Page 31 of The Price of Scandal

He tapped me on the nose with his pen. I imagined myself catching him off guard with a palm strike to his achingly perfect nose.

“You most certainly do,” he said. “But I’ll let you keep them a little longer. For now, let me give you a visual demonstration of the services I intend to provide you.”

For a fraction of a second, I was convinced he was cueing up a sex tape. It was a millisecond of envisioning his perfect ass as he thrust into a very lucky woman that had my face turning six shades of tomato.

It felt warm in my office. Close.

He pressed a button with a flourish and a video played on screen. It was me, arriving at work yesterday.

“While I admire your impeccable taste in vehicles—I hope you let me drive her—watch yesterday compared to today.”

With the sound off, I watched as I pulled up in front of the building and got out of the Porsche. I strutted like an angry supermodel toward the front door without acknowledging the presence of the photographers. I looked… fierce. Powerful. Angry.

“And today,” Derek said, cueing up a second video.

There I was again, casual in my jeans and messy hair. Smiling, laughing. I turned and beamed—when had I ever beamed in public? Stantons didn’t beam—at something Derek had said, laughed at Jane. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t with an entourage. I looked like a woman having a good time with friends.

“Now, I won’t insult your intelligence by pointing out the marked difference between yesterday and today,” he said. “But I will further prove my point with a few stills.”

He clicked through a few pictures. Back and forth from my grim arrival yesterday to my donut-toting one today.

“We literally walked in the door ten minutes ago. How did you put this together so quickly?”

“Minions,” he said with an eyebrow wiggle.

He was stupidly handsome.

“This is my goal,” he continued. “To take you from unapproachable and frosty to down-to-earth and likable.”

“I don’t need to beliked, Derek. I need to have the space to do my job. Not take the time to present Lynetta Dirk with the Women in Business Award at a luncheon today,” I said, glaring at an event he’d hacked into my calendar in mere hours.

If my time was spent on a public apology tour, I’d fall behind on what really mattered. My work. Flawless wasn’t some hobby. A lark. It wasn’t even just about smoothing wrinkles. Or a billion-dollar IPO. It was science and growth. And it wasmine.

“The presenter canceled last minute, and you were kind enough to swoop in on a moment’s notice.”

“Did you have the original presenter killed?”

He scoffed. “She is alive and well.”

My smart watch buzzed, and I spotted a text.

Luna: Super cute and approachable! Love the outfit!

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

“Emily,” Derek said, looking deeply into my eyes. I looked away, pretending to study my calendar. “You’re not some drug-addled socialite on the verge of destruction, and you’re also not a ‘ladies who lunch’ mannequin.”

“I realize that,” I sniped.

“Good,” he said amicably.

“I have shit to do, Derek. Never-ending shit to keep this company running smoothly. I don’t need to suddenly become friendly and approachable. I need to prove that I am more than capable of running this company.”

“I’m not here to hold your hand through day-to-day operations. I’m here to make the public realize what an intelligent, savvy, interesting woman you are. You don’t invest in businesses, love. You invest in people. And right this second, you just skated on a drug arrest.”

“The publicists want to push attention on to Lita. Let her do the award giving. Let me work,” I said. “Why can’t we do that?”

“Marching out a substandard Emily Stanton is not going to build confidence,” Derek said, sinking back on the couch. His arm rested on the cushion behind me. “Lita does not own this company. Lita is not the face of the company.”