by Score, Lucy
Daisy, our resident real estate mogul and developer of Bluewater, had decorated the clubhouse in upscale South Florida style. Lots of rattan and wooden shutters, white coral stone, stucco. The personality came from generous pops of color, unexpected artwork, and our eclectic neighbors themselves.
It was a full house tonight.
We had bohemian artists with their southern exposure studios. The owners of a national organic grocery chain that had bought the $2 million lot next to their nine-bedroom farmhouse just to plant a garden. We had the secretive Mr. Joneses, both exceedingly vague about everything. I was positive that wasn’t their real name, and none of us were buying their “retired business executives” cover story.
Then there was the former crown prince of Eswatini. His highness had politely declined his royal birthright after meeting a feisty fashion magazine editor. They spent the winters here in Bluewater, summers in Paris and Milan, and spring and fall in Eswatini.
The WWs, or Wealthy Widows, had commandeered an entire wing of Bluewater’s luxury condo building and kept everyone on their toes organizing enclave-wide events including progressive dinners, pole dancing workshops, and, of course, the April Fool’s Day two years ago when they’d secretly hired a troop of mimes and unleashed them on the enclave.
Next came our techy geniuses. Some retired, some still working seventy-hour weeks to bring the world the next advancements in technology. Those in attendance were clustered together around the patio doors on the far side of the room discussing something that had them geeking out.
I wished I could join them. But in a Bluewater Town Hall, it was essential to stay on task.
“Okay, ladies,” Luna said. “Let’s do this. Forty minutes in and out.”
In a fit of lunacy, the four of us had made ourselves property managers of Bluewater. We could have hired an outside company. We should have hired an outside company. But that would be giving up control.
We’ll have a say over everything, we thought.
It’ll be great, we thought.
Turns out, we were stupid.
Sure, we were able to screen property buyers to make sure each neighbor was a good fit for Bluewater. We had no party animal socialites. No reality TV stars petitioning to film in the community. No gossip mongers selling pics of our more famous residents to the tabloids.
But it was a lot of work. So. Much. Work. Running a company and a community was the equivalent of three full-time jobs. And that was without adding a scandal into the mix.
I took my seat behind the long table at the front of the room. Cam, Daisy, and Luna lined up next to me. I shot a look at the smaller empty table in the corner and suppressed a shudder. The Negotiation Table. I hoped we wouldn’t need it tonight.
With a few hundred entrepreneurs, sports executives, and extremely well-paid attorneys as residents, there were no yeses or nos in Bluewater. Only deals.
Daisy pointed a manicured finger at the bongo player in the corner of the room—a previous negotiation when residents decided they didn’t like Daisy’s gavel. He riffed out an attention-getting beat, and the residents took their seats. There were no tacky folding chairs here. No, town hall attendees settled into swiveling cushioned clamshell-style chairs in a range of teals and turquoises. We’d discovered people were less likely to jump to their feet and argue when they were comfortably seated.
“Okay, Bluewaters, first up on the agenda is feeding Steve. The Joneses are heading to Greece for a week and need someone to cover for them,” Daisy began.
17
Derek
“Want some popcorn?” Jane shoved the greasy bag in my direction. I helped myself to a handful and watched the entertainment unfold. She’d invited me to Bluewater’s Town Hall so I could get a peek at outside-the-boardroom Emily Stanton. Or so she could continue the time-lapse interrogation she’d begun upon my coming on board.
Both were spectacularly entertaining.
“Where did you say you went to college again?” she asked as if we’d been interrupted in the middle of a conversation.
“Florida State. Who’s Steve?” I asked.
“Resident disabled alligator. Lost part of a front leg to a boat prop. They found him in a lagoon when development started. He couldn’t survive in the wild so they let him stay. They have a deal with him. One rotisserie chicken a day as long as he doesn’t eat anyone’s dog,” Jane explained.
“You’re not serious.”
“I most certainly am. Be nice to me or I’ll feed you to him.”
I would definitely require a photo of Emily feeding her pet alligator, I decided. “Interesting.”
“Just because those gals are worth a few billion collectively doesn’t mean they don’t have big-ass hearts,” Jane insisted. “The whole community follows suit. That guy over there who doesn’t know how to button his shirt?”
I followed her finger.
“Mr. Point Break?”
“Yeah. He’s a 3-D prototyping guru. He made Steve a new prosthesis.”
I cleared my throat. “How does one attach a prosthesis to an alligator?”
“One spikes the son of a bitch’s breakfast with enough sleepy time meds to send him off to alligator nap town for three hours,” Jane explained.
“Fascinating.”
“So, you gonna flash the boss your wang again?” she asked, shoveling more popcorn into her mouth.
I glanced in her direction, but Jane’s attention was on the spirited debate about fresh coconut delivery going on at the front of the room.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve been relegated to the No Touching Zone.”
She snorted. “Gonna have to work harder than a smooch in a closet if you want to win the boss over.”
