The Price Of Scandal(35)

Both were spectacularly entertaining.

“Where did you say you went to college again?” she asked as if we’d been interrupted in the middle of a conversation.

“Florida State. Who’s Steve?” I asked.

“Resident disabled alligator. Lost part of a front leg to a boat prop. They found him in a lagoon when development started. He couldn’t survive in the wild so they let him stay. They have a deal with him. One rotisserie chicken a day as long as he doesn’t eat anyone’s dog,” Jane explained.

“You’re not serious.”

“I most certainly am. Be nice to me or I’ll feed you to him.”

I would definitely require a photo of Emily feeding her pet alligator, I decided. “Interesting.”

“Just because those gals are worth a few billion collectively doesn’t mean they don’t have big-ass hearts,” Jane insisted. “The whole community follows suit. That guy over there who doesn’t know how to button his shirt?”

I followed her finger.

“Mr. Point Break?”

“Yeah. He’s a 3-D prototyping guru. He made Steve a new prosthesis.”

I cleared my throat. “How does one attach a prosthesis to an alligator?”

“One spikes the son of a bitch’s breakfast with enough sleepy time meds to send him off to alligator nap town for three hours,” Jane explained.

“Fascinating.”

“So, you gonna flash the boss your wang again?” she asked, shoveling more popcorn into her mouth.

I glanced in her direction, but Jane’s attention was on the spirited debate about fresh coconut delivery going on at the front of the room.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve been relegated to the No Touching Zone.”

She snorted. “Gonna have to work harder than a smooch in a closet if you want to win the boss over.”

“She told you?”

“She didn’t have to.” Jane picked up her diet soda and took a noisy slurp. “But she did anyway.”

I laughed.

“She doesn’t let many people close enough for canoodling. The fact that she didn’t kick you in the balls proves that there’s interest there.”

“Does it now?”

She shot me a bland look. “Don’t act like you’re not salivating over her.”

“She’s a fascinating woman,” I admitted.

“Said the man fighting boners all day every day.”

“Does Bluewater have an HR department?” I mused.

“Ha.”

We turned our attention back to the front of the room where Emily and her three friends displayed varying states of frustration.

“You don’t by chance have any tips on getting her to let down her walls?” I asked.

“And by walls you mean pants?”

“Funny.”

“I’m fucking hilarious,” Jane agreed. “I haven’t made up my mind about you. Until I do, you’re on your own. The boss is plenty impressive on paper. But the real Emily? Beyond the bank statements and the business calendar? She’s the best person I know. And anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve her.”

“Fair enough.”

A commotion in the crowd caught our attention. The debate started when a man with wispy white hair and a pineapple-themed shirt made a motion that motions should be made in forty-five-minute slots as opposed to the standard sixty seconds.

Daisy Carter-Kincaid, my former client, was sprawled back in her chair, rolling her eyes. The lovely brunette on her left—lifestyle guru and cosmetics CEO Luna da Rosa—took slow deep breaths and appeared to be humming softly. The woman sandwiched between Emily and Daisy—Cameron Whitbury—seemed to be mentally willing the digital timer to end.

Emily’s only outward tell of her growing frustration was the flaring of her delicate nostrils. I admired her control as much as I craved the opportunity to rattle it.

“Time!” Cameron called triumphantly.

The bongo player rattled off a peppy beat.

“Negotiation!” someone with a thick middle eastern accent called from the front row.

“Yes!” Jane hissed. “This is the best part.”

“I second the call for negotiation.” An elderly woman dressed in what looked like silk pajamas waved frantically from the third row.

“That’s Mrs. Chu,” Jane whispered, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “South Korean. She owns a chain of boutique jewelry stores. And that Jimmy Buffet fan is Chipper Bergman. He’s got three of those green Masters jackets in his closet. But he was also president of his high school debate club. Loves a good argument.”

I watched in fascination as Emily stood. Smoothing a hand over her skirt, she crossed to the small table in the corner. Bergman met her there, and they solemnly shook hands.

“Can we have two minutes on the clock?” Cameron called out wearily.

The timer on the wall reset, and Emily and her opponent sat facing each other.

“Discuss with open ears and open hearts,” Luna reminded everyone.

“Namaste,” Daisy yawned into her hand.

Judging from the cool look Emily shot at poor Bergman, this would be no gentle conversation. She was out for blood.

The bongo player signaled the beginning of the countdown. “Go!” The crowd cheered.