Page 121 of The Price of Scandal
“You’re also not required to paint a pretty picture of me. I’m not nice. I’m not a friendly boss. I’m tough. I’m smart. I’m busy. But I am also very, very fair. And I care deeply for my employees and my customers. Not every billionaire, female or otherwise, can say that. I’ve earned my place here, and I’m not going to allow anyone to question my accomplishments.”
“Your company has certainly revolutionized wrinkle treatment,” Lona said. I detected a distinct jab. The implication was clear: Wrinkles weren’t cancer.
Emily smiled dangerously, and I debated texting Jane to be ready for a hasty departure with a shovel and a tarp.
“My company has donated tens of millions of dollars to girls’ STEM programs, university science departments, and environmental sustainability programs. Our new scar treatment will give tens of thousands of people—including wounded veterans and domestic violence survivors—a chance to be seen for something other than their past.”
“Some would wonder if that’s enough,” Lona said, ignoring the steak fajitas that sizzled in front of her. “Especially with an initial public offering that could earn you even more money.”
Emily folded her hands neatly in front of her plate. “Some don’t get to have opinions on how I spend my money and what causes I support. Your purpose for being here—”
“Is to write an unbiased profile on the woman who single-handedly built an empire and didn’t allow a scandal to slow her down, much less knock her off course,” Lona said, picking up her fork. A genuine smile hovered over her lips.
“Then we have an understanding,” Emily said, smiling over herarroz con camerones.
I sat back in my chair, certain that I’d missed a vital piece of the conversation. I flagged down a member of the waitstaff. “Yes, I’d like to order three tequilas please.”
Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you learn nothing from last time?”
I held up my hands. “I’m not sure what just happened, but I feel like it requires tequila.”
“Let’s talk about your college years,” Lona said, consulting her notebook. “You were a biology and chemistry dual major at Johns Hopkins University, and that’s where you met your chief marketing officer, Lita Smith.”
“I was practically a lab rat. We met in a biophysics class,” Emily recalled fondly. “Lita is responsible for dragging me out of the lab every once in a while.”
“Do you still enjoy spending time in the lab?” Lona asked.
“Every chance I get.”
I sipped tequila while they discussed education and the early discoveries that led to the humble beginnings of Flawless. With the terrifying female posturing over, Emily seemed relaxed. At least until Lona surprised us both by snapping a photo from her phone. “For the article,” she explained. “It will be a combination of candid photos and, of course, the photo shoot.”
“Photo shoot?” Emily repeated. Her heel dug into the Italian leather of my loafer. My shoe guy was going to have a hell of a time buffing that out. I sat still and took my medicine.
“I get the impression that this interview was sprung on you,” Lona guessed.
I cleared my throat. “There was a slight miscommunication with Emily’s calendar,” I said.
“Which is why, after this lovely lunch is over, you’ll both be joining me for five hours of rescheduled meetings and conference calls,” Emily said pleasantly.
My punishment for dropping the ball: Spending more time with Emily. I found it completely acceptable.
We ate in silence for a few moments. And then Lona flipped to the next page in her notebook.
“Let’s talk about the speculation surrounding your relationship with Mr. Price,” she said, spearing a piece of steak with her fork. The fixer in me wanted to mediate the question. The man in me wanted Emily’s brutal honesty.
“Derek was hired by my board to help manage the press surrounding my recent situation,” Emily said.
Lona and I both waited expectantly.
“As it turns out, he’s not only a consummate professional and as dedicated to his work as I am to mine, but he’s also rather…” Those blue-gray eyes skimmed me, warming significantly. “Irresistible.”
“Hmm,” Lona mused.
“As a rule, I don’t comment on my personal life,” Emily explained. “Those I share my life with shouldn’t be required to make the same privacy sacrifices that I have.”
“Irresistible. Personal life. Privacy. Got it,” Lona said, weighing the non-confession. “Off the record, I’d question your intelligence if you two weren’t enjoying your off hours together. On the record, my research for this article freshened up my knowledge of chemistry, and you two have enough of it for a significant laboratory accident.”
“Off the record, we keep eyewash handy at all times,” Emily quipped and picked up her tequila.
