Page 44 of Things We Left Behind

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 saveyour 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.

“What a small world, Trip,” Sheila Chandra said with the honeyed tones of Georgia. She looked back and forth between me and my ex-­client.

“Sheila is going to be running for the seat you’re so graciously vacating, Trip,” I said. “I’m glad we can count on your support.

Trip shot me a parting look with red-­rimmed eyes and said nothing as he marched out of my office.

Sheila turned to me, eyebrows high. “I think I’m gonna need an explanation…and a drink.”

A knock at my office door dragged me out of my never-­ending inbox. I looked up to see Lina on the other side of the glass. It was after six. The city outside my windows lit up the night sky. Most of the staff had gone home for the day, but I still had hours of catching up thanks to my time in Knockemout.

I gestured her inside.

“Is it done?” I asked, firing off the reply and opening the next message.

“Yes.”

“Good. Get out. I’m busy.”

She ignored the command and dropped down in the chair across from me. “How did it go with Chandra?”

I took off my reading glasses, resigning myself to an unwanted conversation.

“Fine.” The woman had accused me of Machiavellian-­level manipulations, which I took as a compliment. Then she’d insisted on taking some time to consider my proposal that would have her taking Trip’s seat before making the run for higher office. The fact that she didn’t immediately jump at my offer assured me I’d made the right decision. She’d poll higher with younger voters, do more for her constituents, and wouldn’t fuck around with a golden opportunity like her predecessor had.

She would see my offer for what it was: a chance to finally do the work she’d always wanted.

“What’s your end game?” Lina demanded.

“That’s an awfully personal question for someone who doesn’t officially work for me.”