Page 58 of The Price of Scandal

“You’re in the business of selling things,” I said. “Tell me, Emily, do you lie about your products? Make outrageous claims?”

“Careful, Price,” she warned me. “Questioning my integrity is not the way to a long and healthy life.”

My smile was hard. “Or are you transparent? Authentic? Are you clear about exactly what your products are?”

“You already know the answer to that, and if this is how you earn your astronomical fee, I’m going to want a refund.”

“How am I supposed to sell you, Emily?” I asked.

“Sell me?”

“That’s what I’ve been hired to do. Sell you to the public. Make you relatable, desirable, trustworthy. Show the world that their money is safe with you. And I can’t do that with a mask. I can’t make a facade likable. If you want to win, you need to do it as you.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“And you’re hiding behind the pretty ice queen routine. If you don’t show me who you really are, then how am I supposed to sell you?”

“You can’t be serious. The entire world revolves around photo filters and airbrushing. Sound bites written by professional manipulators. Paid advertising. Nothing is real anymore,” she shot back.

I laughed without humor. “Only if you’re playing the small-time, love. And you’re not small-time.”

She huffed out a breath. “I don’t have time for a philosophical discussion. Lay your insanity out for me.”

“Happy to. When you are vulnerable and authentic, people automatically gravitate toward you. They are reprogrammed to like you because you aren’t wearing a mask. You aren’t hiding from them. You’re brave enough to be real in a world full of people too terrified to be themselves.”

“You want me to go out there in that world full of people who already openly hate me? Who would give anything to see me fail and be destroyed in the process?”

“You’ve already been torn down,” I reminded her. “Now it’s time to rebuild you. And if we rebuild you as you, you’ll be untouchable.”

“Untouchable? You’re awfully confident in your abilities.”

“Trust me, Emily,” I urged. I needed her to trust me.

She shook her head, took a sip of her drink. “Is this your approach with all your clients?”

I laughed. “God, no. Some of them are simply terrible people. Those I give shiny masks. But you? You’re playing it safe and small. Whether it’s fear or just all that you know, there’s a much bigger, brighter world out there for people like you.”

“People like me,” she repeated.

“I’m not here to kiss your ass, darling. I’m here to strip you down and make the world fall in love with you. That’s not possible with all my clients.”

“I’d rather have a mask.”

“Do you want to change the world or hide from it?” I asked.

“Why can’t I do both?”

“Because you’re Emily fucking Stanton, and you have something to say. You’re not some media mogul with two mistresses and an angry wife. You’re not some vapid starlet with a DUI and a drug problem.”

“Do you really believe you can get me out of this mess?” she asked, showing the first real hint of rawness.

“I know I can. In fact, I’ll guarantee that you’ll be in a better place than you were before you got in that idiot’s Ferarri. But in order for that to happen, you have to trust me.”

She stared out at the horizon for a long beat. “What do you see when you look at me?” she asked finally.

“You’re passive aggressive rather than direct,” I said. “Your apologies are purposely lackluster. You do things just to annoy your mother because you have to do something to make her realize she doesn’t run you. You let Lita, your CMO, take the office that should be yours and then meet in hers because ‘there’s more room.’”

Emily smirked into her martini.