The Price of Scandal

by Score, Lucy

  Emily smirked into her martini.

  “You’ll go toe-to-toe with your father in a shouting match and then wear a color your mother insists makes you look washed out. Yet you’ll turn around and compliment a low-level employee by name. You go about getting what you want by any means possible. And I respect that.”

  “You respect that?” she scoffed.

  I leaned over into her space, revved when she didn’t pull back. “Your self-control is not just admirable. It’s a goddamn turn-on.”

  She studied me, that sexy, smug smile still tugging on lips I wanted desperately to kiss again. “And why is that?” she asked finally.

  I leaned closer still. “Because I want to strip you of that exquisite self-control of yours and see what’s underneath. I want you naked and begging because the only thing in the world that matters to you is my cock settling between your perfect thighs,” I confessed. “I want to conquer you because you’re unconquerable.”

  We were so close I could feel her breath on my cheek.

  Her nipples pebbled under the thin material of her tank. I longed to reach out and swipe my thumb over them both. I wanted to hear that intake of breath the first time I touched her in a way that neither of us could walk away from.

  She raised her glass as if she couldn’t possibly care that I was an inch away from her, and my dick had turned to stone. “What makes you think I’d let you conquer me?”

  “Ah, Emily,” I said, giving in and stroking a finger down her bare cheek. I trailed it down her neck and across the sharp clavicle, then dipped it lower, under the scoop of her tank and over the curve of her breast. “That’s the fun part. Don’t you think? See which of us conquers the other?”

  I could feel her heartbeat speeding under my finger. Her chest was rising in silent, short pants. I was harder than marble. I wanted to kiss her again. Taste her. To pull down those boxers and lick her.

  Then I’d burn the ex-boyfriend’s underwear and give her anything she wanted as long as it was mine.

  “You don’t sleep with your clients,” she pointed out.

  “I haven’t wanted to before now.”

  “We are a supremely bad idea,” she reminded me.

  “I agree. But wouldn’t it be a fun mistake to make?”

  “I don’t have room for any more mistakes,” she said.

  Giving myself some much needed space, I took my seat again. “How do you decide who you trust?” I asked, abruptly changing the subject. Blandly.

  “Stop trying to push me off-center.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  She turned her back on the sky and faced me. “The same way anyone chooses. Just because I’ve got a higher tax bracket doesn’t mean I exist in a different world of relationships,” she said.

  “Humor me and explain,” I insisted dryly.

  “Past experience is generally a good indicator of who can be trusted,” she said.

  “Is it now?”

  “Cut to the chase, Price.”

  “Jane,” I said. “You give her full access to your life. You rely on her.”

  “I trust Jane implicitly,” Emily said.

  “How about your friends? Daisy. Cameron. Luna?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You trust your father?” I pressed.

  “Of course,” she said, exasperated.

  “Even though he—and the rest of your board—went behind your back and hired me? That’s very big of you.”

  She schooled her features into her classic Ice Queen expression. “Point, Price?”

  “Lita,” he said. “How do you know you can trust her?”

  “Lita?” Emily laughed as if the question were ridiculous. “Because she held my hair when I threw up Cristal on my twenty-first birthday. Because she was there with me in the lab from the beginning. Flawless is our vision. She’s the only one who believed in me. Because she’s kept secrets.”

  “Yet she isn’t your partner. Neither is your father,” I pointed out.

  “You’re annoying me with your questions,” she said.

  “I’m asking simple, direct questions. You say you trust people, yet it looks to me as though you’re keeping them at a precisely measured distance.”

  She stayed silent for a long beat, and I wondered if I’d pushed too hard, then decided it didn’t matter.

  “Both your father and Lita are minority shareholders. Your father could have invested in your company. You could have given Lita a bigger piece.”

  “Derek, how I structure my company isn’t any of your concern,” she said, her tone frosty.

  “Emily,” I replied in an exact imitation of her own chilly annoyance. “I’m merely doing my job. I need to know who you trust and why if we’re going to get you out of this situation.”

  She turned back to the sunset. She looked tired, and I wondered if all of this was taking an invisible toll on her.

  “My father has steamroller tendencies and no understanding of—or interest in—the female skincare industry. As a director, he’s encouraged to provide guidance and feedback, not direct the vision of my company.”

  “And Lita?” I pressed.

  She sighed and chose her words carefully. “While she has been there since the inception of Flawless, she doesn’t have—forgive the pun—skin in the game. She wasn’t lucky enough to be born into a trust fund as I was. I fronted the cash. I own the company.”

  “There’s more you’re pretending to be too polite to say,” I pointed out.

  “Lita has never been one to bleed or sweat for a cause.” Her shoulders tensed. “She cares as much as is convenient. I don’t mean that flippantly. She cares deeply for me and for Flawless. But not everyone is interested in making their work the top priority for every one of the twenty-four hours in a day. I understand that and respect it.”

  “Is there a resentment there?”

