Page 68 of Forbidden Desires

“What?” Brody asks, wrapping a blanket around himself and sitting beside me.

I smile, liking my idea. “I was thinking about all this. I figure we need to get a story of our own published in that dang paper. One of love found. It could bring in positive publicity to get rid of all this bad juju. Maybe even get some happy couples that have recently been married give a testimonial.”

He raises a brow. “I love your enthusiasm, but you don’t know the Prescotts. They want my blood, not a happy story of love.”

“Let me worry about the details,” I tell him. This Prescott guy hasn’t met me yet. I can be pretty persuasive when something’s this important.

Chapter 33

Gisele

When I came home last night with my idea to have the paper write our true story, Emerson was on board and even suggested coming down to Prescott Media with me to help.

Emerson gets out of my Jeep and looks up at the Prescott Media building in downtown Savannah. It’s the tallest building around, modern and sleek, a stark contrast to the surrounding more traditional-looking office buildings in this part of town. I notice a shift in her posture; she straightens her shoulders, and there is a look of determination on her face that tells me she means business. She’s ready to go into battle for The Alexander and her brother and me, and I love her for it.

“Are you alright? You look...” I trail off, not sure how to put it. She looks fierce, not at all like her normally easygoing self.

She straightens out her skirt and brushes at an imaginary spot of lint on her blouse. “It’s no secret that my family and the Prescotts don’t get along,” she says with more strain in her voice than I expected. “Have you got those testimonials?”

“Sure do.” I offer a friendly smile, hoping to soften her a little. We’re on the same team here, and we really need them to help us out. A little sugar couldn’t hurt.

She attempts a smile back. “Let’s do this then,” she says, striding toward the building.

I take off after her, and we walk to the reception desk side by side. A well-dressed lady in her mid-forties pushes her glass up her nose and eyes us both. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I need to see Hamilton Prescott immediately.” Emerson takes charge with a no-shit edge to her tone.

The receptionist scans over her computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, sorry, we don’t,” I offer. “We were hoping…’

She cuts me off. “No one sees Mr. Prescott without an appointment,” she says, pushing her chair back, giving us her best resting bitch face.

My heart sinks. That’s it then, I guess. We will work out another way to fix our reputation.

Emerson takes a step closer to the counter, glaring at the woman. “Call him and tell him it’s Emerson Alexander. I think he will make time in his busy day for me,” she demands. Her voice is scary direct, no sweet Southern belle in sight, but it’s the look on her pretty face that has the receptionist flustered. She means business.

The poor woman goes to say something, but seeing the death glare on Emerson’s face, she changes her mind, and instead, she picks up the phone.

“I have an Emerson Alexander here to see you. I told her without an appointment she can’t come in.” She listens to the person on the other end of the line. “Oh. If that’s what you want. S-sorry, Mr. Prescott,” she stutters out then disconnects the call, her attention returning to us. “Mr. Prescott will see you now. Floor ten.” She points toward the elevator.

I see the hint of a smile on Emerson's lips, but she doesn’t give it away to the receptionist, just a curt nod for her as we head for the elevator.

As soon as the doors close, I ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue. I know their families don’t get along, but there is so much more to all of this. “What did he do to you?”

Her attention shifts to me. “What?” she snaps, then looks me over cautiously. “Nothing. Sorry, nothing. I don’t even know the guy, I just don’t like the way his family portrays mine. It’s not fair that they have this paper spitting out constant rumors about us, and we have no way of retaliating or even telling the truth. Well, I’m sick of it. And this idea of yours was perfect. Today we take back a little control.” Her hands ball into fists, ready for battle.

“I’m not buying that speech for a second, but I’ll play along because you're fierce like this, girl, it’s impressive to watch.” I smirk in her direction, kind of excited to watch the showdown.

She throws me a look, and I see the hurt behind her eyes. She’s putting on a good, strong front for me, and maybe for the business, but there is a whole lot more going on here. “I’m just trying to make sure you and Brody get the retribution you deserve for being treated so badly.” She stares at the elevator door, her expression steely, and I decide not to press her on it. We all have our secrets, and they are that for a reason. We wouldn't be in this mess right now if mine and Brody’s was kept.

When we get out on the tenth floor, we’re escorted off the elevator by another pretty young girl in a pale blue pant suit. She takes us through the office right to the center where a couple of white leather chairs sit just outside a dark mahogany door. “Take a seat. Mr. Prescott will see you when he’s ready.” She looks down her nose at us like we are a massive inconvenience to her day. I make sure to smile extra sweetly toward her. She must be having a bad day; the whole office seems to be.

Five minutes of us waiting patiently like the bad kids outside the principal’s office, and I can see Emerson's nostrils flare in annoyance. “We good?” I ask, worried about how this is all going to go. For all our sakes, we need this to go smoothly and leave as allies in business, not enemies. It’s the only way of saving our reputations.

“Just peachy.” She smiles a fake smile that’s all teeth and clamps her hands together on her lap so hard it looks painful.

Just when I think Em will not wait a second longer, the door beside us opens and a handsome man in a charcoal suit and a pale blue shirt stands in the opening. He looks intelligent and distinguished. His eyes rake over us both, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Emerson Alexander, what can I do for you?” he purrs in her direction, his voice smooth as silk. This guy knows he’s charming. He also knows Emerson better than she would like to admit.

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