iPhone. “That stupid bitch destroyed my cell phone!”
Mrs. Fontaine narrowed her eyes and propped her hands on her hips. “I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior at my clinic.”
“You don’t understand,” he argued.
“You owe Ms. Nichols an apology.”