The Price Of Scandal(23)

He enunciated each word as if he were asking me the most important question of my life.

“I want this to go away. I want everything to go back to the way it was before I got in that stupid car.”

He studied me with an intensity that made me want to squirm. I held eye contact on principle. No one made me squirm.

“Then I’ll get that for you. But you have to trust me to do my job.”

“I don’t even know you,” I argued.

“I’m Derek Price. Age forty-three. Charming bachelor by choice. I dropped out of college to run a firm that specializes in fixing the damaged images of public figures. I charge exorbitant fees without the smallest measure of guilt because I’m confident that the service I provide is invaluable. I abhor anyone who can’t be bothered to be real. If you’re an asshole, be brave enough to be an asshole.”

I pulled my hands out of his grip and crossed my arms. Some people didn’t have a choice in how they were perceived.

“And in high school,” he continued, “I very nearly destroyed my life with a series of terrible decisions culminating in me stealing a cop’s personal car out of his driveway.”

“You didn’t.” If he’d meant it to shock me, it had worked.

“I did. I had an excellent run of petty thievery until I set my greedy sights on that SUV,” Derek said almost fondly.

“What happened?”

“Oh, I was arrested and hauled downtown to face my worst nightmare.”

“Jail?” I asked. I didn’t want to be interested, but I couldn’t help myself.

“My very angry single mother. My father left all of us when I was twelve. My mother worked seven days a week at a hair salon to make ends meet. My siblings and I took it upon ourselves to help out. My older brother got a job waiting tables. My middle sister started a tutoring business. My youngest sister clipped coupons. And I—”

“Stole cars?” I was horrified. And oddly intrigued.

He spread his palms, a magician distracting his audience. “I’m a thief at heart. Fortunately, winning at business is almost as much fun. Besides, it worked itself out.”

“How?”

“Detective Michael Perez ended up being the best thing that happened to my family.” Derek sighed. “We all call him Dad now. And his kids are my siblings regardless of blood. Turns out that I’m not the only thief in the family. One look at my beautiful, angry mother who was still wielding scissors as she threatened my life and she stole his heart.”

I’ll admit it. A very teeny, female part of me swooned in the recesses of my very busy heart.

“So he just erased the charges?”

Derek laughed. “Of course not. Neither of my parents let a good deed go unpunished. I had two hundred hours of community service to keep me occupied.”

“Don’t your clients care about your… colorful past?” I pressed. It seemed so unlikely that the elegantly wealthy would willingly part with fistfuls of cash and hand them over to a man with a criminal past.

“It makes me real, darling Emily. I’m openly flawed, vulnerable even. There’s a security there that no polite, socially acceptable mask can deliver. You know that you can trust me.”

I trusted very few people in my life, and one romantic sob story about a teenage felony wasn’t going to have me welcoming the man into my circle of trust.

“Do you still steal?”

A smile flickered across his face.

“Only when absolutely necessary,” he said, slipping a hand into his suit jacket.

Oh, God. “Is that my father’s…”

“Wallet. Yes. It seems he left it behind. Pity.”





12





Derek





I gave Emily an hour to play catch up and used the time to deliver her father’s wallet to Valerie, the attentive, ambitious assistant.

I perched on her desk, turning on my charm, and quizzed her on Ms. Stanton’s daily habits. I got very little out of the woman and nothing but smug looks from Easton, the other assistant.

I approved. These were the kinds of people someone like Emily needed to surround herself with. Loyal, sharp, immune to a handsome stranger’s sly charms.

Jane returned after terrifying the Bluewater security team, and together we commandeered a small conference room to debate—argue loudly—Emily’s new schedule since I’d taken the liberty of adding a few of the necessary appearances and activities into The Boss’s calendar.

“I’m telling you, Tea and Crumpets,” Jane said, kicking back in her chair at the head of the table. “She’s not going to go for this. You want her making an appearance Wednesday night at some concert. It’s not happening. And what billionaire CEO has time to sit through a fundraiser luncheon for—” She paged through her phone. “Oh, hang on, STEM Girls? She might actually do this. The boss loves this shit.”

“Have a little faith in me, Jane,” I insisted, drumming my fingers on the glossy wood tabletop. “And who wouldn’t want to see Beyoncé live?”

She snorted. “It’s not the Beyoncé part. It’s the Wednesday. No plans on Wednesday nights.”

“Why?”

Jane shrugged. “Ask her yourself.”