by Score, Lucy
Ouch.
“So because I’ve worked my ass off since college, because I built a company and literally changed the face of women’s skincare, I deserve this?” I was shouting.
Luna took a deep, cleansing breath for me. She was probably doing a mental meditation to change my vibe.
“You should be pissed,” Cam said. “But just because it’s unfair and horrible doesn’t mean it’s not happening. You have to deal with it.”
“And you’re overlooking the platinum lining here,” Daisy pointed out, shaking the ice in her now empty glass. “What’s the one thing the world loves more than a downward spiral?”
I paused my internal rant for a beat. “A comeback,” I breathed.
Luna nodded. “A flawed, vulnerable, real, badass entrepreneur is way more interesting than a perfect rich girl.”
“I’m not supposed to be interesting,” I said, thinking of how many nerve pills my mother had probably downed since last night.
“There’s a lot of things we’re not supposed to be,” Cam said. “Doesn’t mean that we can’t.”
“This can all be salvaged,” Luna said soothingly. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”
“Hell yeah,” Cam said, holding up her water bottle in a mock toast.
“Let’s start now,” Daisy said, pulling her phone out of her considerable cleavage.
“We’re not selfie-ing this,” I argued.
“If your company was collapsing on itself and you had a serious drug problem, would you be up at sunrise working out with your beautiful, successful friends?” Daisy asked with a wicked grin.
“Point taken.”
“Okay, ladies. Comeback on three.”
“One. Two. Three.”
“Comeback!”
6
Emily
“Disgraced socialite shares post-arrest workout pic”
“Emily Stanton sweaty and smiling after boyfriend arrested for drugs”
“Billionaire entrepreneur back to business as usual after near-arrest”
After a workout, a meditation led by Luna, and a protein shake, I worked up the nerve to turn my phone back on.
Thirteen messages from my publicist.
Two sobbing voicemails from my mother wondering where she went wrong as a parent. She also sent a text informing me she was visiting her favorite medium today to determine what past-life karma she was being punished for. I was invited to attend the session.
I had half a dozen missed calls from board members. Thank God, my father was in Greece. I didn’t think I could face his disappointment or wrath, whichever weapon he decided to lead with. Byron Stanton II was a shrewd businessman who applied his boardroom tactics at the dining table.
There were several messages from some grumpy-sounding British man demanding that I call the innocuous-sounding Alpha Group. I would add ‘Find out who gave him my personal number and fire them’ to my to-do list once my life wasn’t in shambles.
There was one voicemail from Lita.
“Oh my God. What happened? Are you okay? I can’t believe this happened. I’m going to kill whoever vetted this guy for you. Didn’t Jane run him? What am I saying? This is all my fault. Please don’t hate me! Call me if I can help!”
Speaking of Jane, she’d also texted.
Jane: Business as usual, or do you need me to bury a body or maybe have six martinis ready for you in the car?
I sighed. At least I could depend on Jane to treat me the same. Jane and my girls were rock solid no matter how epically I’d screwed up.
Me: I think I’m going to take the Porsche today.
If I was going to war, I would drive myself.
Jane: Use hairspray. Don’t eat bugs. Also, Van Winston posted bail. No word on whether he’ll face charges.
Great. Public speculation could last weeks.
I took my time with my hair and makeup. On a good day, they were weapons. But today they would also be a shield. I chose high-waisted navy slacks and a sleeveless funnel neck top in arctic white and strapped on buttery soft suede Jimmy Choo sandals in power red.
Professional, put-together, proud. Red lips, sleek chignon. I was going for modern day Grace Kelly. The exact opposite of a hot mess.
Nodding at my reflection in the gold gilt mirror, I headed off to war.
As the garage door whirred upward, my baby came into view. A 1956 Porsche 356 Speedster in aquamarine blue metallic. It had been my insanely extravagant gift to myself when Flawless hit the billion-dollar valuation.
It, as well as this sprawling, airy house, was a reminder to me of what I’d built.
And there was no way in hell that I’d let one mistake—one big, stupid mistake—ruin it all. I had employees, directors, and consumers depending on me to fix this. I was Emily “Badass” Stanton, and I wouldn’t let them down.
My stomach gave a plaintive gurgle as I slid behind the wheel.
“I do not have time for diarrhea,” I chanted to my digestive system.
I held on to that determination until I pulled up in front of my office building. The frenzy was instantaneous. Photographers and journalists jostled for position behind sawhorses building security was policing. Chaos. The protein shake demanded an immediate exit.
I got out and stalked toward the front door. A woman on a mission. A cool, calm CEO off to run her empire.
Flashes exploded. Questions volleyed.
“Do you have a drug problem, Emily?”
“What charges are you facing?”
“Have you ruined Flawless’s chances of a successful IPO?”
My intestines cramped, and I pressed a hand to my stomach as security hustled me through the front doors, leaving the flashes and shouted accusations behind me. This was going to be worse than I thought.
