Page 27 of The Price of Scandal

“Have you apologized to your family for the embarrassment?”

“Were the drugs yours or Van Winston’s?”

We were whisked neatly inside by building security. Emily’s tight smile stayed in place as she thanked the guards but vanished as soon as the elevator doors slid shut.

“Jane?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Could you dig up a few extra-large cauldrons and some hot oil for me?” Emily asked. “I’m thinking of doing some renovations to the roof.”

I hid my smile.

* * *

I followedher into the Flawless offices. “Good morning, whoa—” the woman behind the desk breathed, the papers in her hand floating to the ground unheeded. Jane smirked next to me.

“Good morning, Rosario. This is Mr. Price. Don’t get used to him,” Emily said crisply.

I waved in the woman’s direction. She wiggled her fingers, eyes wide.

“Must be nice to be so good-looking you turn people’s brains to mashed cauliflower,” Jane mused next to me.

“It does come in handy.”

Emily led us through a well-decorated network of hallways, cubicles, and conference rooms to another set of glass doors. Two immaculate desks staffed by two immaculate assistants flanked the doors.

“Easton, Valerie, this is Derek Price. He’s very handsome, and he’s aware of it. So we can all move on now,” Emily said. “Derek, these are my assistants.”

“Valerie,” I said, extending my hand. “We spoke this morning.”

“Yes. Good morning, Mr. Price,” Valerie said, shaking my hand briskly. She looked nervous.

“Easton,” I said, shaking his hand.

He gave me a wary once-over.

“Ms. Stanton? Your father is waiting in your office,” Valerie said.

“Dammit.” Emily paused, glanced at the donut, and shoved the remains in her mouth.

She and Jane both took healthy hits of coffee and straightened their shoulders.

“I have my stun gun set on crispify,” Jane said.

Meeting the father on the first day. This should be fun.

Emily gave me a long, unreadable look. “Okay. Let’s get this over with,” she sighed.

I followed her inside. Her office was smaller than I’d expected. Significantly smaller. The CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company didn’t even rate a corner office?

The room itself was done in what I assumed was Emily’s trademark off-whites and light grays. The wall of glass gave visitors a spectacular reminder of all that Miami had to offer beneath them. The furniture was stainless and white. Modern. Peaceful. Feminine. Or, at least, if not for the large man glowering at a newspaper behind the desk.

“You’re in my chair, Dad,” Emily observed.

Territorial. Nice.

The man looked up. He was balding, a little paunchy with ruddy cheeks. He looked like an aging boxer, but the six-thousand-dollar suit and Rolex said otherwise.