Page 22 of The Price of Scandal

Her anger was… entertaining. And a little arousing. I’d expected a prim and proper, polite hostess. Finding a temperamental woman instead was a bonus.

“I rescheduled your morning,” I told her, perusing her shoe selection.

“You did what?”

I looped my fingers through a pair of strappy magenta heels. “Emily, love, I understand your desire to remain in control. However, while revolutionizing skin care might be your area of expertise, polishing images and managing crises is mine. This would go more efficiently if you’d just trust me.”

“Trust you? You broke into my house and took a bath!”

“We can argue in the car. Go change.”

“I will never trust you of all people. Not if you were the last human being on the face of the planet.”

I would have bet money that she was going to stomp her bare foot, but she restrained herself. Another point in her favor. Restraint meant she was capable of being reasoned with.

She disappeared from the dressing room, muttering a string of four-letter words.

“Wear your hair down,” I called after her.

I heard a distinct “Kiss my ass” before she closed the bathroom door and locked it with a snick.

I took a quick look inside a few drawers in the large custom island and found many of them empty. I pulled out a belt, then chose a pair of aviator sunglasses from her rather paltry collection. Obviously, Emily Stanton had other interests in life besides clothes and accessories.

I sensed her in the doorway before she spoke.

“Well?” she said, annoyance dripping.

The jeans were fitted and ended a few inches shy of her ankles. The top accentuated her waistline, and the cut made it fun yet stylish.

“Exactly right,” I said, handing her the shoes.

She steadied herself on the granite of the island and slipped her feet into them. I guessed the designer would sell out by tomorrow.

“Very nice. You don’t look at all like a drug addict.”

“Your approval means the world to me,” she said dryly.

In response, I took the end of the belt and fed it through the first loop at her waist. Emily slapped my hands away and took over the task.

“I can’t believe I’m listening to you,” she muttered.

“Trust me, love. I won’t lead you astray.” I shoved my fingers into her hair and ruffled the honey blonde tresses.

She batted at my hands and nearly fell into her collection of trousers. “Whatare you doing?”

I flipped her hair over in a messy side part. “Perfect.”

“I thought that was the problem,” Emily said snidely, securing her belt with a violent tug.

“Come on. We’re late,” I said, brushing past her.

“You are infuriating! I am going to murder you and have Jane feed your body to Steve!”

I led the way out of her bedroom, noting the massive bed was precisely made.

“Steve?” I was intrigued.

“It’s better you don’t know,” Jane piped up from the kitchen where she was checking the locks on the terrace doors. The entire house offered a panoramic view of blue water.