Page 113 of The Price of Scandal

“Billionaire breaks internet with sassy new cut”

“Salons city-wide report flood of requests for the Emily cut”

“Hotter before or after? Emily Stanton’s aggressive haircut”

Iwas off my game today. I’d accidentally spent the night at Derek’s after a few hours of leisurely yet mind-blowing lovemaking. The man was a sex god, and he was at my beck and call. I’d overindulged, woken up twined around him like a vine, and had to do a mad scramble home to shower and change.

Things had changed this weekend. Gears had shifted. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what had happened, but I felt vaguely anxious and excited.

I blamed it on being too late for coffee. I stormed the offices of Flawless like a warrior charging the enemy. Jane trotted on my heels to keep up.

Derek was at his office, taking care of someone else’s crisis for once. And I was going to take advantage of the babysitter-free time to get some of my actual work done.

“Rosario, can you have two double espressos sent up to my office?” I asked on my way past the front desk.

“Absolutely, Ms. Stanton. Your haircut is killer.”

I’d styled it myself in a rush this morning and had to admit it still looked pretty fantastic.

“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder.

It was the first of many haircut compliments volleyed my way as I headed for my office.It was just hair, people. Get a grip.

“I see you played with scissors this weekend.”

Maxim lounged in the salon’s doorway in a purple shirt that appeared to be missing a few buttons and a leather hip holster for his styling tools. His mustache twitched.

“Do you approve?” I asked, fluffing the short layers.

He gave me a long follicular perusal. “I do,” he said finally. “Who is this hair maestro? Tell me their name so I can add them to my mortal enemies list. Miami isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

“I think your reputation is intact,” I said with an eye roll. “Derek isn’t in the hair game professionally.”

“Well, well, well,” Maxim mused. “Mr. Fixer appears to be excellent with his hands.”

Jane snorted, and I elbowed her, earning a wheeze and then her silence.

“Good morning, Ms. Stanton,” my assistants chorused.

“Great hair,” Valerie grinned.

“Love it,” Easton said, not to be one-upped.

“Thanks,” I said dryly, picking up my messages.

Jane and I stepped inside, and I leaned against the door.

“The amount of time and energy people spend on my hair is ridiculous,” I complained to her. “Why are they interested in my hair? Why would they buy a shirt just because I wore it?”

“Because they want to be like you,” Jane said, cracking her gum.

I ditched my bag in its usual place and headed straight for my desk. “Then go to college and study biochemistry and spend every waking minute building a company.”

Jane snorted. “That’s idealistic.”

“Idealistic is thinking that a new shirt or an expensive pair of shoes will make you famous,” I scoffed. “Why can’t everyone just be themselves?”

She flopped down on the couch. “You of all people are asking that question?”