Page 70 of Babies for the Big Shot
I stare at the screen, waiting for it to offer clarity it can’t provide.
Then I glance back at the drawer.
If she’s bluffing, she’s more skilled than I remembered. But if she’s not…
Then this just got significantly more dangerous.
I grab my coat.
If Rebecca knows who’s behind this, I need to hear it from her, before anyone else does.
Before Sara becomes collateral damage.
Delancey and Orchard is a nightmare.
Trendy. Loud. Crowded with people who pretend not to stare. Exactly the kind of place Rebecca prefers—somewhere curated to feel exclusive, where secrets are passed like amuse bouches between overpriced mezcal cocktails and waitstaff trained in discretion.
She’s already seated when I arrive.
Naturally.
She looks ready for a fashion editorial: sharp blazer, high-gloss boots, sunglasses large enough to double as armor. Her drink’s half gone.
“Darling,” she says, rising just long enough to brush her mouth across my cheek. It’s not affection, it’s a message. A performance for the room: we’ve shared more than a meal.
I sit across from her.
“I ordered you a Negroni,” she says, nudging the glass toward me. “You look like you need one.”
“I need answers,” I say. “Not alcohol.”
She leans back, settling in for a show. “You used to be more fun.
I don’t respond.
She sighs. Loudly. “Fine. Let’s get to it. Your little scandal-in-progress. Although if I’m honest, your taste in women has… declined.”
My jaw tightens. “This isn’t an invitation to insult her.”
“Oh, relax. I’m not insulting her,” she says, lifting her glass. “I’m just saying… it’s bold. Risky. The intern? You always liked to live on the edge, but this is practically cliché.”
“She’s not an intern.”
Rebecca hums. “Still. Very pretty. Very combustible. And apparently, not very hidden.”
I watch her carefully. “Is someone digging?”
“There’s always someone digging, Nick. The only question is who gave them the coordinates.”
“Have you heard something specific?”
She swirls the ice in her glass, drawing it out. “Whispers. Your name. Her name. The usual suspects… power imbalance, HR violations, termination-worthy behavior.”
My pulse flares. “So no denials.”
“If I’d sent that photo,” she says, setting her glass down, “I would’ve left a signature. I don’t do shadows.”
“And yet here we are.”
