Chapter 11
PRESSURE
Jack
I arrived at my high-rise midtown office, ready to dive into work for the next few hours. The time away from business for the afternoon had lasted longer than I’d anticipated, but I didn’t regret the hour with Kira, and I definitely didn’t regret the moments with Michelle.
When Casey finished her meeting with the marketing team—she oversaw all the advertising and brand positioning for the company, no help needed from me—she joined me in my office, plunking herself down on the eggplant-colored couch that she’d selected when she’d overhauled it a year ago, declaring the place too dull.
“A little splash of color makes everything better,” she’d said as the movers lugged in the new couch, and then carried out the old beige one. Wait. Boring beige one. Her words.
This morning, she’d been meeting with our ad agency, so this was my first chance to sit down with her and lay out the details of the Eden issue.
I didn’t need to explain to her that our top retailers boasted a storefront on the Upper East Side as well as a burgeoning online division.
Nor that the most profitable line of their business was the handful of under-the-radar invitation-only clubs they ran in Manhattan.
Sex positivity at its finest, and we were all about sex positivity.
“Here’s the problem,” I said, as I joined her in the red chair opposite the purple couch. Yes, the red chair was her selection too. Excuse me—cranberry. “Marquita brought in her brother, Leo, today. He’s their attorney, and unfortunately they need him. Since Conroy’s playing dirty.”
“The developer? As in Conroy Commercial Solutions?” The guy was known far and wide in New York. His mark was all over the skyscrapers in the city and he was voracious. A capitalist snake.
“Solutions my ass,” I sneered. “More like Conroy Commercial Crooks. And in case it’s not clear, Jared Conrory’s a complete prick.”
“Two of my least favorite words paired together,” Casey said.
“Me too. Trouble is, he fights below the belt.”
“Below the belt is a pleasure-only zone,” Casey said, eyes narrowed.
“The problem is, Conroy is hitting all the right notes about how his properties will offer more housing for New York’s residents who want a room of their own.
Which is utter bullshit since the lawyer found out housing is only a tiny portion of the proposal.
Mostly, the building will be used for short-term rentals. ”
“So what’s the Eden issue?”
“Good question. Annoying answer. If he wins, he’ll raze the club of course, but that also affects other locally-owned businesses—Eden’s clubs are located above storefronts for florists, dry cleaners, restaurants and so on, and they have contracts with those businesses, as well as others in the area.
So it hurts a lot of people. But Conroy is making his campaign to the neighborhood about the clubs.
And if they raze them, he’ll be some sort of,” I waved a hand, “housing white knight.”
Casey bared her teeth and crinkled her nose. “Bastard. I hate him already. Nobody fucks with Henry and Marquita, especially after all that Marquita has been through.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I said. Not only were Henry and Marquita key business customers for Joy Delivered, they were like family. I would go to battle for this guy on a personal level alone. Add in the business ties we shared, and I was all in.
There was real cause for concern from the domino-like effect of a potential shut down across the neighborhood, and the local businesses, not to mention our business.
Henry and Marquita’s reputation for carrying the best selection of vibrators was unrivaled.
They were tastemakers in the business of pleasure.
The New York clubs and store were flagships, but their reach extended across the country, with more stores in other states and a robust online business.
Where Henry and Marquita went, so went others.
Many online retailers often stocked products based on what the Eden couple showcased and recommended.
But on top of that, I didn’t like that Conroy was going after one of my business partners with such bold, craven lies.
“Besides, Henry runs the most prestigious clubs in New York. Have you seen the patrons?” Casey lowered her voice to a whisper, even though it was only the two of us.
“They’re all New York’s elite. One of the state senators is a member.
I bet Conroy has no clue that the good senator likes to be whipped and flogged by pretty ladies. ”
I laughed. “Bondage and dominance is a right, dammit. And so is battery-operated assistance. Anyway, I want to help them because it’s the right thing to do for them, and because helping them helps us. I think we should help them somehow.”
Casey slammed a fist onto the arm of the purple couch. “I’ll stage a march on anyone who dares to keep floggers and whips out of the bedroom.”
“Or sex dungeons, as the case may be,” I said dryly.
“That too,” Casey said, her blue eyes wide and enraged. “You should be able to do whatever you want between consenting adults in a sex dungeon. Want me to make signs? Picket? Launch a PR campaign?”
Actually, those weren’t bad ideas. Well, not the picketing. But the direction she was going in. “What if we worked on some marketing?”
She rubbed her palms. “I love it. I’ll work on some ideas.
I don’t want anyone messing with our business, Jack,” she said.
While Joy Delivered was our company and I loved every second of helping run it, the partnership had started with her—this was her baby.
She’d approached me about joining forces after she graduated from business school.
“You’re going to think this is crazy, but I know what I want to be when I grow up,” she’d said, her mortarboard in hand.
I had recently completed my service with the army, and after a few savvy investments during my time stationed in Europe, I was stateside again and newly flush with cash.
I was also newly eager to chase that feeling again, when I knew in my bones that a start-up was destined for greatness.
Eager to utilize my experience to help more great ideas get to the level where they could attract investors like me.
So when Casey presented her business plan to me, I’d jumped on the chance to put my money where my mouth was—literally—and help her build a business from the ground up.
My sister brought her natural passion; I brought my business mind.
And, of course, an avid appreciation for the female body and all the ways that women could experience pleasure.
I’d been a lucky man—lucky with the ladies, and lucky in business.
Until Aubrey, when my luck ran out, and everything unraveled from my simple inability to tell her the truth.
The way things ended was a stone in my chest, heavy and unyielding.
“How did your appointment go today?”
I blinked, returning to the here and now, and the question Casey had asked.
“The one with Dr. Milo?” Casey said, rolling her hands, as if to jog my memory.
“It was fine, but I don’t want to get into the details.”
She parked her hands on her hips. “You’re so closed off sometimes, Jack.”
“Yes,” I said, pointedly. “I know. It’s called privacy. You should try it sometime.”
“That did not compute. You must be speaking a foreign language.”
I laughed and shook my head. My sister was relentless. She was also an open book. She always wanted to talk about things, to discuss them, to have them out in the open. The polar opposite of our parents. But I wasn’t going to open up to her about the reason why Michelle wasn’t my therapist.
“So, how was Dr. Milo? Was she as amazing as they say?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping the smirk to myself as I gave the barest of answers, and yet one that was completely truthful.
She was amazing, but in a different way than Casey was asking.
Not only was Michelle clever and sharp, she was stunning.
The woman was primed for passion, bathed in sensuality.
She knew her way around her own body, clearly.
She knew what brought her pleasure, and she was willing to give herself to me and let me take her there too.
No inhibitions, only openness. The things I could do with her.
“Well, I hope you and she start to dig into what’s weighing you down up here,” she said, tapping her skull as she stood. “And here too,” she said, lowering her voice as she touched her heart. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I said reflexively.
“No. You’re not happy. You’re busy. Don’t confuse the two,” she said, then dropped a chaste kiss on my cheek, and sauntered out.
She was right, of course. She was always right. I was a man who filled his nights and days. If I didn’t, the past would try to chain me up.
With Michelle, I hadn’t felt chained. I hadn’t felt guilty. I’d simply felt like one mistake didn’t have to define me.
Like I could move on.
Whatever the hell that meant.