The Price Of Scandal(18)

He wore a tailored suit sans tie, and his skin had the dusky bronze hue of a year-round Miami resident. Fine. He wasn’t hideous. But that didn’t mean he was good at his job. Or that I required his services.

Daisy: Tell him I said hi.





She added a winky kissy face.

I would do no such thing. I wasn’t going to let this Derek Price any further into my life than he’d already bulldozed his way in.

We hit the causeway, leaving my palm-treed haven behind us. Immediately, a rusty minivan cut across three lanes of traffic and slammed on its brakes in front of us. I braced my hand on the dash and squeaked out a warning.

Jane usually responded by shoving her middle finger salute through the open sunroof. But Derek was cooler. He merely cut the wheel to the left and accelerated around the—was that child even old enough to be driving?

“Everyone behind the wheel in Miami is an animal,” he observed cheerfully.

As if jumping to prove his point, a pickup truck that hadn’t passed inspection in at least a decade bounced off the concrete divider and continued to skim it for a hundred yards before jerking back over into traffic.

“We should have taken the helicopter,” Jane said.

“If we took the helicopter, we wouldn’t be able to go through a drive-thru,” Derek said.

She perked up in the back seat. “Carbs ’n Coffee?”

It was a local doughnut chain with speedy drive-thrus and pastries with specialty flavors like Coconut Chia and Chocolate Lemon Drop. My stomach growled on command. When was the last time I’d had a donut? Mom had made that snide comment about “expanding bottom lines” on Christmas Eve. I hadn’t had a simple carbohydrate since.

It was sad that giving up sugar was easier than defying my own mother.

I said nothing as Derek neatly squeezed between a Lamborghini and a station wagon and took the exit into downtown Miami.

“Bless you,” Jane breathed as he pulled into Carbs ’n Coffee and lowered his window.

“What’ll it be, ladies?” he said with a dazzling grin.

I was dazzled. But only because I was hungry.

Jane rattled off a tooth-rotting order, which Derek relayed to the crackling speaker.

When had I last been through a drive-thru? I had a chef three days a week at home, and healthy deliveries filled in the gaps.

“I’ll have the spinach egg white wrap,” I said, even as my stomach begged for something sweeter. I was in the midst of the worst scandal of my life. I didn’t deserve delicious. “And coffee, black.”

“We’ll also have two black coffees, two cinnamon sugar vanilla donuts, and—” He shot me a look that reeked of disappointment. “A spinach egg white wrap.”

We pulled forward, and the drive-thru attendant pushed a tray of coffees and white baker bags at Derek. The scent. That glorious warm, yeasty, sugar scent filled me with a sharp pang of regret.

I needed to get a hold of myself when a bag of donuts made me start regretting my life choices.

Derek doled out the coffees and tossed Jane her bag.

“Here,” he said.

He had a donut wrapped neatly in a napkin.

“No, I ordered the wrap,” I insisted. Was he hard of hearing?

“And you’ll have your wrap after you eat your sugar like a good girl.”

Jane snorted from the back seat. “I really like this guy, boss,” she said with her mouth full.

“Come on, Emily,” Derek said, waving the donut in front of my face. My eyes ticked and tocked, following the pastry’s path. “You know you want me.”

I snatched it out of his hand just as the car behind us honked.

“Here’s for us and for whoever’s next in line,” Derek said to the cashier handing her two crisp twenties.

The cashier bobbled the cash, probably blinded by his obnoxious good looks. I soothed myself with a tiny bite of cinnamon and sugar.

“Mmmm.” There was nothing subtle about my vocal reaction to hot sugar exploding in my mouth.

“I quite like that sound,” Derek said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Shut up,” I said and took a bigger bite.

“Now that we’re properly fueled,” he said, “let’s talk about your entrance to work this morning.”

“Get out of car. Walk into building,” I said, spraying crumbs all over the man’s dashboard.

He handed me another napkin. “That was yesterday. You didn’t smile or wave or answer any questions. You pulled up like Grace Kelly and let security whisk you inside.”

“And how does your vision differ?” I asked, losing the appropriate level of snark as it filtered through donut. I wondered if board meetings would be more pleasant if I provided pastries.

“We’re going to get out, laughing and smiling like we haven’t any cares in the world. You’re going to hold that donut just as you’re doing now. And you’re going to smile at those photographers like they’re your best friends.”

“Why would I do that? That’s just going to encourage them to ask questions.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“What if they ask about you? I’m supposed to say, ‘Oh, my board hired a breaking and entering babysitter for me to make sure I don’t ruin a multi-billion-dollar empire’?”