Nights with Him (Seductive Nights #4)(22)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“The question is, how hard do you want to hit this message?” Jack asked, turning to Denkler. “How bad is this killing you in the polls?”

“It’s pretty bad. No one wants to hear about schools and safe streets anymore, now that Conroy has made everyone think the clubs are bringing down the neighborhood,” Denkler admitted, his voice that of a man nearing the end of his rope, as he pushed a hand through his hair. He seemed like a classic heart-of-gold guy. He’d clearly gotten involved in politics because he wanted to make a change for the better, but his platform had been turned upside down by a bastard who went for the jugular.

“You need to get preemptive,” Jack said firmly, reflecting back on his days with the army. “You don’t let the enemy walk all over you. You have to understand the enemy. Understand the problem. Act on it.”

Denkler nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve tried refocusing back to the core message, but my PR manager doesn’t think that will work until we explain openly why we’re not opposed to the clubs, like Conroy is. He thinks we need to talk about why the neighborhood doesn’t need a Times Square style sweep of the clubs. Come at it from an education point of view.”

Henry jumped in. “We should be more vocal in our support too. I think we need to talk more to the press about why Eden and the clubs support Paul, and not simply because he’s my lovely wife’s brother,” he said, squeezing his wife’s hand.

“And by extension, why Joy Delivered does too?” Casey asked.

Henry nodded.

Jack sighed, but didn’t say no. “I don’t know, guys. A lot of people from all walks of life and political persuasions like a little assistance in the bedroom. I don’t want to be a company that takes sides.”

“We don’t have to take sides,” Casey said, piping in. “We just have to explain the facts.”

“We’re backing Paul. We’re already taking sides,” he pointed out.

“But the side we’re on is the side we’re already on. We promote pleasure. That’s our side,” she said insistently. “Besides, it’s okay for us to take sides. We sell sex products. We’re not teachers. We’re not cops. We want consenting adults to be free to do what they want so long as they’re safe. And no one runs a safer club than Henry. Safe for the people who go, but also for those who don’t go.”

Paul’s eyes lit up, and he snapped a finger. “Exactly.”

Jack leaned back in his chair as the waitress brought over iced teas and waters. “There’s your slogan. Safe for those who go, and those who don’t.”

The politician nodded and smiled broadly, as if all the problems had been solved. “That is indeed a great slogan.”

Jack gestured to his sister. “She needs to be more involved. She’s the idea woman. She’d be a great strategist on this.”

Casey smiled, and waved a hand as if to say this was all nothing.

“You have great ideas,” Paul said.

“She does,” Jack added.

The problem hadn’t been solved though. Jack knew why Denkler was swimming upstream. His opponent fought dirty, but he didn’t know how to get muddy. Denkler was a good guy, but he was too good.

“Listen,” Jack began, his tone commanding, the same one he’d used when he talked to his men back in Europe on how to proceed. “I get that politics is a battleground, and you’re losing right now, Paul. You’ve got a sneaky opponent who knows how to twist some serious shit.” He parked his elbows on the table. “But you need to get on the offensive. You’re standing here like a goddamn punching bag, taking his blows. You need to get a handle on what you’re up against. Why do you not have some dirt on Conroy?”

“We’ve been looking into him,” Paul said, but the red flush on his cheeks made it clear they’d found nothing.

“Yeah?” Jack raised an eyebrow in question. “What have you found?”

“We’re still looking.”

Jack nodded. Held up a hand. “You need to run some serious counterintelligence on him. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Every single person has something they don’t want the opposition to know. My job in the military was to find that out. Everything was findable. Everything was obtainable. You need to get your intelligence men working harder, and figure out what Conroy has in his closet so you can fight this battle.”

Paul gulped and nodded, and Jack couldn’t deny it felt good to give some kind of order again.

* * *

Jack walked back to the office with his sister, unknotting his tie on the way.

“I hate having to tell a good guy like that to dig up dirt,” he muttered, as he dropped his shades over his eyes to block out the afternoon sun.

“I bet I could find something on Conroy,” Casey mused, and Jack shot his baby sister an inquisitive look.

“I know I could. Since when are you a spy?”

“I grew up with you. I learned how to find things out,” she said with an impish grin as they walked past a group of construction workers whose heads all turned to stare at his sister. Instinct kicked in, and he turned to the crew, his eyes flared with anger. That was enough for them to focus on their jobs.

“Look at you. Running a little espionage.”

“I just don’t want someone messing with our business. I love Joy Delivered. I’ll fight for it,” she said as they walked past a Duane Reade on the corner, bustling with mid-day shoppers. What would he fight for? He’d fight for this company, and he did every day, especially now, with the Conroy onslaught. He’d fight for his sister, of course. But beyond that? What did he love madly? He’d like to know because he hadn’t loved his fiancée enough. That had been the big fucking problem.

“Speaking of fighting, you were ornery at lunch. Was it only over the campaign?” she asked, stopping in her tracks when they reached the red light at Madison. She parked her hands on her hips and stared at him, her blue eyes refusing to let him get away with anything. She’d always been like this. Firm, strong, passionate. Take no prisoners. This was one of the reasons he was so close with his sister—she was fiery and full of emotion, and yet their parents were so . . . dispassionate. They rarely held hands with each other, and hardly ever kissed, even a peck on the cheek. That lack of affection had extended far and wide. Jack could remember riding his bike in the summers as a kid, then running inside, sweaty, but wanting to give his mom a hug. She’d always refuse, saying it was too hot for hugging. That was her modus operandi. There was often a distance with her, as if she didn’t want to get too close.