  “You mean does Lita resent me?” she clarified. “I think she’s quite comfortable with our arrangement. In fact, there are many times I envy her ability to prioritize her personal life. She has no qualms about escaping for a long spa weekend or taking every single one of her vacation days. Her life is her priority. Flawless is mine.”

  “And you wonder if anyone can care as much as you do if they aren’t willing to put in the time,” I guessed.

  She paused. “Maybe.”

  “I care,” I said. “And I’m not going to stop until you have what you want.”

  The last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon.

  She returned to the chair next to me and sat. “No offense, but I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said.

  “How about a side wager?” I offered.

  “You want me to bet that you won’t save my reputation?” she asked with a laugh.

  “I’m very competitive. The higher the stakes, the better I perform.”

  “We’re not discussing your bedroom habits,” she said haughtily.

  “Funny. See? No one in the world knows what a wicked sense of humor you have. I can show them.”

  “I’m a real comedian,” Emily said dryly.

  “If you’re as smart as I know you are, you’ll see this as an opportunity to win no matter what. Choose something that will make you feel like you’ve won.”

  “What are the terms?” she asked, pursing her lips.

  “I will deliver you your IPO.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “What do you want from me?” I asked. “Name it.”

  A slow, devious smile transformed her face. “Fine. I want fifty percent of Alpha Group. You save my company or lose half of yours.”

  It was small potatoes in comparison to Flawless, and we both knew it. But Alpha Group was mine. I wouldn’t lose it without putting up one hell of a fight, and Emily knew it. Her calculating brain was enthralling.

  “It’s a bet,” I said, raising my bottle to her.

  She lifted her glass. “It’s a bet,” she echoed.

  20

  Emil
y

  “Van Winston reveals drugs belonged to Emily Stanton”

  “Stanton’s long-standing history of drug abuse”

  “Van Winston attorney hints at charges for billionaire”

  Long didn’t even begin to describe the day I’d had. After Derek left from his second breaking and entering last night, I’d stayed up until three working my way through overdue tasks and emails. Then I’d dragged my body out of bed at six for a half-assed workout before starting it all over again.

  I was a machine. A robot, letting Derek or Jane or Easton escort me where I needed to go. And my batteries were running dangerously low.

  I indulged myself and rested my forehead on the cool glass of my desk. Enjoying five whole seconds of the sanctuary my office provided.

  If I could just grab a quick cat nap. Maybe a snack? I’d be back in business.

  My office door opened, and I sensed Derek’s annoying presence. The man oozed some sort of unignorable energy. Daisy would call it Big Dick Energy.

  “Sleeping beauty,” Derek crooned. That slight accent, like he couldn’t quite commit to British or South Florida, made everything he said sexier. Which annoyed me further.

  “Ugh. Go away,” I grumbled.

  “I can’t. I need you, love.” I heard him take a seat in front of my desk.

  Everyone needed me, I thought wryly as I sat up and straightened my hair.

  He placed a coffee cup on my desk.

  If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have reflected on the oddity of how essential my mere physical presence in a room was.

  I’d attended a breakfast networking event for female entrepreneurs. Strong and sexy pantsuit, no time for the made-to-order omelets. From there, we zipped across town for a radio interview about Flawless and its mission in the skincare industry. Jeans and a trendy, bejeweled top with strappy sandals. Double shot of espresso.

  In the car, I’d approved the hiring of a new chemist and the director of global retail design without the deep dig I usually did into a candidate’s background. I was trusting—hoping—my team had done their due diligence.

  Then it was on to an early lunch with two of my grumpier board members. Navy sheath dress with a red bag that screamed “I’m in charge.” I spent so much time smiling reassuringly that I’d forgotten to actually eat anything.

  Back at the office, I’d shut my door, kicked off my heels, and scraped together nearly ninety minutes to plow through the most urgent items on my running a business list.

  Then it was back in the car to meet a crew of hand-picked business journalists for a private tour of the lab. It took two hours, and my feet and head were in a war to see which could ache more. I was also starting to see spots. Lovely little flecks of light danced in front of my eyes every time I stood up.

  It was 6 p.m., and I’d been running flat out for twelve hours straight. Tired didn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling.

  “What could you possibly need now?” I asked, opening the report that topped the stack on my desk. I stared blankly at colorful pie charts, words and numbers swimming before my eyes.

  “The name of your date for the gala tomorrow night,” Derek said, drumming his fingers on the arm of the visitor’s chair. He looked impeccable as always. A navy suit, subtly striped shirt open at the collar. The blue in the shirt matched the eerily blue eyes that were fixed on me now. It annoyed me that he hadn’t required multiple costume changes today.

  “I don’t have a date for the gala,” I said, wondering if I even had a dress.

  “I accept,” he said cheerfully. “You’re wearing black, by the way. I’ll be in Tom Ford.”

  “Emily Stanton can’t even get her own date,” I quipped. The gossip blogs would have a field day with it.

  “Or am I your date and you’re falling head over heels with me?” His smile was lethal.

  “You must be awfully desperate to win our little bet if you’re willing to throw your own reputation out the window.” The most recent headlines were not much more flattering than they had been three weeks ago.

