Page 61 of The Price of Scandal

“If you’re as smart as I know you are, you’ll see this as an opportunity to win no matter what. Choose something that will make you feel like you’ve won.”

“What are the terms?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“I will deliver you your IPO.”

“And if you don’t?”

“What do you want from me?” I asked. “Name it.”

A slow, devious smile transformed her face. “Fine. I want fifty percent of Alpha Group. You save my company or lose half of yours.”

It was small potatoes in comparison to Flawless, and we both knew it. But Alpha Group wasmine. I wouldn’t lose it without putting up one hell of a fight, and Emily knew it. Her calculating brain was enthralling.

“It’s a bet,” I said, raising my bottle to her.

She lifted her glass. “It’s a bet,” she echoed.

20

Emily

“Van Winston reveals drugs belonged to Emily Stanton”

“Stanton’s long-standing history of drug abuse”

“Van Winston attorney hints at charges for billionaire”

Long didn’t even begin to describe the day I’d had. After Derek left from his second breaking and entering last night, I’d stayed up until three working my way through overdue tasks and emails. Then I’d dragged my body out of bed at six for a half-assed workout before starting it all over again.

I was a machine. A robot, letting Derek or Jane or Easton escort me where I needed to go. And my batteries were running dangerously low.

I indulged myself and rested my forehead on the cool glass of my desk. Enjoying five whole seconds of the sanctuary my office provided.

If I could just grab a quick cat nap. Maybe a snack? I’d be back in business.

My office door opened, and I sensed Derek’s annoying presence. The man oozed some sort of unignorable energy. Daisy would call it Big Dick Energy.

“Sleeping beauty,” Derek crooned. That slight accent, like he couldn’t quite commit to British or South Florida, made everything he said sexier. Which annoyed me further.

“Ugh. Go away,” I grumbled.

“I can’t. I need you, love.” I heard him take a seat in front of my desk.

Everyone needed me, I thought wryly as I sat up and straightened my hair.

He placed a coffee cup on my desk.

If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have reflected on the oddity of how essential my mere physical presence in a room was.

I’d attended a breakfast networking event for female entrepreneurs. Strong and sexy pantsuit, no time for the made-to-order omelets. From there, we zipped across town for a radio interview about Flawless and its mission in the skincare industry. Jeans and a trendy, bejeweled top with strappy sandals. Double shot of espresso.

In the car, I’d approved the hiring of a new chemist and the director of global retail design without the deep dig I usually did into a candidate’s background. I was trusting—hoping—my team had done their due diligence.

Then it was on to an early lunch with two of my grumpier board members. Navy sheath dress with a red bag that screamed “I’m in charge.” I spent so much time smiling reassuringly that I’d forgotten to actually eat anything.

Back at the office, I’d shut my door, kicked off my heels, and scraped together nearly ninety minutes to plow through the most urgent items on my running a business list.

Then it was back in the car to meet a crew of hand-picked business journalists for a private tour of the lab. It took two hours, and my feet and head were in a war to see which could ache more. I was also starting to see spots. Lovely little flecks of light danced in front of my eyes every time I stood up.