Page 62 of The Price of Scandal
It was 6 p.m., and I’d been running flat out for twelve hours straight. Tired didn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling.
“What could you possibly need now?” I asked, opening the report that topped the stack on my desk. I stared blankly at colorful pie charts, words and numbers swimming before my eyes.
“The name of your date for the gala tomorrow night,” Derek said, drumming his fingers on the arm of the visitor’s chair. He looked impeccable as always. A navy suit, subtly striped shirt open at the collar. The blue in the shirt matched the eerily blue eyes that were fixed on me now. It annoyed me that he hadn’t required multiple costume changes today.
“I don’t have a date for the gala,” I said, wondering if I even had a dress.
“I accept,” he said cheerfully. “You’re wearing black, by the way. I’ll be in Tom Ford.”
“Emily Stanton can’t even get her own date,” I quipped. The gossip blogs would have a field day with it.
“Or am I your date and you’re falling head over heels with me?” His smile was lethal.
“You must be awfully desperate to win our little bet if you’re willing to throw your own reputation out the window.” The most recent headlines were not much more flattering than they had been three weeks ago.
He didn’t look remotely concerned enough for my liking. “Emily darling, have you ever turned a container ship around?”
I shot him a bland look and took a hit of caffeine.
“It takes careful nudging. And just when you think it’s too late, that it’s destined to chug off into a pier, killing hundreds of people, it starts to turn. Imperceptibly at first. And then before you know it, you’re heading in the opposite direction.”
“Aren’t you at all concerned?” I pressed. “They’re accusing me of hiding a drug problem. That Van Winston moron is telling tabloids that the drugs were mine. People are believing this bullshit.”
“Trust me,” he said. “Things are progressing as planned and even a little ahead of schedule. You’re not giving them any fuel for the fires. You’re painting lovely pictures of a capable, powerful, intelligent woman who runs an innovative empire. The rumors will burn out… or be crushed.”
“I do like crushing.”
Derek’s lips quirked. “Good. Because I’ve already met with your general counsel, who is happily constructing a terrifying letter regarding defamation. We’re demanding a retraction and a public apology. And if the blogs and papers really want to make good on their sincerity, they’ll be donating to tomorrow night’s cause.”
“Which is?” I couldn’t remember.
He pulled out his phone and reading glasses, and my toes curled into the carpet. I liked the look on him. “Ah, yes, the children’s pediatric cancer wing renovations at the hospital,” he said.
I sat back in my chair. It was a good cause. I needed to check with my father about the family donation. But it meant an interminably long night after another interminably long day. “And you’re volunteering to be my date because?”
“I thought I’d made it abundantly clear that I plan to make love to you? Remind me to up my game.”
“Derek.”
“What does everyone love more than a drug scandal?” he asked, steepling his fingers.
“A love affair.”
“Exactly.”
“So we’re going to go to a gala together and be ambiguously suspicious with our chemistry—”
“Ah, you admit we have chemistry,” he said triumphantly.
“I fail to see how fueling speculation on my love life is going to distract anyone from the real issue. The SEC asked for more documentation supporting our filing. That’s code for ‘this might not happen.’”
“You give the SEC what they need, and I’ll give the media what they want. Classic misdirection. Give the public something sexier to obsess about while the original scandal dies a cold, lonely death.” Those blue eyes were burning into me, warming me from the inside.
“What about your reputation, Mr. Price? Sleeping with a client paints an unprofessional picture of your business.”
“Ah, but falling in love is another story entirely.” He rose and crossed behind my desk. Big hands rested on my shoulders. Slowly, they began to knead at the knots that had taken up long-term residence there.
I bit my lip, but the moan still escaped.
