Page 9 of The Price of Scandal
Merritt’s yellow monstrosity was being swarmed by more police.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
Merritt shrugged but looked uneasy.
“Sir? Is this your car? Don’t make me ask you again!”
“Yes, it’s my car, and you don’t have to have that attitude with me,” he snapped back loud enough for every photographer on the entire block to hear him.
Oh, hell. He was going to say it. He was going to say it, and I was standing right next to him. Words like that splattered on anyone in the vicinity.
“Show me your hands, sir,” the cop yelled. She flicked the snap that holstered her gun. I took a decisive step to the side and kept my hands in plain sight.
“Do you know who I am?” he bellowed.
What a fucking idiot.
“Found something,” one of the officers searching the car called. He held up a baggie of something white and powdery.
Oh, shit.My digestive system gave a warning rumble.
I moved to open my clutch, dial my lawyer.
“Ma’am! Put your hands behind your head,” the first cop yelled.
“That shit’s not mine,” Merritt howled. His tan face was red with entitled rage.
“Everything is fine,” I said calmly to the cop. “I’m just reaching for my phone.”
“Hands behind your head!”
I put my hands in my wasted hair and then schooled my features into a mask of impassiveness while a cop yanked my arms behind my back. As the cuffs snapped into place on my wrists, I spotted Jane jogging up the block, already on the phone. She nodded grimly at me.
At least my legal team was already informed of my very public humiliation.
4
Derek
My date was annoying me on several different fronts, and we hadn’t even made it to the table yet. Over drinks on the restaurant’s patio behind the wall of paparazzi capturing the comings and goings of the city’s celebrities, I discovered she initiated each sentence with a distinct mouth click and ended with a question.
Click.“So I haven’t been here since Hidalgo left to work for that restaurant in Rome? He made my favorite risotto?”
Everything was Alicia’s favorite.
In the fifteen minutes I’d known the woman, she’d introduced me to her favorite lip stain, her favorite designer eyelash extensions, and her favorite member of One Direction.
I was rather embarrassed that I knew which one she was talking about.
Sometimes I wondered why I even bothered. Playing the field and dating in Miami had somehow lost its considerable luster.
Perhaps I was getting too old for the novelty.
Click. “Oh. Em. Gee,” Alicia said. Her perfectly stenciled magenta lips moved hypnotically. “This grape and vodka diet isamazing? Wanna try?”
“Thank you, no.”
I’d stick with my beer and to women a little closer to my own age from now on, I vowed.
