Chapter 38 Plan B
PLAN B
Davis
I wasn’t sure if I liked Jack. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him anywhere near my sister. But I respected her choices, and if she was in love with him and he made her happy, then I’d support her. That’s what big brothers did, even when it was hard.
Right now, she was asking me what I thought about Jack’s Plan B.
Considering she’d already lost a third of her clients—and it was only a week since the story from hell broke—I didn’t see how Plan B could make things worse.
Especially with the Page Six story taking on a life of its own.
It wasn’t just an article anymore; it had spawned viral videos, stupid spoofs of patients seducing therapists, and vice versa.
The Internet loved a scandal, and this one was tailor-made for meme culture.
Over the last week Sutton has called me regularly to check in. The day the article was published, she called to warn me to keep Michelle off social.
The story had the longest legs I’d ever seen.
“Not a problem,” I’d told Sutton during the call. “Michelle tries to live her life off social. But I appreciate the heads up, Sutton.”
“How is she doing today?” Sutton asked, her voice softening.
“She’s still upset about the workshop she was supposed to be leading since it was axed. She lost more clients today. The backlash is bad. That story is like a match that started this whole fire.”
Sutton sighed. “I’m so sorry. It’s awful. Give her my love.”
“I will,” I said, ending the call and heading back to Michelle, who was waiting for me. She’d just finished explaining Jack’s plan and wanted to know if I thought it could do more damage.
“It’s so hard to say,” I told her. “But I honestly don’t see how it could do more damage. Maybe it could deflect the attention back to these…businesses, where it should be.”
“It’s fine,” she said, her tone flat and lifeless. It wasn’t like her. She was usually sharp and vibrant, like a high-definition TV. Now, she was playing in black and white, moving listlessly around the kitchen as she opened the fridge, grabbed her water pitcher, and poured herself a small glass.
“It’s not fine,” I snapped, my frustration spilling over. “This should never have happened. It pisses me off that this happened.”
I was dangerously close to saying what I was really thinking: How can I not blame this guy you love?
She drank the water and set the glass on the counter. “It’s not his fault, Davis. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”
Caught. I held up my hands. “Michelle, you’ve worked so hard for your career, and I hate that dating some guy with enemies is killing you.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “I know. But I don’t even care anymore.”
“That’s not true. You do care. You care about everything,” I said, meeting her gaze.
She shot me a rueful smile. “And look where it got me. Everything I’ve worked for is going down the drain.”
“You’ll reinvent yourself,” I said, reaching for her hand. I had to change tactics. My annoyance with Jack wasn’t helping, and she needed support, not my grudges. “And I’ll be here every step of the way.”
“I know,” she said, her voice soft. She paused, then added, “At least I can do some good on my way out. Maybe I should take the job in Paris, after all. I do love Paris,” she said, a little wistfully. “I always thought in another life, I could see myself there.”
I heard real longing in her voice, and I straightened up, the words snapping me to attention. “You were offered a job in Paris?”
“Sort of. Well, almost. After my keynote—which I kicked ass delivering—Julien introduced me to one of his colleagues, Denis. I talked to him for a while. He was impressed with my findings, and he emailed me last week to say he wants to talk more to see if I’d be interested in working with him.
It was one of the many emails I got when I landed.
I haven’t had a chance to respond yet. I had a lot going on,” she said sarcastically, her faint humor giving me a sliver of hope that she’d be okay.
“Do you want to talk more to Denis?” I asked gently.
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure he hasn’t seen the reports yet, and when he does, he won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole either.
You might as well just tell Jack that his Plan B is fine.
I’m going to take a shower. I have to see the ethics board in an hour.
Why don’t you check and see if Denis sent another email? I can’t bear any more bad news.”
When I heard the shower running, I opened the new laptop I’d bought for her last week. She’d smashed the old one, and the hacked phone, with a hammer, a little ceremony of destruction that I hadn’t blamed her for.
Scrolling through her inbox, I found an email from Denis and read it quickly.