* * *
“I understand, and I can assure you this was an unfortunate misunderstanding that will be rectified,” I said, aware that my tone was clipped. My patience had evaporated hours ago. For the first time in my life, I’d canceled every obligation on my calendar and spent my day apologizing. Well, dancing around apologies, if I were being completely honest. I hadn’t done anything wrong besides get in the wrong car with the wrong guy.
“A company is only as successful as its leadership, Emily. And you already know you’re judged ten times harder because you’re a woman.” Imani Stackhouse’s frustration came through loud and clear. “I get that you’re frustrated, but we don’t have room for you to do anything but work your ass off to fix this.”
She was my favorite director on the board. That said a lot, seeing as how my father also sat on the board. An executive with a search engine, Imani was forward-thinking and flexible. She was also one of the few directors who didn’t try to patronize me.
My board of directors was made up of men and women who were retired executives from varied backgrounds. Most of them distrusted me based on my age. Thirty-six to them was still practically junior high.
There was a smaller minority that judged me on the fact that I came from money. My father had a respectable family fortune. His great-uncle owned one of the world’s most successful cruise lines, and my father was an executive in the company. But when I gave myself a free minute to enjoy absolute clarity, I knew that I had taken the Stanton family coffers and exploded them. My father was both aggressively proud of me and wounded by my success.
“Imani, I’m taking this seriously,” I assured her.
“I don’t know that you are. This is Code Red. I know that you like to have a hand in everything that goes on at Flawless, but now is the time to focus on priorities. And undoing this mess is your only priority. Whatever it takes,” she insisted. “You’ve been working toward this since you started the company. Don’t let one bad decision ruin it all.”
“I will fix this,” I promised.
“Good, because I know you won’t like it if the board decides to step in.”
No, I would not.
I disconnected with Imani’s uncertaint
y of my dedication ringing in my ears.
“Ms. Stanton, I have Alpha Group on the line again for you,” Easton said, hustling in with my mid-morning hit of caffeine. “And your friend Luna sent this over.”
“Not interested in calls from anyone other than board members,” I reiterated.
He put the special delivery green juice down on my desk like it was plutonium and handed me the note that came with it. “It smells like dirt and lawn,” he said, wrinkling his pert nose. “I’d drink the coffee first and hope it burns your taste buds so you can down the juice.”
Ems,
Fuel up with good vibes! Daisy’s Insta post is a hit!
Love and light,
Luna
I hadn’t left my office since arriving that morning. Assistant Number Two—Valerie, I’d discovered after remembering to consult the HR records—kept me fueled with lunchtime sushi from the cafeteria and a steady flow of smart waters.
No one in the entire building had said a word to me about last night.
I wasn’t sure if it was because they were terrified of me or worried I’d snap like the delicate crystal stem of a wineglass. And at this point, I wasn’t sure either.
My apologies weren’t reassuring anyone. Worse, they were pissing me off.
I had an emergency call with my publicity and legal teams in fifteen minutes. I hoped they had a miracle up their sleeves because I felt like I was making a bigger mess of things.
If I could close my eyes for five minutes—
My office door flew open, and Lita rushed in. “I am sick over this,” she said, rushing me. I rose and submitted to her hug. I wasn’t comfortable with affection, and Lita wasn’t the best hugger. She was too non-committal.
There was no solace to be found in the hug.
But there was no solace anywhere. I’d let her down. Everyone in this building. Everyone in warehouses and manufacturing labs and distribution centers around the country. I’d let every single one of them down, and I was only just realizing that I had no idea how to fix it. Just doing my job wasn’t going to repair anything.
“This is all my fault,” she said, releasing me.
She crossed to the sitting area and helped herself to an exquisitely wrapped chocolate truffle. I allowed myself one a day. Today’s had been ingested in desperation thirty seconds after walking in the door.
“It’s not your fault.” I sighed, taking a seat in the silk upholstered armchair next to her.
“I should have done more digging into him,” she said, shaking her head, popping the entire candy into her mouth.
“This was his first arrest,” I said flatly. There hadn’t been anything to dig up on Merritt. Jane had emailed me a creepily thorough dossier on the guy this morning. Sure, he was a shiftless, lazy playboy. A barnacle on his father’s fortune. But this was his first brush with the law. There wasn’t anything prior to last night that would have raised any red flags.
I’d spent thirty whole seconds wondering if someone had set him up or if he’d scorned someone close to him who’d decided to get a very public, very costly revenge. And then I’d had to get back to reassuring directors that I wasn’t spiraling out of control.
“I should have at least checked with your brother. I can’t help but feel like this is all my fault,” she said, reaching for another chocolate. They cost $40 apiece.
“It’s not your fault,” I said again, watching her unwrap the chocolate. In the end, whatever happened within or to my company fell on my shoulders. I was responsible. And I needed to figure out how to best move forward.
“Well, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help everyone forget about this and move on. I told Helen that this morning,” Lita said.
“You spoke to Helen?” I asked wearily. Helen Krueger was Flawless’s publicist, an artist at “reframing” and “staying on message.” She was also responsible for forty percent of her bicoastal firm’s billing.
