Page 61 of Babies for the Big Shot
Rebecca: Does she know about Evelyn? About what happened to her?
Cold slices through me. The kind that precedes impact.
I put the phone down, hard. Face down. A breath short of shattered glass.
But I don’t sit still. Not this time.
I unlock my private contact list and pull up half a dozen numbers. Legal, PR, crisis management, the old fixers from my London days. My thumb hovers over one name: Katherine Li. The best nondisclosure lawyer in Manhattan.
I start a draft:
“Former partner threatening reputational blackmail. Leverage includes private history and current employee. Need NDA, threat containment, options for preemptive response.”
Another part of me wants to call her. To rip into her. End this the way I used to, fast and ruthless.
I type her number in. Let it ring.
She picks up. Her voice is smooth poison. “Missed me?”
“You mention Evelyn again,” I say, voice flat, “and I will bury you in litigation so deep you won’t see daylight until you’re eighty. Stay away from Sara.”
A pause. Then a laugh. Soft. Cruel. “Oh, sweetheart. I was hoping you still had teeth.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone.
For a second, I let myself believe it worked. That she’ll back off. That the threat landed.
Until another message appears.
Rebecca: Interesting, by the way… to learn about that little thing on your arm Saturday. I did some digging. Cute dress. Cuter resume. She works for you, doesn’t she? Lower-level admin in your gleaming New York office. God, Nick. How predictable. You’re fucking the help now? What a cliché…
Then another. Worse. So much worse.
Rebecca: You really should be more careful about the girls you pick. Sara Brooks. Twenty-six. Student loans. Spotty employment history. A father who’s disappeared with a petty theft conviction. Cute. So very salt of the earth.
Rebecca: People don’t just hire girls like that unless they’re sleeping with them. That’s the story I’d tell. And I’ve already found someone who’s very interested in listening.
My stomach drops. Every word is acid. Every detail, precise. She’s dug into Sara’s background, found what little she has, and twisted it into something rotten.
The fury is instant. Total.
I could end her. I’ve done worse with less provocation.
But this?
This isn’t about me anymore.
It’s about what she’ll do to Sara.
The story writes itself. The narrative is irresistible. A junior assistant caught in an affair with her powerful boss. The media won’t hesitate. They’ll tear her apart. Turn her ambition into seduction. Her success into scandal. Her name will become ammunition.
And it will all trace back to me.
My history. My decisions. My recklessness.
She will suffer the fallout.
