Page 161 of The Price of Scandal
“How about my dear brother?” I asked.
“Well, he tried to convince your father to file a lawsuit against Mr. Price here for, and I quote, ‘rearranging his face’ and Jane for making him ‘piss his pants.’ But your father wasn’t inclined. In fact, he called the police himself and handed Byron Stanton the Third over to uniformed officers and then called a divorce lawyer.”
I choked on my Bloody Mary. It looked as though fresh starts were happening everywhere.
“You do good work, Jenny,” I said, blotting my mouth with a napkin.
“I’m very, very expensive. I’m glad you can still afford me.”
“This calls for champagne,” I said. I kissed Derek on the cheek and slid out of the booth. At the bar, I ordered a few bottles and a cake. I wanted cake today.
“Celebrating something?”
I turned to the woman next to me and nearly slipped off my stool. It was one of the romance novelists.
“Y-yes,” I sputtered.
I’d just had a showdown with a board of directors, a physical altercation with my nemesis, and now I was tongue-tied over speaking to a woman in yoga pants and a Tequila Tacos and Naps shirt.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Congratulations, whatever it is. I love a happy ending,” she said, fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop.
“Here comes mine, now,” I said as Derek approached.
“Hmm, chiseled jaw covered in stubble. Carelessly worn suit. Ooh. Eyes like the deepest point in the Caribbean.”
“I like to think of them as a glacier blue,” I told her.
“Glacier. Nice.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard.
“I’m standing right here,” Derek said.
“And we’re sitting right here appreciating you,” the novelist said. She knocked back the rest of her drink and signaled for another one. “I’m suddenly feeling inspired.”
“Good luck,” I told her.
“You, too,” she said without looking up from her screen. “You guys got any tacos on the menu?” she asked the bartender.
I took the first open bottle of champagne and slid off the stool.
Derek snaked his arms around me.
“What do you say you and I take that bottle and sneak off to the bathroom?”
“Bathrooms are kind of gross. Maybe try the rooftop terrace since it’s closed until dinner?” the writer suggested.
“Come on, darling,” Derek said, pulling me toward the stairs. “Let’s go find our happy ending.”
Behind us, my friends, my circle, was still toasting.
“To Derek, I’m so glad I didn’t have to junk punch you.”
“To Derek!”
Epilogue
Emily