“She mentioned that I might need to step up and take on some public events and outings. Do some interviews. Show that things are still running smoothly. That kind of thing,” Lita said, examining her nails.
“Okay. Makes sense,” I said. At least there was one female executive at Flawless that wasn’t mired in drama.
There was a headache brewing at the back of my neck that was threatening to get much worse.
My desk phone beeped. “Ms. Stanton? I have your brother on hold for you,” Valerie said.
I checked my watch. Four minutes until my next meeting. Not enough time to close my eyes anyway.
“Thanks, Valerie.”
“Say hey to Trey for me,” Lita said, patting my knee. “We’ll get through this. You can count on me.”
“Thanks, Lita.”
She took another chocolate out of the bowl and headed for the door. There went $120.
I sank down behind the desk and hit the speaker button. “Hey, Trey. I’ve only got a minute.”
“How was the slammer?” My brother’s voice filled the room with mirth. Trey would be the only Stanton to find the scandal hilarious.
“Nice to see you so concerned for your sister and your friend,” I said dryly.
Trey never had to be concerned with things like responsibility and reputation. He’d unapologetically forged a path as the family screwup. Nothing was expected of him. And I hated him just a little bit for it in this moment.
“Please,” he scoffed. “This will slide off you like tanning oil on a Brazilian bikini model’s ass. You always come out fresh as a daisy.”
“Here’s hoping,” I said, taking a swig of water.
“Anyway, next time you try dating one of my frenemies, tell me, and I’ll spill the tea. Can’t have my big sister edging me out of the family fuckup role.”
“You’re not the family fuckup,” I lied.
“Sure I am. That’s why I need to stay with you when I get back.”
I did not need my brother as a roommate. The last time he stayed with me, I had to give the cleaning staff a bonus and make a generous donation to the HOA to make up for the noise complaints.
“Does this mean you can come back for the gala?” Surely my mother wouldn’t want me to show my disgraced face there now.
“Ha. Hilarious. That’s all you. I’m working on developing a music festival in Malta.”
“Since when are you into the music scene?”
“Don’t you follow me on the ’gram?” he scoffed “Catch up, sis. I’m a high-end event coordinator now. Me and my partners are signing the biggest names in rock, pop, and rap for this thing.”
“Good for you, Trey.” He’d been a DJ in Rio. A model in Italy. A club promoter in Vegas. Now a music festival organizer.
“Let me know if you want me to save you a luxury beach condo,” he said. “I’ll get you VIP tickets.”
“Thanks.”
“Listen, I could use some backing for this gig,” he began.
And there it was. The ask. There was always an ask.
“Listen, send me an email about it, okay?” I said.
“Yeah, sure. No prob. But you’ll look at it right away, right?”
Valerie knocked on my door and pointed to the phone.
“I gotta go, Trey. I have a call.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re a big deal. I get it. Try not to get arrested two nights in a row.”
“It’s not funny, Trey.”
“You sound just like Dad,” my brother complained.
“You talked to him?” Obediently, a slick layer of anxiety coated my stomach.
“Yeah, he was getting on a plane. Heading your way,” Trey said. “And he was not happy.”
7
Emily
My sneakers squeaked on the Italian marble of the entryway. My home. My sanctuary. Everything in the enclave had been thoughtfully designed with privacy and personality in mind.
This house was no different. It was three separate white stone structures joined by thatched-roof walkways. The main living space was in the cent
er. Kitchen, bedrooms, great room, all under one roof. My home office and gym were in separate, distinct “wings.” It was a necessity for someone like me who didn’t know how to separate work from home.
“I’m gonna do a quick sweep before I head out,” Jane said, closing the front door behind us.
I was too tired to argue. It had been a long-ass day that not even an hour of private kickboxing training was able to erase.
I needed a bath and a glass of wine. No, a scotch. A gigantic one. Perhaps I’d drink straight from the bottle.
“I’m gonna go take a bath,” I told her over my shoulder.
Groveling was exhausting. And the plan Flawless’s publicity firm had laid out involved a lot of it. While I was busy apologizing and laying low, they planned to raise Lita’s profile, painting her as the responsible leadership within Flawless. I understood the tactic. I just didn’t love it.
My position with the board was shaky, to say the least. One wrong move, and they could remove me from my own company thanks to that stupid ethics contract. When I’d signed it years ago, the idea that I’d do something “unethical” had been laughable. Now, there wasn’t a damn thing I could find funny about the situation.
I headed down the hallway, past the two-story living room and its spectacular ocean views, beyond the kitchen and its pristine-ness.
My bedroom was the only one on the main floor. I’d gone for clean neutrals in here because the color came from the water and sky through the long wall of accordion glass doors. Usually, it was like stepping into a high-end spa. Relaxation was instantaneous.
However, the high-alert adrenaline I’d been running on had rendered me one giant ball of pressure. If someone were to hug me too hard, I was fairly certain my head would pop off.
I made a beeline for the bar cart I kept inside the doorway to the master bath. There was nothing like a hot bath and a few fingers of scotch. I stripped my sweaty tank off and let it hit the floor.