“She told you?”
“She didn’t have to.” Jane picked up her diet soda and took a noisy slurp. “But she did anyway.”
I laughed.
“She doesn’t let many people close enough for canoodling. The fact that she didn’t kick you in the balls proves that there’s interest there.”
“Does it now?”
She shot me a bland look. “Don’t act like you’re not salivating over her.”
“She’s a fascinating woman,” I admitted.
“Said the man fighting boners all day every day.”
“Does Bluewater have an HR department?” I mused.
“Ha.”
We turned our attention back to the front of the room where Emily and her three friends displayed varying states of frustration.
“You don’t by chance have any tips on getting her to let down her walls?” I asked.
“And by walls you mean pants?”
“Funny.”
“I’m fucking hilarious,” Jane agreed. “I haven’t made up my mind about you. Until I do, you’re on your own. The boss is plenty impressive on paper. But the real Emily? Beyond the bank statements and the business calendar? She’s the best person I know. And anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve her.”
“Fair enough.”
A commotion in the crowd caught our attention. The debate started when a man with wispy white hair and a pineapple-themed shirt made a motion that motions should be made in forty-five-minute slots as opposed to the standard sixty seconds.
Daisy Carter-Kincaid, my former client, was sprawled back in her chair, rolling her eyes. The lovely brunette on her left—lifestyle guru and cosmetics CEO Luna da Rosa—took slow deep breaths and appeared to be humming softly. The woman sandwiched between Emily and Daisy—Cameron Whitbury—seemed to be mentally willing the digital timer to end.
Emily’s only outward tell of her growing frustration was the flaring of her delicate nostrils. I admired her control as much as I craved the opportunity to rattle it.
“Time!” Cameron called triumphantly.
The bongo player rattled off a peppy beat.
“Negotiation!” someone with a thick middle eastern accent called from the front row.
“Yes!” Jane hissed. “Th
is is the best part.”
“I second the call for negotiation.” An elderly woman dressed in what looked like silk pajamas waved frantically from the third row.
“That’s Mrs. Chu,” Jane whispered, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “South Korean. She owns a chain of boutique jewelry stores. And that Jimmy Buffet fan is Chipper Bergman. He’s got three of those green Masters jackets in his closet. But he was also president of his high school debate club. Loves a good argument.”
I watched in fascination as Emily stood. Smoothing a hand over her skirt, she crossed to the small table in the corner. Bergman met her there, and they solemnly shook hands.
“Can we have two minutes on the clock?” Cameron called out wearily.
The timer on the wall reset, and Emily and her opponent sat facing each other.
“Discuss with open ears and open hearts,” Luna reminded everyone.
“Namaste,” Daisy yawned into her hand.
Judging from the cool look Emily shot at poor Bergman, this would be no gentle conversation. She was out for blood.
The bongo player signaled the beginning of the countdown. “Go!” The crowd cheered.
They leaned in, squaring off. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but Emily looked formidable. After a few quiet exchanges, Chipper pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped at his head.
“No one wants to go up against Emily,” Jane explained. “She’s a shark.”
It takes one to know one. And I’d recognized her the second she gave me that frosty ice queen look in her bathroom.
That’s what we were. Two sharks circling each other.
As the clock ticked down, Emily reached across the table, hand out. An offer made.
Bergman swiped his bald spot one more time. Finally, he nodded. They shook just as time ran out.
“What is the outcome of the negotiation?” Cameron called, all business.
“Mr. Bergman and I have settled on extending motion petitions to sixty-five seconds,” Emily said, a self-satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Ruthless,” Jane said with pride.
“And Mr. Bergman also agreed to an amended motion for a two-hour time cap on town halls,” Emily announced.
Daisy pumped her fist in the air at the head table.
“And as a compromise, Ms. Stanton, has agreed to bring in a sushi chef for our town hall refreshments,” Bergman announced.
The crowd went wild.
Wins all around.
I felt the weight of Emily’s gaze on me as I applauded with Jane. She didn’t look pleased to see me there. I winked at her.
She frowned and shifted her glare to Jane.
“Uh-oh,” Jane said, scooping up another handful of popcorn. “Boss is mad.”
“I think she’ll get over it,” I predicted.
Jane’s hum led me to believe she didn’t think that was likely.
“So, you think someone on the inside is trying to make her look bad?” she asked.
The popcorn-hoovering woman was beyond astute. “As a matter of fact.”
“I knew you were smarter than you looked.”
“I’m very smart and very good-looking,” I assured her. “Do you have a suspect?”
She smirked. “I have a few suspicions. Of course, anyone can spin anything. Someone could even find it convenient that a crisis management expert just happened to be available when a billion-dollar scandal hits.”
“Convenient?” I scoffed. “Ask your boss if there’s anything convenient about me.”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
“And, like your tips on wooing Emily, I assume you aren’t going to share your suspicions with me?”
