The Price of Scandal Page 6

  “Let’s go, ladies. We have minds to change today.”

  “I don’t see why you need to drive us to work,” Emily complained as I half shoved her into the passenger seat of the Escalade.

  “You’re not very friendly in the mornings, are you?” I teased.

  “She needs caffeine for polite. Sugar and carbs if you want friendly,” Jane piped up from the back seat.

  “I can make that happen,” I promised. I might be charmingly underhanded when the occasion called for it, but I didn’t break my promises.

  9

  Emily

  Derek maneuvered through Bluewater like he was intimately familiar with my community. I didn’t like it. He snuck down Tequila Lane and cut across Tiki Bar Drive like he’d been born avoiding the early morning tai chi golf cart and foot traffic jam.

  “Nice cock,” he noted when we passed the eight-foot-tall hand-carved rooster near the gate.

  “Huh. I was just thinking the same thing,” Jane mused from the back seat.

  Ha ha. So funny. Hilarious. I crossed my arms over my chest and made a mental list of all the ways I could dispose of Derek’s body.

  A crisis management firm? I didn’t like it. And I really didn’t like anything about Derek Price. He was high-handed. Condescending. Take charge.

  Sure. Some women liked that.

  Some women would probably like the naked trespassing, too.

  But I wasn’t some women. I was Emily gosh darn Stanton, and I was hanging on by my fingernails.

  Shit. I needed to schedule a manicure.

  I keyed in the note to my phone as we cruised through Bluewater.

  My home along with my cohorts’ houses were tucked away on the very tip of the enclave accessed by a small bridge. A pretty lagoon divided our cul de sac from the rest of the community. It offered the seclusion I’d wanted, though Cam was our mini-neighborhood busybody. She kept tabs on all our comings and goings. An orphan herself, she’d adopted the rest of us as family and fussed over us like a mother hen.

  On cue, my phone vibrated in my purse.

  I fished it out.

  Cam: Who’s the GQ eye candy?

  I did a mental eye roll.

  Me: Just the guy who broke into my house and got naked last night. Long story.

  Four seconds later, I had question mark texts from Luna and Daisy in a group message.

  Me: Guys, it’s a long story, and I’m hoping to get rid of him today.

  Cam: I ran an image search. That hunk of pheromones is The Derek Price.

  Daisy: You hired him! I’m so proud. I was going to gift him to you, but I know how you feel about people being up in your business.

  Luna: Wait. Emily hired a prostitute?

  Daisy: Business. Not “bis-natch.” He’s a crisis management specialist and a damn good one, too. He shines up the tarnished. I used him after the shoplifting debacle of 2016.

  Cam: I’m running through his website and social media presences. Seems legit. And also very very gorgeous. Like carved by angels out of heavenly marble gorgeous. Question: is it legal for human beings to be that attractive?

  I rolled my eyes. Since when did legit mean a naked meet and greet after breaking and entering?

  My board had saddled me with a criminal to keep me from being labeled as one.

  I shot a glance at Derek and his “heavenly” profile. Damn it. Okay. I could admit that he was attractive. Handsome even. He had those slight hollows under his cheekbones that made him look pensive and angular. His jaw was sharp and lightly shadowed in stubble like he was too careless to worry about shaving regularly. Behind his sunglasses I knew were heavily lashed eyes bluer than Biscayne Bay. The scar under his eye was acceptable. The dimple… not revolting.

  He wore a tailored suit sans tie, and his skin had the dusky bronze hue of a year-round Miami resident. Fine. He wasn’t hideous. But that didn’t mean he was good at his job. Or that I required his services.

  Daisy: Tell him I said hi.

  She added a winky kissy face.

  I would do no such thing. I wasn’t going to let this Derek Price any further into my life than he’d already bulldozed his way in.

  We hit the causeway, leaving my palm-treed haven behind us. Immediately, a rusty minivan cut across three lanes of traffic and slammed on its brakes in front of us. I braced my hand on the dash and squeaked out a warning.

  Jane usually responded by shoving her middle finger salute through the open sunroof. But Derek was cooler. He merely cut the wheel to the left and accelerated around the—was that child even old enough to be driving?

  “Everyone behind the wheel in Miami is an animal,” he observed cheerfully.

  As if jumping to prove his point, a pickup truck that hadn’t passed inspection in at least a decade bounced off the concrete divider and continued to skim it for a hundred yards before jerking back over into traffic.

  “We should have taken the helicopter,” Jane said.

  “If we took the helicopter, we wouldn’t be able to go through a drive-thru,” Derek said.

  She perked up in the back seat. “Carbs ’n Coffee?”

  It was a local doughnut chain with speedy drive-thrus and pastries with specialty flavors like Coconut Chia and Chocolate Lemon Drop. My stomach growled on command. When was the last time I’d had a donut? Mom had made that snide comment about “expanding bottom lines” on Christmas Eve. I hadn’t had a simple carbohydrate since.

  It was sad that giving up sugar was easier than defying my own mother.

  I said nothing as Derek neatly squeezed between a Lamborghini and a station wagon and took the exit into downtown Miami.

  “Bless you,” Jane breathed as he pulled into Carbs ’n Coffee and lowered his window.

