Page 162 of The Price of Scandal

“I’ve got some papers for you to review when you have a moment, love.” The warm affection in Derek’s voice drew my attention away from the microscope I was glued to.

“This is a nice surprise,” I said, lifting my lips for a kiss for my sexy, smart, well-dressed, devastatingly handsome boyfriend. It was a Saturday morning, or at least it had been two hours ago, I winced, noting the time on the clock. A beautiful, hot day outside, and I was happily toiling over a blood sample and new, life-changing data.

“It’s almost quitting time,” he said, dropping a neat stack of legal documents next to me on the stainless steel work table. “I thought I’d pick you up and we could head to the beach bar for a late lunch. Maybe finish the afternoon off with a naked swim and drinks at home?”

The man knew how to woo me away from my work like no other.

“That sounds like perfection,” I said, rising from the stool and slipping my arms around his neck. “What’s wrong?”

He looked… nervous? A nervous Derek was a suspicious Derek.

“What are you up to?” I demanded. “Did you steal the Porsche keys again?”

He laughed, blue eyes twinkling and it gave me a start to know that soon, I might know someone else with his beautiful eyes.

“You’re a suspicious one, aren’t you?” he said, stroking a hand affectionately over my hair. I’d pulled it back in a short stub to keep it out of my way while I ran tests and chewed over data.

“You’re the one standing there like you’ve got a secret,” I pointed out.

“Maybe my secret is in those documents,” he prodded.

With a sigh, I released my hold on him. “This better not be another speaking engagement contract.”

Six months after I left Flawless and after Lona’s in-depth, behind-the-scenes article came out, I was still swatting away offers for speeches and interviews. But I was far too busy readying AHA’s blood test for its phase one clinical trial.

To me, the past was in the past. The disgraced and under investigation Lita had left town and the last Derek’s research team had told me was busy conning Merritt Van Winston into marriage. My brother, Trey, was getting ready for his fraud trial. His new girlfriend, actress Zoey Grace, was fronting the money for his legal fees because our parents were embroiled in their own divorce proceedings.

“Emily, darling, would I waste your time with that?” Derek asked dryly.

“Yes. You would.”

“It’s not a speaking engagement. It’s a merger. An important one. And there’s one thing missing.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a black velvet box and placed it on top of the papers.

My heart skipped a beat.

Marriage. Marriage to Derek. Another layer of partnership.Was I ready? Was he? Did he know my lovely little secret? Was that why?

“Before you overanalyze this to death, read the agreement,” he said, nudging the papers and ring box closer to me.

With shaking, careful fingers, I picked up the jeweler’s box and set it carefully on the table top.

“It’s not going to bite,” he teased me.

“This is big, Derek.”

“That’s what she said.”

“You need to take that back immediately because I am not recounting that to our children when they ask how we got engaged,” I warned him.

“You can’t say yes already, not without at least reading the agreement.”

I skimmed the first few sentences. “Derek, this is a prenup.”

Had I finally found the limit to the man’s perfection? Was he a solid shoulder to lean on, a best friend to be counted on, a maestro of orgasms, but a horrible proposer of marriage?

He leaned on the work table, the picture of casual confidence in one of the many refined suits that now hung inourcloset in Bluewater. “It would appear so.”

“Are you proposing to me with a prenup? Because if so, I really expected something more stylish.”