She studied the pictures. “The guy who looks like he was born in an ascot is Trip Armistead, our client and current member of the House of Representatives. I have no idea who the topless dancer is, but I’ll shave my head if she’s eighteen.”
I glanced at my watch. “You have twenty-three minutes to take these photos and the information in the secure folder to build a compelling anonymous tip to be sent to the reputable news organizations of your choice.”
“Are we actually pressing Send, or are we using it to scare the shit out of our old buddy Trip?”
“The latter.”
The man had the backbone of a crustacean. One quick snap was all it would take.
“Fun. I’m in,” she said, rising from her seat.
“Why haven’t you accepted the job?” I asked.
She paused, then lowered herself back into the chair. “Does it matter?” she asked cagily.
“I won’t know until you tell me. Is it the compensation? Does Nash have an issue with you working for me?”
“The compensation is fair. The work seems like it’s interesting from the glimpses you allow. Nash is thrilled that I get to be home every day.”
“Then what is it?”
“Sloane.”
My grip tightened on the pen in my hand. “You don’t seem like the type of woman to let other people call the shots in your life,” I said evenly.
Lina scoffed. “Sloane didn’t tell me not to take the job. My hesitation lies in the fact that you’re an asshole to one of my only friends for vague reasons that you both refuse to explain.”
I said nothing and Lina continued.
“Maybe you’re carrying some multi-decade grudge about something that happened when you were practically children, which would be pathetic. Or maybe you had a secret torrid affair that went south and now you can’t stand her, which would be immature. Maybe she ran over your pet tarantula when she was learning to drive. I honestly don’t care about the why. The bottom line is I don’t want to dedicate my working life to a man who treats my friend badly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a politician to blackmail.”
Trip Armistead was a blond-haired, blue-eyed southerner who prided himself on his charm and pedigree.
He was also an asshole who had officially outlived his usefulness.
He entered my office, arms spread, palms up, a man certain of his importance. I looked forward to ruining that.
“Lucian, old friend. We should have done this in Atlanta. I was in my shirtsleeves on the golf course two days ago,” Trip said, heading straight for the decanter of bourbon I kept on a side table. He poured himself a glass and gestured toward me with it. “Want one?”
“No thanks, Trip. I’m afraid our meeting won’t last long enough for you to finish that.”
“Now what’s this all about?” he asked affably as he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk.
“You’re not going to run for the Senate. In fact, you’re not going to run for reelection. You’re going to resign your position and scurry out of the spotlight like a cockroach on a kitchen floor.”
“I beg your pardon?” His knuckles whitened against the glass.
I got out of my chair and rounded my desk. “When we came on board, you assured me there weren’t going to be any problems, any dirty little secrets. Do you remember that?”
Trip swallowed reflexively. “Of course. I gave you my word. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’ve been nothing but—”
“I’m going to stop you there, Trip, because if you lie to my face, this will get ugly. And I don’t have time for ugly.” I handed over the folder Lina had prepared in record time.
The glass slid from Trip’s hand.
I caught it before it hit the ground and placed it on my desk with a hard clink. “I see I have your attention.”
“How… Why?”
The bravado, the confidence was unraveling faster and faster now.
“You do know who I am, don’t you, Trip? You understand how serious I am about protecting my clients while paving their way into history. Can you really be that stupid to think I would take you at your word? I protect my investments…even from themselves.”
“I have a wife, daughters.”
“You should have thought of them before you hired two sex workers in less than twenty-four hours.”
He was visibly shaking now.
“I warned you what would happen if you crossed me,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t cross you. This isn’t what it looks like,” he sputtered.
“The girl you hired this morning? She turned eighteen last week. Your oldest daughter is what? Sixteen?” I asked.
“I-It’s a sex addiction. I’ll get help,” Trip decided. “We’ll keep it quiet, I’ll get treatment, and everything will be fine.”
I shook my head. “I see it’s not sinking in yet. You’re finished. There’s no way for you to throw yourself on the mercy of the court of public opinion, because they’ll eat you alive. Especially seeing as how you missed the vote on veterans benefits because you were paying to have your cock sucked.”
Little beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
“You threw it all away because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants. Your career, your future. Your family. Your wife will leave you. Your daughters are old enough that they’ll hear every salacious detail of Daddy’s extracurricular sex life. They’ll never look at you the same again.” I nodded at the open folder in his lap. “I’ve already had a press release drafted about how my firm was forced to sever ties with you after learning about your sexual exploits.”
He closed his eyes, and I had to turn away when his lip began to tremble.
“Please. Don’t do this. I’ll do anything,” he begged.
He was yet another weak, pathetic addition to the long list of men who risked everything just to get off.
“I’ll give you a choice. You’ll resign from Congress immediately. You’ll go home and tell your wife and daughters that you had an epiphany and that your time together is precious. You don’t want to work a job that keeps you away from them so much anymore. You’ll go to fucking therapy. Or you won’t. You’ll save your marriage or you won’t. One thing you won’t do is ever cheat on your wife again. Because if you do, I’ll deliver copies of every photo and every video to your wife, your parents, your church, and every member of the media between here and fucking Atlanta.”
Trip put his head in his hands and let out a broken moan.
I almost wished he’d put up more of a fight, then smothered that feeling.
“Get out. Go home, and don’t ever give me a reason to share the information I’ve collected.”
“I can be better. I can do better,” he said, rising from the chair like a puppet on strings.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I said, leading the way to the door.
He was weak. No one could build a foundation on weakness.
I opened the door and held it. Trip walked through, eyes down.
“I was just bringing Ms. Chandra to you, sir,” Petula said.
Trip looked up, defeat fully settling over him as his shoulders hunched.