Michelle
I didn’t think I could take another surprise hit. When I saw Priya from my consulting group leaving the office of the ethics board in the Upper West Side building, I stopped her, unable to take the suspense. “What were you doing there?”
Priya held her chin up, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I went in to make a few things clear as someone who’s been a colleague of yours for years.
I wanted to tell them how much I admire you, and that everything being said is wrong.
That you’re the victim here, of a smear attack that has nothing to do with you. ”
Her words hit me hard, in the best way. A tear of gratitude threatened to spill over. “You did that for me?”
She nodded, her expression warm and sincere. “I did. I don’t need to know the details. I know you, and I don’t believe the stories.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. I barely knew Priya outside of a professional setting, which made her effort even more meaningful.
She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I bet it was that client you mentioned—the one who was checking you out. He seemed…how shall we say…unhinged.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I said, forcing a faint smile before walking through the green door and into the office.
Inside, I told my colleagues the same story I’d told Carla, Kira, and anyone else who’d asked. “Jack was never my patient.”
It was the whole truth—the entire truth—and it was all I had to go on.
But the truth mattered, didn’t it? Especially in a world where lies were becoming the norm, where men like Conroy twisted facts and spun them to manipulate people.
The truth still mattered. Plus, Kira knew the truth too.
She’d even been there that first day. She’d explained to the ethics board that I’d referred Jack to her right away.
It was more evidence, but deep down, I feared it would never be enough.
When I left the building, I checked my voicemail, and my stomach sank. More cancellations. One after another.
I was hemorrhaging clients faster than a slashed artery.
Sometimes the truth wasn’t enough to change the reality.
Briefly, I contemplated making a video for social.
One of those confessionals where I told my side of the story.
But hadn’t the world had enough of social media confessionals?
Besides, it would ring false, since that wasn’t my style, and I wasn’t on social.
But there was one thing I could still do. “Priya, I'm so glad you're still here. Can I walk with you for a few minutes?”
Jack
I knocked on the green door. A graying man who looked like a professor opened it and invited me in.
Inside, we were joined by a woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun and another man, middle-aged and serious.
These were the people in charge of Michelle’s professional fate.
They held the power to take her license away.
“Take a seat,” the graying man said.
I sat down on a hard brown chair. “I know you didn’t call me, but I needed to be here.”
“We are glad you found us,” he said. “We treat all these situations seriously. Let’s start at the beginning.”
“She refused to treat me,” I said, keeping my voice firm.
“It’s that simple. I had no sooner knocked on her office door than she was hustling me down the hall to a colleague.
Unfortunately, I brought something else to her door, too, and all of this character assassination is a result of it.
My company is being blackmailed, and Michelle Milo was their example of what we should expect to happen if we don’t agree to a bad deal. Let me take you through it.”
Later, I met Casey in midtown. She introduced me to Plan B—her friend from the New York Press—at a quiet café.
Her name was Caroline, and she sat across from me at the corner table.
Her red hair was pulled into a tight braid down her back, and a pink knit scarf was wrapped around her neck.
She extended her hand for a quick shake before diving right in.
“I’m going to take notes the whole time and record this,” Caroline said, her fingers poised over her laptop, phone on the table.
“I’d planned to publish the piece about Eden today, but with your allegations, my editor has agreed we should hold it and get the full story.
I’m not going to lie, this has gone from the local section to the front page, so we’ve got a lot to cover.
Let’s start with the news of the hour, shall we? ”
“The one about the Sex Toy Soldier dating a therapist?” I said, trying to keep it light.
She laughed. “Yes, that one.”
“Here’s the story…” I said, keeping my tone measured.
I’d expected the question, and I answered honestly, just like I had before the ethics board.
I didn’t know if it would be enough to save Michelle.
Perception is a funny thing. People forget details, but not feelings.
They don’t always remember exoneration, but they recall someone’s name being involved in a scandal.
And the public can be particularly unforgiving of women.
All I could do was put my thumb on the scale of public perception toward Conroy and his unhinged enforcer Nick.