Nate must have too. He cleared his throat and clapped Jack on the back. “Looks like you two have lots of catching up to do,” he said then tipped an imaginary hat to Casey, whose expression softened once more for Nate as he said goodbye and turned the corner. Casey glared at Jack.

“What do you want to chew me out for, Case?” he asked, holding his hands out wide. He had no idea what her deal was.

Stabbing her finger at her phone, she said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were screwing your shrink?”

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d said she was joining the circus. “What?”

“Right here. It’s on Page Six.” She pointed to the phone once more, brandishing it like a weapon. He peered at the screen to see a post on a NY tabloid paper.

“Allow me,” Casey continued. “One of NYC’s most eligible bachelors, Jack Sullivan, was spotted having dinner with a lovely brunette at Sushi Den near the Chrysler Building. The brunette was later identified as Michelle Milo, and a quick Google tells us she’s a psychologist who specializes in intimate relationships. Can you hear the weeping and gnashing of teeth of all the single women in New York? Is she catering to your intimate pleasures, Jack? If she doesn’t, we will!”

He seethed. He’d never been bothered by the things the press said. He’d never cared. Not about himself, and not about Aubrey. They were both used to it. They didn’t even notice. But Michelle belonged to him, not the public eye. He hated that she’d been thrust there without her permission.

“Jack,” Casey said in a measured voice, “This was not the plan when I made that appointment. How did this happen?”

“Oh, right,” he said addressing his sister’s concerns. “She’s not my shrink. I told you that. Weirdly enough, I met her before the appointment and neither one of us knew who the other was, and then when I realized who she was the next day, we agreed I’d see someone else.”

“But you’re seeing her?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes.”

“Romantically?”

Sexually, he wanted to add. But somehow, romantically fit too.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“And you like her?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted.

Then Casey squealed, her expression shifting instantly, and she jumped up and down. She threw her arms around Jack. “I can’t believe you met someone you like. I’m so happy.”

He hugged her back. “Let’s not get too excited.”

“I am, though. I am.” She pulled back. “I want you to be happy.”

He was finding that he was with Michelle. Which meant he was sure to fuck it up sooner or later. Knowing himself, he’d be betting on sooner.

Casey had become a stalker. Later that afternoon she trekked to Conroy’s block to conduct some recon. By three-thirty, she’d paced up and down his street too many times to count. Found nothing. The door to his brownstone had remained closed. She’d snapped a few photos and sent them to her brother with silly captions.