The Price Of Scandal(108)

“Yeah, what the hell happened to her face?”

“You’ll see in a minute or two,” I predicted. “Lita is being questioned by the SEC. Do you know what that is?”

“The better question is, do I care what it is?”

“Oh, I think you will. But some things are better left as a surprise. Your girlfriend Lita—”

“We only screwed a couple of times,” he clarified.

I shook my head to clear it. “Very well, your friend Lita is being investigated for committing fraud.”

“Jesus, what’s with everyone and this fraud bullshit?” Trey demanded.

“The government doesn’t like it when you fuck with people,” I explained.

“You’d think they’d have better things to do.”

“Be sure to make that point when they question you.”

“Me?”

“Lita has been in their custody for—what?” I glanced at my watch. “Five whole minutes now. How much do you want to bet that your name was the first thing out of her mouth? Oh, I forgot. You don’t have money. You can’t bet.”

“She wouldn’t…” But his slow, clunky wheels were starting to turn. I could hear the creak of unused machinery.

I glanced up and spotted the man I’d been waiting for.

“So, to recap, not only are you facing fraud charges for your little non-existent music festival, but you’re also going to be looking at some pretty serious charges from the SEC because you decided to take your sister down a peg or two and helped Lita Smith steal and sell a patented formula.”

“This is bullshit. It’s all bullshit,” Trey said, coming to his feet.

“That true?” Byron Stanton grunted from the doorway.

Trey’s eyes widened with hope. The dumbass.

“Dad. This has all been a misunderstanding.”

“Your fucking life has been a misunderstanding,” Byron shot back. “You’re getting nothing from me, you stupid fuck.”

“Dad! You don’t get it. They want to arrest me! I can’t go to jail!”

The worst thing in the world to Trey Stanton would be being told what to do and when to do it.

“Try using that in your defense,” I suggested, moving toward the door.

Trey picked up the computer monitor from the desk behind him and hurled it in my direction. It hit the wall by my head. My hands flexed into fists.

“A temper tantrum? Really?”

“Christ, this kid,” Byron groaned. A keyboard smashed into the filing cabinet, keys flying in all directions.

“That’s the first problem,” I told him. “He’s not a fucking kid.”

I grabbed Trey by the arm, and he took a swing at me. “He swung first,” I said conversationally. And then I plowed my fist into Trey’s washboard abs and followed it with a swift uppercut to his Instagram-famous jaw.

He crumpled to the carpet, deflated and defeated. Entirely unsatisfying.

“Byron,” I said as I walked past the man.

“Price,” he grunted back.

I walked out without another word.

Jane met me in the hallway. “How did it feel to hit the fucker?”

“Not satisfying enough,” I admitted.

A chair shattered the glass window of the office and came to rest in the hall behind me. Trey was shouting incoherently.

“Calm the fuck down, you fuck,” Byron shouted.

A computer monitor flew through the broken glass next.

“Now can I?” Jane asked.

“Be my guest,” I said, stepping out of her way.

I walked out with the delightful sound of Trey’s shrieks and Jane’s maniacal laughter ringing in my ears.

“How did it go?” Emily asked as I slid into the back seat next to her.

“About as to be expected,” I said cheerfully.

She picked up my hand and compared knuckles. Both our rights were bruised, split.

“Good day,” she whispered.

I lifted her bruised hand to my lips, kissed each knuckle lightly. “A very good day,” I agreed.

“Let’s go get a drink,” Jane said, opening the driver’s door.

“I smell charred flesh,” Emily said.

“Huh. Imagine that,” Jane mused, putting the SUV in gear.

“Here,” I said, digging in my pocket. “I got you something.” I pulled out Trey’s watch and handed it to Emily.

Jane snorted.





51





Emily





“To Emily Stanton, badass,” Cam said, holding a Bloody Mary aloft.

“Unemployed badass,” I corrected.

“To Emily Stanton, unemployed badass,” the rest of the table chorused.

My circle—Cam, Luna, Daisy, Jane, and Derek—raised their glasses in the middle of Mordecai’s Bistro. We’d also invited Lona to join us as long as everything stayed off the record.

And since she was sitting on the biggest story of her career, she seemed happy to oblige.

“Wait a minute,” Daisy said. “Since Emily is no longer of the vagillionaire status, can we still be friends with her?”

“Girl, please,” Luna giggled. “Give this woman five minutes, and she’ll have twelve patents, four drug trials, and another billion-dollar company.”