The Price Of Scandal(20)

“Must be nice to be so good-looking you turn people’s brains to mashed cauliflower,” Jane mused next to me.

“It does come in handy.”

Emily led us through a well-decorated network of hallways, cubicles, and conference rooms to another set of glass doors. Two immaculate desks staffed by two immaculate assistants flanked the doors.

“Easton, Valerie, this is Derek Price. He’s very handsome, and he’s aware of it. So we can all move on now,” Emily said. “Derek, these are my assistants.”

“Valerie,” I said, extending my hand. “We spoke this morning.”

“Yes. Good morning, Mr. Price,” Valerie said, shaking my hand briskly. She looked nervous.

“Easton,” I said, shaking his hand.

He gave me a wary once-over.

“Ms. Stanton? Your father is waiting in your office,” Valerie said.

“Dammit.” Emily paused, glanced at the donut, and shoved the remains in her mouth.

She and Jane both took healthy hits of coffee and straightened their shoulders.

“I have my stun gun set on crispify,” Jane said.

Meeting the father on the first day. This should be fun.

Emily gave me a long, unreadable look. “Okay. Let’s get this over with,” she sighed.

I followed her inside. Her office was smaller than I’d expected. Significantly smaller. The CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company didn’t even rate a corner office?

The room itself was done in what I assumed was Emily’s trademark off-whites and light grays. The wall of glass gave visitors a spectacular reminder of all that Miami had to offer beneath them. The furniture was stainless and white. Modern. Peaceful. Feminine. Or, at least, if not for the large man glowering at a newspaper behind the desk.

“You’re in my chair, Dad,” Emily observed.

Territorial. Nice.

The man looked up. He was balding, a little paunchy with ruddy cheeks. He looked like an aging boxer, but the six-thousand-dollar suit and Rolex said otherwise.

“Someone’s got to play leader around here since you’re too busy running around getting arrested.”

The set of Emily’s jaw suggested there was a torrent of words begging to be set free.

“I wasn’t arrested,” she said crisply, dropping her coffee on the desk and nudging the chair. “I was questioned and released.”

Byron Stanton rose to his full six feet and frowned fiercely at his daughter. “Do you have any idea what kind of a clusterfuck this is?”

“Yeah, Dad. I have a really good idea of the clusterfuckery.”

“I’d expect this behavior from your brother,” he began.

Emily rolled her eyes. “When have I ever let you down?”

“Tuesday,” he snapped.

I saw the wince just before it disappeared.

“When have I ever not come through? I’m doing everything in my power to fix this.”

“If this IPO doesn’t go through because of your little stunt—”

“It wasn’t my little stunt. It was a public appearance that the board of directors and publicist were desperate for me to do. Do you have any idea how many things I have on my calendar right now? I didn’t need to be parading myself around for photographers so the public can remember I exist. Do you know what we’re doing today, Dad?”

He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

“What? You and Jane driving around and picking up prostitutes before the five o’clock news?”

“We’re reviewing the biobandage results. Remember the scar treatment I spent fifteen months working on? Today, we find out how well it works.”

“If it works.” Byron smirked.

“How well it works,” Emily insisted, standing her ground. “Now, you might as well finish chastising me so I can get back to running my company.”

“This might be your company, but don’t forget you have a board of directors and a few hundred employees to answer to. If you’ve fucked us all over, Flawless will be the one wearing the scars. So you’d better get out there and raise money for orphans or give away free lipsticks to the homeless. Whatever it takes to save face. Make it go away.” He pointed a burly finger at his daughter.

“I’d suggest that you have some faith in me rather than running behind my back and hiring me a babysitter,” Emily snapped.

For the first time, Byron registered my presence. I had a feeling he didn’t notice most of the people who crossed his path. Quiet servants, invisible employees. The people who made his world go ’round.

“So you’re the famous Derek Price,” he said.

“I am,” I said, setting Emily’s bag on her desk. Neither of us offered a hand to the other.

“I certainly hope the exorbitant fee you charge covers more than carrying purses.”

“Derek, meet my father, a rude child when he’s grumpy and hungry. Dad, meet Derek, a trespassing criminal hell-bent on annoying me. Now, if you both will get the hell out of my hair, I can get back to running this company.”

Byron grunted.

His daughter’s high-handedness obviously pleased him, and I wondered if his bluster was just for show.

“Better call your mother today,” he said, buttoning his jacket. “She’s yammering on and on about being too embarrassed to show her face at the club. And I need her to go to the club, Emily. If she spends much more time at home, one of us will murder the other.”