Page 67 of The Price of Scandal

I glared at her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Emily complained. “I’m trying to run my businessandappease the boardandmake nice with the mediaandwin over the public. I am trying to do everything.”

“Maybe you should stop,” Cam suggested. Clearly, at home here, she crossed to the bed and flopped down at Emily’s feet. She was wearing a tailored pantsuit and flip-flops, which I assumed she’d donned after shedding some spectacular pair of stilettos.

“I would expect you of all people to support me here, Cam,” she said.

“Hey, I’m not the one passing out at work. When I do, you can come over and rub my face in it.”

“Jane has a big, fat mouth.”

“Ladies, ladies. Let’s not fight while we’re all in bed together,” I said, helping myself to more chicken. I wanted to meet this Cristoff. He was excellent with poultry.

Cam sniffed the air and stuck her face in Emily’s dinner. “That smells divine.”

“There’s another one in the fridge,” I told her.

“I shall return,” Cam said, sliding off the bed and strolling out of the room.

“Cristoff will be very happy,” Emily sighed.

When Cam returned with her own dinner, I opened my laptop to tackle some work while the girls watched a couple from Seattle construct a six-hundred square foot shed in a forest.

“Digging the reading glasses,” Cam said approvingly.

“Right? It gives him this nerdy sex god vibe, doesn’t it?” Emily yawned.

I ignored them.

I had my own game of catch up to play. My business was small but full-service. When we had a client such as Emily, my team worked around the clock doing whatever was necessary to achieve the desired outcome. Rowena was digging into Merritt Van Winston’s background as well as that of his immediate family.

Lance was ghost-writing glowing posts and articles about Emily, Flawless, and Bluewater and spreading them far and wide within our network of friendly media. My other clients were being “fixed” by my small team of junior associates. We had a B-list sex tape scandal that was proving to be a bit tricky and a messy divorce that needed decluttering.

But Emily Stanton’s situation was currently my firm’s main priority.

I had the email from Flawless’s publicist who forwarded the daily list of media requests. Most of which were tabloids and gossip blogs hoping to nail our lovely leader to the cross in the name of clicks and advertising. But today, there was an interesting request. I forwarded it to Rowena and requested an in-depth dig.

The latest numbers were showing a slow but significant upswing. If I could keep Emily on her feet and lovely for another few weeks, I was confident the entire thing would be behind her.

I handled a number of emails, requests, and the drudgery that comes with running a business. The numbers and dollar signs didn’t excite me the way stats on a viral story did. But I recognized their value and did what I could with them. I relied on accountants and bookkeepers to handle the more boring details. But I knew where every penny came from and where it was going.

Emily yawned again next to me. Her color was better, her body fueled. If I could just force a good night’s sleep on her, we would begin fresh in the morning. And I would monitor her more closely since she was apparently incapable of taking care of herself.

Cam finished her meal and the show and got ready to head home. But not without first forcing a promise out of Emily to check in repeatedly tomorrow.

“Take good care of her,” Cam ordered from the doorway.

“I promise.”

I took the tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen and loaded them into one of the two dishwashers. I reset the security alarm and took a quick tour of the first floor, making sure doors and windows were locked.

Returning to the bedroom, I found Emily sound asleep beneath the duvet. The TV screen flashed, and I turned it off. I was sure there were motorized blinds of some sort to cover the French doors leading to the terrace, but I couldn’t figure out how they worked. There were worse things than waking with the sunrise, I decided.

I stripped to my underwear and pulled back the covers on what I now considered my side of the bed. Finding a phone charger in my nightstand’s drawer, I wondered how many guests there had been to make use of it. Though it didn’t really matter since I planned to make sure I was the most memorable.

Sliding between the silky linens, I settled back on the pillows.

Next to me, Emily breathed slow, even breaths. I tucked my hands beneath my head and contemplated the hand-painted abstract mural in glowing shades of rose and blue on Emily’s bedroom ceiling.