  “What’ll it be, ladies?” he said with a dazzling grin.

  I was dazzled. But only because I was hungry.

  Jane rattled off a tooth-rotting order, which Derek relayed to the crackling speaker.

  When had I last been through a drive-thru? I had a chef three days a week at home, and healthy deliveries filled in the gaps.

  “I’ll have the spinach egg white wrap,” I said, even as my stomach begged for something sweeter. I was in the midst of the worst scandal of my life. I didn’t deserve delicious. “And coffee, black.”

  “We’ll also have two black coffees, two cinnamon sugar vanilla donuts, and—” He shot me a look that reeked of disappointment. “A spinach egg white wrap.”

  We pulled forward, and the drive-thru attendant pushed a tray of coffees and white baker bags at Derek. The scent. That glorious warm, yeasty, sugar scent filled me with a sharp pang of regret.

  I needed to get a hold of myself when a bag of donuts made me start regretting my life choices.

  Derek doled out the coffees and tossed Jane her bag.

  “Here,” he said.

  He had a donut wrapped neatly in a napkin.

  “No, I ordered the wrap,” I insisted. Was he hard of hearing?

  “And you’ll have your wrap after you eat your sugar like a good girl.”

  Jane snorted from the back seat. “I really like this guy, boss,” she said with her mouth full.

  “Come on, Emily,” Derek said, waving the donut in front of my face. My eyes ticked and tocked, following the pastry’s path. “You know you want me.”

  I snatched it out of his hand just as the car behind us honked.

  “Here’s for us and for whoever’s next in line,” Derek said to the cashier handing her two crisp twenties.

  The cashier bobbled the cash, probably blinded by his obnoxious good looks. I soothed myself with a tiny bite of cinnamon and sugar.

  “Mmmm.” There was nothing subtle about my vocal reaction to hot sugar exploding in my mouth.

  “I quite like that sound,” Derek said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Shut up,” I said and took a bigger bite.

  “Now that we’re properly fueled,” he said, “let’s talk about your entrance to wor
k this morning.”

  “Get out of car. Walk into building,” I said, spraying crumbs all over the man’s dashboard.

  He handed me another napkin. “That was yesterday. You didn’t smile or wave or answer any questions. You pulled up like Grace Kelly and let security whisk you inside.”

  “And how does your vision differ?” I asked, losing the appropriate level of snark as it filtered through donut. I wondered if board meetings would be more pleasant if I provided pastries.

  “We’re going to get out, laughing and smiling like we haven’t any cares in the world. You’re going to hold that donut just as you’re doing now. And you’re going to smile at those photographers like they’re your best friends.”

  “Why would I do that? That’s just going to encourage them to ask questions.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “What if they ask about you? I’m supposed to say, ‘Oh, my board hired a breaking and entering babysitter for me to make sure I don’t ruin a multi-billion-dollar empire’?”

  “Well, let’s hope there’s something that rolls off the tongue a little more naturally. Should you start to spiral in that direction, I’ll step in and handle it,” Derek said smugly.

  I hated people “handling” things for me and had the distinct impression that he’d guessed that.

  “I don’t want to stand around on the sidewalk answering questions about cocaine and bad dates. I want to go inside and do my fucking job.”

  It was almost laughable that everything I’d worked so hard for was hanging in the balance. One tiny misstep, and I could lose everything.

  “Just remember, you need the people out here with their cameras,” he said, rolling to a stop in front of my office building.

  I scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  “You want something from them. You want their absolution. Their support. Their favor. You want them skipping out to buy shares of Flawless when it goes public because they like you, they believe in you.”

  My expression told him in no uncertain terms what he and the rest of the people on the sidewalk could go do.

  “Try to be slightly human,” he suggested.

  Jane snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry, boss,” she said, clearly not remotely apologetic.

  Derek leaned over me for the door handle. “Now, hold your donut up, darling, and smile.”

  10

  Derek

  The smile Emily slapped on her face was just this side of frozen. “Give me your bag,” I insisted, taking her purse from her so she could hold her coffee and donut for the unruly crowd awaiting their glimpse.

  The billionaire with drive-thru coffee and distressed jeans looked miles more approachable than she had yesterday.

  “Emily!” There were two dozen photographers stationed on either side of the entrance to the building. Security kept them from blocking the door with sawhorses and ferocious frowns.

  My charge cleared her throat, and I realized beneath that glossy layer of bravado, she was nervous. “Hello,” she called weakly.

  “Emily!” More photographers jockeyed for her attention, shouting her name as they lined her up in their camera bullseyes. I gave her a little nudge forward. Jane and I flanked her as she approached the front door.

  “Do you feel lucky you avoided an arrest?” a woman bellowed from the front row.

  Emily’s smile wavered, and I felt a rarely used protective instinct flare to life. Most of my clients brought their shitstorms upon themselves. But my instincts were telling me that this wasn’t her fault.

  “What kind of donut is that?” someone else called.

  Emily turned to the man. “It’s a cinnamon sugar vanilla donut from Carbs ’n Coffee,” she said, holding it up proudly. “Breakfast of champions.”