“You’re a smart guy, Tea and Crumpets. You’ll figure it out.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You better or you’ll really piss me off.”
“I assume a stun gun will be involved.”
* * *
I ducked out of the ballroom in hour two of the meeting, while a debate raged over what to do about the two amorous dolphins that had apparently been putting on a nature show every afternoon along Bluewater’s coastline.
Observing Emily in a more natural habitat was fascinating, to say the least. First in the lab and then in the community she’d built. Jane was right. There was much more to the coolly professional Ms. Stanton. I’d seen it in the lab and the gym.
And it was my job to expose that human side of her to the world.
She’d fight me. But I would win.
And a win for me was a win for her.
That would be the next step, I decided, letting myself into my condo. Prying her open like an oyster.
The Miami skyline unfolded in front of me through the glass wall. I was no billionaire. But I certainly did well enough. I’d built my business and my life in a way that suited me. Working hard and playing harder. I lived in a luxury condo building downtown and wore custom-tailored clothing. My business employed a small and aggressively loyal team. I supported my family in ways that made them feel spoiled rather than condescended.
The rest of my time was my own to do with as I saw fit. I boxed and sailed and read. Dated interesting women and spent time with friends and family.
Dumping my keys and wallet in the designated glass dish next to the door, I toed off my shoes.
I shrugged out of my jacket on the way to my bedroom.
In the bathroom, I turned on the water in the shower and stripped down, head full of potential avenues. The puzzle of public opinion and how to manipulate it always fascinated me. In this case, my gut told me the world wanted to see the real Emily Stanton. Not some shiny facade.
The question was, how to crack that very proper veneer and offer the world a peek.
My phone signaled on the vanity, and I glanced at it.
Emily: Stop lurking around Bluewater.
I smirked.
Me: I was an invited guest.
Emily: Remind me to fire Jane tomorrow. Do you shadow all your clients so closely?
Me: Only the ones I’m most interested in. Is your meeting over?
There was the expected pause. I had a policy to be honest, at least when I wasn’t lying for professional gain. I’d discovered that in an ironic twist, people were usually happy to give you what you wanted if you were honest about it.
Emily: Over. Three hours and twenty-two minutes. The time cap will be enacted at the next meeting.
Me: I can’t wait for the sushi.
Emily: I hope my “situation” will be resolved by then.
Me: Then perhaps I’ll be there in another capacity.
I was flirting with her. Shamelessly. It kept her off-center and me entertained.
There was another long pause, during which I felt like a teenager waiting for his crush to respond.
Emily: We do have a bongo player position opening up. I’ll let you know where to send your resume.
A joke from Ms. Stanton. And a victory for me.
Me: Good night, Emily.
Emily: Good night, Derek.
Still smiling, I grabbed a beer from the mini fridge in the bedroom wet bar and took it with me into the shower. Steam billowed around me, blotting out the rest of the world.
The kiss had been a mistake. I didn’t mix business with pleasure. It made things… sticky. However, I also didn’t rigidly adhere to rules. What was the fun in that?
My cock stirred.
It had a habit of doing so when I thought of Emily. Her watchful eyes, the slivers of humor and pride she did her best to hide under the surface. Keeping the real Emily locked away. Was it a protection? Or was it simply the result of pressure?
I fisted my shaft, gliding my hand over it.
So tempting. To think about her desperate for me. Unbuttoning that very proper blouse while I watched hungrily.
No.
As much as Emily Stanton dazzled me, stirred me, stole into my thoughts like a thief in the night,
she needed me to perform a professional service for her.
And until she gave me permission for a more personal service, my hand would stay off my cock.
I took a long swig from the bottle and lowered the temperature of the water.
18
Derek
“Flawless IPO faces SEC scrutiny after CEO’s near-arrest”
“Emily Stanton not fooling anyone with goodwill tour”
“Five things you need to know about Derek Price starting with what he looks like in a Speedo”
“Why the hell not?” I demanded into my phone.
“Ms. Stanton declined your invitation to attend the gallery opening,” Valerie said politely.
“Does she have something better to do than clean up her reputation?” This was the third Wednesday the woman had refused to participate in anything, and it was starting to grate on my nerves. That and the fact that she’d remained coolly professional toward me.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her yourself, Mr. Price.”
“Put me through to her,” I insisted. “Please.”
“She’s gone for the night,” Valerie said, and I thought I heard a hint of amusement in her tone. “I believe she has a standing date on Wednesdays.”
I swore colorfully, then apologized with a modicum of sincerity. A date?
“Have a good night, Mr. Price,” Valerie sang before hanging up cheerfully.
Despite the fact that it was only Wednesday, it had already been a long week.
Even I was tired. But the days immediately after a scandal were the most important. We were making headway. It was just slow going. And calling it a day at 7 p.m. on a weeknight when there were places to be seen wasn’t helping Emily.