  He didn’t look remotely concerned enough for my liking. “Emily darling, have you ever turned a container ship around?”

  I shot him a bland look and took a hit of caffeine.

  “It takes careful nudging. And just when you think it’s too late, that it’s destined to chug off into a pier, killing hundreds of people, it starts to turn. Imperceptibly at first. And then before you know it, you’re heading in the opposite direction.”

  “Aren’t you at all concerned?” I pressed. “They’re accusing me of hiding a drug problem. That Van Winston moron is telling tabloids that the drugs were mine. People are believing this bullshit.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “Things are progressing as planned and even a little ahead of schedule. You’re not giving them any fuel for the fires. You’re painting lovely pictures of a capable, powerful, intelligent woman who runs an innovative empire. The rumors will burn out… or be crushed.”

  “I do like crushing.”

  Derek’s lips quirked. “Good. Because I’ve already met with your general counsel, who is happily constructing a terrifying letter regarding defamation. We’re demanding a retraction and a public apology. And if the blogs and papers really want to make good on their sincerity, they’ll be donating to tomorrow night’s cause.”

  “Which is?” I couldn’t remember.

  He pulled out his phone and reading glasses, and my toes curled into the carpet. I liked the look on him. “Ah, yes, the children’s pediatric cancer wing renovations at the hospital,” he said.

  I sat back in my chair. It was a good cause. I needed to check with my father about the family donation. But it meant an interminably long night after another interminably long day. “And you’re volunteering to be my date because?”

  “I thought I’d made it abundantly clear that I plan to make love to you? Remind me to up my game.”

  “Derek.”

  “What does everyone love more than a drug scandal?” he asked, steepling his fingers.

  “A love affair.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So we’re going to go to a gala together and be ambiguously suspicious with our chemistry—”

  “Ah, you admit we have chemistry,” he said triumphantly.

  “I fail to see how fueling speculation on my love life is going to distract anyone from the real issue. The SEC asked for more documentation supporting our filing. That’s code for ‘this might not happen.’”

  “You give the SEC what they need, and I’ll give the media what they want. Classic misdirection. Give the public something sexier to obsess about while the original scandal dies a cold, lonely death.” Those blue eyes were burning into me, warming me from the inside.

  “What about your reputation, Mr. Price? Sleeping with a client paints an unprofessional picture of your business.”

  “Ah, but falling in love is another story entirely.” He rose and crossed behind my desk. Big hands rested on my shoulders. Slowly, they began to knead at the knots that had taken up long-term residence there.

  I bit my lip, but the moan still escaped.

  I felt the satisfaction in his soft laugh.

  “So now we’re in love? This is ridiculous, Derek. The hoops I’m jumping through because of one stupid mistake. Do you have any idea how much time I’m losing to something that should be a non-issue?”

  “I know exactly how much time you’re losing. It’s my job to minimize that. We’ve paraded Good Girl Emily out and about. Regardless of the headlines, opinions are shifting. Now we’re feeding them something juicier. We’re adding another layer to you.”

  “You tell me that nothing sells better than the truth,” I reminded him.

  He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. I shivered. “Who says this isn’t the truth? It’s clear we have something here.” He stroked a finger over the goose bumps that dotted my neck.

  “We’re not in a relationship.”

  “That do
esn’t mean we’re both not contemplating the idea of it.”

  “My board is going to be pissed. They hired you to shore up my reputation, not ‘fall in love and give me orgasms,’” I said, using air quotes.

  “The orgasms are free of charge.”

  “Don’t joke. Your business is just as important to you as mine is to me.” Which was exactly why I demanded fifty percent of it. I needed him vested in my cause. In my success.

  “But the difference is, I know how easily opinion can be swayed, manipulated.”

  “Hmm.” I was too tired to argue.

  “Why are you poring over social media campaign data?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

  Oh. So that’s what it was.

  “I don’t know. Because it’s my job.” For a smart guy, sometimes he could say incredibly stupid things.

  “It most certainly is not,” he scoffed. His hands abandoned my loosening knots and riffled through the stack of reports on my desk. “Why are you still doing any and all this?”

  “Because it’s my company. No one else is going to work harder for it. Oprah signed every single check,” I said.

  “Until she couldn’t or she’d be doing nothing but signing checks all day,” he shot back. “You leveled up years ago, but you’re still trying to hold the reins.”

  “Who am I supposed to turn them over to? Lita?” I felt guilty as soon as her name escaped my mouth.

  “No.” His response was abrupt.

  “Wait. Why not?” He’d been to lunch with Lita twice and sat in on several meetings with her. I knew why I wouldn’t give her more responsibilities but was curious why Derek agreed.

  “Because she wouldn’t take the work seriously,” he said simply.

  “We started this company together,” I said, automatically jumping to Lita’s defense. And she’d witnessed the worst thing that had ever happened to me and never once let a hint of it slip to anyone.

  “Yes, and you have been more than generous with her.”