Page 50 of The Price of Scandal
“Said the man fighting boners all day every day.”
“Does Bluewater have an HR department?” I mused.
“Ha.”
We turned our attention back to the front of the room where Emily and her three friends displayed varying states of frustration.
“You don’t by chance have any tips on getting her to let down her walls?” I asked.
“And by walls you mean pants?”
“Funny.”
“I’m fucking hilarious,” Jane agreed. “I haven’t made up my mind about you. Until I do, you’re on your own. The boss is plenty impressive on paper. But the real Emily? Beyond the bank statements and the business calendar? She’s the best person I know. And anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve her.”
“Fair enough.”
A commotion in the crowd caught our attention. The debate started when a man with wispy white hair and a pineapple-themed shirt made a motion that motions should be made in forty-five-minute slots as opposed to the standard sixty seconds.
Daisy Carter-Kincaid, my former client, was sprawled back in her chair, rolling her eyes. The lovely brunette on her left—lifestyle guru and cosmetics CEO Luna da Rosa—took slow deep breaths and appeared to be humming softly. The woman sandwiched between Emily and Daisy—Cameron Whitbury—seemed to be mentally willing the digital timer to end.
Emily’s only outward tell of her growing frustration was the flaring of her delicate nostrils. I admired her control as much as I craved the opportunity to rattle it.
“Time!” Cameron called triumphantly.
The bongo player rattled off a peppy beat.
“Negotiation!” someone with a thick middle eastern accent called from the front row.
“Yes!” Jane hissed. “This is the best part.”
“I second the call for negotiation.” An elderly woman dressed in what looked like silk pajamas waved frantically from the third row.
“That’s Mrs. Chu,” Jane whispered, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “South Korean. She owns a chain of boutique jewelry stores. And that Jimmy Buffet fan is Chipper Bergman. He’s got three of those green Masters jackets in his closet. But he was also president of his high school debate club. Loves a good argument.”
I watched in fascination as Emily stood. Smoothing a hand over her skirt, she crossed to the small table in the corner. Bergman met her there, and they solemnly shook hands.
“Can we have two minutes on the clock?” Cameron called out wearily.
The timer on the wall reset, and Emily and her opponent sat facing each other.
“Discuss with open ears and open hearts,” Luna reminded everyone.
“Namaste,” Daisy yawned into her hand.
Judging from the cool look Emily shot at poor Bergman, this would be no gentle conversation. She was out for blood.
The bongo player signaled the beginning of the countdown. “Go!” The crowd cheered.
They leaned in, squaring off. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but Emily looked formidable. After a few quiet exchanges, Chipper pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped at his head.
“No one wants to go up against Emily,” Jane explained. “She’s a shark.”
It takes one to know one. And I’d recognized her the second she gave me that frosty ice queen look in her bathroom.
That’s what we were. Two sharks circling each other.
As the clock ticked down, Emily reached across the table, hand out. An offer made.
