Page 144 of The Price of Scandal
“Dibs! Mine! Gimmie!”
“Jenny, maybe you should drink some water or something?”
Two hours later, I tiptoed out of the guest wing into the main living space. Luna’s living room was a shrine to all things shiny, Eastern, and yoga.Architectural Digesthad been begging for a photo shoot for years. But Luna stood firm in her belief that a home should only be shared with love.
Daisy was snoring on the couch. Her life vest slung over a rattan chair. An empty bottle of cheap pink champagne rested on its side on a cloud-like vegan wool rug.
Love.
Daisy and the rest of the girls had dropped everything. For me. There was no inconvenience. Nothing required in return. Because we loved each other.
Small, strong circles.
I drew an alpaca blanket over her and hastily scrawled a note on Luna’s recycled house stationery, leaving it on the coffee maker where someone would be sure to find it.
46
Emily
It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be to break into Derek’s condo in the middle of the night. The front desk attendant, an unfairly chipper woman at four a.m., greeted me by name as I slunk into the lobby.
“Ms. Stanton, so nice to see you!” Adhering to the propriety code of people who served the scandalous, she politely did not mention my public disgrace.
I appreciated it.
Her name tag said Kimmy, and she shimmied back and forth on her stool like a kid who couldn’t sit still.
“Hi, Kimmy,” I said, leaning on the desk. “I forgot my key to Mr. Price’s place, and he’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him by pounding on the door or calling. Can you help a girl out?”
Subtext: Are you amenable to help a soon-to-be unemployed billionaire break into her ex-boyfriend’s apartment?
“Ofcourse!” Kimmy said, probably happy to have something to do besides finish her Sudoku.
I made sure my smile was grateful, not desperate. “Thank you.”
“Let me make you a temporary keycard. You just have Mr. Price let me know if you need a new permanent one.”
“You’re the best, Kimmy.”
“Love the hair, by the way. Totally badass.”
Minutes later, I faced Derek’s front door, fresh keycard hot in my hand. This wasthechoice. I could turn around, leave, and find a way to rebuild my crumbling life. Or…
I swiped the card and stepped inside.
It was dark, but the moon cast enough light for me to see the mess. His briefcase was upended on the floor near the door. His tie next to it. There was a trail of discarded clothing and personal effects leading from the front door into the living room. The coffee table was littered with beer bottles and an empty bottle of scotch.
His laptop was open. His phone was on the floor, the screen cracked.
And there, snoring on the couch, was drunk, unconscious Derek Price. He slept with one arm tucked behind his head, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants and reading glasses, sweetly askew. His hair stood up at all angles as if he’d shoved his hands through it too many times.
For the first time in hours, the desire to smile was overwhelming.
I’d made the right choice.
He gave another soft snore, and I could smell the alcohol fumes as they wafted toward me.
If this was happening, I needed the man awake. And sober.