  There were a few titters of laughter. But it was enough to embolden her.

  “If I’d known you all would be here loitering, I’d have brought some for everyone,” she said.

  “Tomorrow!” a jokester in the back yelled.

  Emily beamed in his direction.

  “Emily, whose shoes are you wearing?” someone on the right called.

  “Mine.”

  I hid my smile and gave her a subtle elbow.

  “Mine via Sophia Wang. She’s relatively new,” she corrected.

  “Who’s the hottie?” a woman demanded from behind the camera that was documenting every millisecond.

  “I’m Jane,” Jane deadpanned.

  The crowd cracked up.

  “Nice to meet you, Jane. How about you, handsome?” the woman tried again.

  I pointed to myself, feigning confusion and looking over my shoulder. “Me? Oh, I’m just one of Emily’s dear friends.”

  Emily turned to look at me and arched an eyebrow. I grinned at her, fully aware of the picture we were making.

  “None of my friends look like you,” another woman called from behind her camera.

  “I’m just here to carry her purse,” I assured the crowd.

  Emily’s smile tightened. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a big day at Flawless today, and I’m excited to get started,” she said, only a hint of tightness in her tone.

  “Is the IPO still on?” someone yelled.

  “Are you and Derek dating?”

  “Have you apologized to your family for the embarrassment?”

  “Were the drugs yours or Van Winston’s?”

  We were whisked neatly inside by building security. Emily’s tight smile stayed in place as she thanked the guards but vanished as soon as the elevator doors slid shut.

  “Jane?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Could you dig up a few extra-large cauldrons and some hot oil for me?” Emily asked. “I’m thinking of doing some renovations to the roof.”

  I hid my smile.

  * * *

  I followed her into the Flawless offices. “Good morning, whoa—” the woman behind the desk breathed, the papers in her hand floating to the ground unheeded. Jane smirked next to me.

  “Good morning, Rosario. This is Mr. Price. Don’t get used to him,” Emily said crisply.

  I waved in the woman’s direction. She wiggled her fingers, eyes wide.

  “Must be nice to be so good-looking you turn people’s brains to mashed cauliflower,” Jane mused next to me.

  “It does come in handy.”

  Emily led us through a well-decorated network of hallways, cubicles, and conference rooms to another set of glass doors. Two immaculate desks staffed by two immaculate assistants flanked the doors.

  “Easton, Valerie, this is Derek Price. He’s very handsome, and he’s aware of it. So we can all move on now,” Emily said. “Derek, these are my assistants.”

  “Valerie,” I said, extending my hand. “We spoke this morning.”

  “Yes. Good morning, Mr. Price,” Valerie said, shaking my hand briskly. She looked nervous.

  “Easton,” I said, shaking his hand.

  He gave me a wary once-over.

  “Ms. Stanton? Your father is waiting in your office,” Valerie said.

  “Dammit.” Emily paused, glanced at the donut, and shoved the remains in her mouth.

  She and Jane both took healthy hits of coffee and straightened their shoulders.

  “I have my stun gun set on crispify,” Jane said.

  Meeting the father on the first day. This should be fun.

  Emily gave me a long, unreadable look. “Okay. Let’s get this over with,” she sighed.

  I followed her inside. Her office was smaller than I’d expected. Significantly smaller. The CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company didn’t even rate a corner office?

  The room itself was done in what I assumed was Emily’s trademark off-whites and light grays. The wall of glass gave visitors a spectacular reminder of all that Miami had to offer beneath them. The furniture was stainless and white. Modern. Peaceful. Feminine. Or, at least, if not for the large man glowering at a newspa
per behind the desk.

  “You’re in my chair, Dad,” Emily observed.

  Territorial. Nice.

  The man looked up. He was balding, a little paunchy with ruddy cheeks. He looked like an aging boxer, but the six-thousand-dollar suit and Rolex said otherwise.

  “Someone’s got to play leader around here since you’re too busy running around getting arrested.”

  The set of Emily’s jaw suggested there was a torrent of words begging to be set free.

  “I wasn’t arrested,” she said crisply, dropping her coffee on the desk and nudging the chair. “I was questioned and released.”

  Byron Stanton rose to his full six feet and frowned fiercely at his daughter. “Do you have any idea what kind of a clusterfuck this is?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I have a really good idea of the clusterfuckery.”

  “I’d expect this behavior from your brother,” he began.

  Emily rolled her eyes. “When have I ever let you down?”

  “Tuesday,” he snapped.

  I saw the wince just before it disappeared.

  “When have I ever not come through? I’m doing everything in my power to fix this.”

  “If this IPO doesn’t go through because of your little stunt—”

  “It wasn’t my little stunt. It was a public appearance that the board of directors and publicist were desperate for me to do. Do you have any idea how many things I have on my calendar right now? I didn’t need to be parading myself around for photographers so the public can remember I exist. Do you know what we’re doing today, Dad?”

  He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

  “What? You and Jane driving around and picking up prostitutes before the five o’clock news?”

  “We’re reviewing the biobandage results. Remember the scar treatment I spent fifteen months working on? Today, we find out how well it works.”

  “If it works.” Byron smirked.