Jack stepped away from them, and called Casey. “I need the name of the guy with the glasses,” he told her.
Casey answered quickly. “Nick Bradshaw. He’s second-in-command at a strategy firm.”
“Home address?”
She was quiet for a minute, typing away. “Nope. Private.”
“I’ll find it,” he said, and hopped on the Federal Election Commission page on his phone. This guy was into politics, so chances were good he’d have donated over the years to campaigns, and if he did, his address would be public record. Sure enough, a contribution to the last presidential election revealed that the fucker lived in the Village.
“I need to go,” he said to Michelle, then turned to Davis. “Will you stay here with her?”
“Of course,” he said protectively, narrowing his eyes. Jack got the meaning behind the stare. Jack was merely the lover who’d brought down a heap of trouble on Davis’s sister, his family, his blood. Her brother had been the man in Michelle’s life—her steady, her constant, the one person who got her through the shittiest times of all. Seeing that cool stare made Jack even more determined to prove himself. He had to right this ship.
He knelt down by Michelle, took her hand, and looked her in the eyes. It wasn’t the sadness that stunned him. It was the defeat. The look of ruin already. This had the potential to destroy her career.
“I love you,” he said, because it was all he could say right now that mattered. Anything else was an empty promise. This was the only true thing.
“I know,” she said, managing the sliver of a smile.
“And I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is happening. That they’re going after you. It’s all my fault,” he said, clasping her hand tighter.
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
“I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix this right now.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered, but he knew it wasn’t okay to her. It wouldn’t be okay to anyone. She just wasn’t the type of person who’d blame him, or anyone.
He left, but her brother followed him into the hallway, letting the door close behind him. “Don’t hurt my sister,” Davis said, his features stony.
“I won’t hurt your sister.”
Davis shook his head in frustration. “I mean it. If this is on you, you better make things right. As right as you possibly can.”
“I have a sister too. I would do the same, and say the same if I were in your position. Michelle means the world to me, and I’ll do everything for her.”
Davis gave a curt nod, then turned on his heels.
Jack took off for downtown, hailing a cab, and arriving at Bradshaw’s building fifteen minutes later. He buzzed 2C, then waited, muttering c’mon under his breath.
“Hello?” It was a man’s voice, and Jack was ready to strangle him, so he called upon some extra stores of his best friend—restraint.
“It’s Just Jack. I believe you wanted to talk about backing off. I’m on your steps.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Jack leaned against the railing of the stoop, watching through the glass panels of the brown front door. Soon, he saw a man descend the stairs, then reach the ground level. He looked exactly as Michelle described. Standard businessman. Gray slacks, button-down shirt, loosened tie. He had dark hair and dark glasses.
He opened the first set of doors, then the second, stepping out onto the stoop.
Jack dug his nails into his palms to refrain from pummeling him, from grabbing this bastard by the throat and shaking the goddamn life out of him. That would do no good.
Instead, he took a different approach. He extended his hand. “Clark Davidson, right?” he asked, and Nick smirked. Jack continued. “Market researcher, I understand?”
Nick smiled wickedly in response. “I see she’s been revealing patient-client confidentiality,” he said, tsk, tsking under his breath.
Jack fumed. “Don’t even go there,” he said in a hiss.
Nick pretended to bug out his eyes. “Why?” he asked in fake shock. “What are you going to do to me?” Nick’s eyes traveled to Jack’s clenched hands. “You gonna hit me, Soldier-Turned-Sex-Toy-Mogul? Why don’t you try? Why don’t you see how I spin that?”
Smoke billowed from Jack’s ears. He gritted his teeth.
“Keep it all inside,” Nick continued, taunting. “Because they don’t call me the Spin Doctor for nothing. You touch me, and I will find a way to make everyone hate you too.” Nick laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. “Or maybe, take your chances. Take a punch at me. I turned your girlfriend into garbage. You think I won’t find a way to pulverize you?”
Rage coursed through Jack’s veins and he grabbed the man by the shirt collar. “You can’t touch me. I run a fucking sex toy company. I sell dildos for a living. There is nothing you can do to me. My reputation doesn’t matter.”
“I know,” Nick said with an evil glint in his dark eyes. “You’re the fucking Teflon man, Jack. The press loves you. They love the grieving widower story. They love that you run a business with your sister. You’re impenetrable. No one gives a shit if you like it dirty. No one cares if you fuck a woman on the Met Life Tower. Same way with Henry. He runs BDSM clubs with his wife, who’s a cancer survivor. I can’t touch her. But you,” Nick said, poking Jack’s chest, and he was ready to throttle the man. He’d started this war by going after Henry’s business solely to knock down his brother-in-law. He’d already hit below the belt. Now he was firing bullets, by throwing around all the private times he’d learned about from their emails, “you gave us the perfect target.”