The Price Of Scandal(11)

There were several messages from some grumpy-sounding British man demanding that I call the innocuous-sounding Alpha Group. I would add ‘Find out who gave him my personal number and fire them’ to my to-do list once my life wasn’t in shambles.

There was one voicemail from Lita.

“Oh my God. What happened? Are you okay? I can’t believe this happened. I’m going to kill whoever vetted this guy for you. Didn’t Jane run him? What am I saying? This is all my fault. Please don’t hate me! Call me if I can help!”

Speaking of Jane, she’d also texted.

Jane: Business as usual, or do you need me to bury a body or maybe have six martinis ready for you in the car?





I sighed. At least I could depend on Jane to treat me the same. Jane and my girls were rock solid no matter how epically I’d screwed up.

Me: I think I’m going to take the Porsche today.





If I was going to war, I would drive myself.

Jane: Use hairspray. Don’t eat bugs. Also, Van Winston posted bail. No word on whether he’ll face charges.





Great. Public speculation could last weeks.

I took my time with my hair and makeup. On a good day, they were weapons. But today they would also be a shield. I chose high-waisted navy slacks and a sleeveless funnel neck top in arctic white and strapped on buttery soft suede Jimmy Choo sandals in power red.

Professional, put-together, proud. Red lips, sleek chignon. I was going for modern day Grace Kelly. The exact opposite of a hot mess.

Nodding at my reflection in the gold gilt mirror, I headed off to war.

As the garage door whirred upward, my baby came into view. A 1956 Porsche 356 Speedster in aquamarine blue metallic. It had been my insanely extravagant gift to myself when Flawless hit the billion-dollar valuation.

It, as well as this sprawling, airy house, was a reminder to me of what I’d built.

And there was no way in hell that I’d let one mistake—one big, stupid mistake—ruin it all. I had employees, directors, and consumers depending on me to fix this. I was Emily “Badass” Stanton, and I wouldn’t let them down.

My stomach gave a plaintive gurgle as I slid behind the wheel.

“I do not have time for diarrhea,” I chanted to my digestive system.

I held on to that determination until I pulled up in front of my office building. The frenzy was instantaneous. Photographers and journalists jostled for position behind sawhorses building security was policing. Chaos. The protein shake demanded an immediate exit.

I got out and stalked toward the front door. A woman on a mission. A cool, calm CEO off to run her empire.

Flashes exploded. Questions volleyed.

“Do you have a drug problem, Emily?”

“What charges are you facing?”

“Have you ruined Flawless’s chances of a successful IPO?”

My intestines cramped, and I pressed a hand to my stomach as security hustled me through the front doors, leaving the flashes and shouted accusations behind me. This was going to be worse than I thought.





“I understand, and I can assure you this was an unfortunate misunderstanding that will be rectified,” I said, aware that my tone was clipped. My patience had evaporated hours ago. For the first time in my life, I’d canceled every obligation on my calendar and spent my day apologizing. Well, dancing around apologies, if I were being completely honest. I hadn’t done anything wrong besides get in the wrong car with the wrong guy.

“A company is only as successful as its leadership, Emily. And you already know you’re judged ten times harder because you’re a woman.” Imani Stackhouse’s frustration came through loud and clear. “I get that you’re frustrated, but we don’t have room for you to do anything but work your ass off to fix this.”

She was my favorite director on the board. That said a lot, seeing as how my father also sat on the board. An executive with a search engine, Imani was forward-thinking and flexible. She was also one of the few directors who didn’t try to patronize me.

My board of directors was made up of men and women who were retired executives from varied backgrounds. Most of them distrusted me based on my age. Thirty-six to them was still practically junior high.

There was a smaller minority that judged me on the fact that I came from money. My father had a respectable family fortune. His great-uncle owned one of the world’s most successful cruise lines, and my father was an executive in the company. But when I gave myself a free minute to enjoy absolute clarity, I knew that I had taken the Stanton family coffers and exploded them. My father was both aggressively proud of me and wounded by my success.

“Imani, I’m taking this seriously,” I assured her.

“I don’t know that you are. This is Code Red. I know that you like to have a hand in everything that goes on at Flawless, but now is the time to focus on priorities. And undoing this mess is your only priority. Whatever it takes,” she insisted. “You’ve been working toward this since you started the company. Don’t let one bad decision ruin it all.”

“I will fix this,” I promised.

“Good, because I know you won’t like it if the board decides to step in.”

No, I would not.

I disconnected with Imani’s uncertainty of my dedication ringing in my ears.