The Price Of Scandal(39)

“Not at all. I happen to think I have an excellent body.”

“You burst in here thinking I had a date, Derek.”

“I burst in here because you didn’t feel the need to explain to me that you needed a break. I would have worked it out. If you need something, tell me. I will get you anything that you want. If you can be bothered to be honest with me.” I capped the shaker and wrapped it in the very expensive hand towel.

“If I need something, I take care of it myself.”

“Ah, but, Emily darling, we’re a team. Remember?” The cheerful sound of ice and alcohol melding filled the kitchen.

“I can’t watch you shake that,” she said, turning away to take in the ocean view, ignoring my flexing pecs and abs.

“Then how will I earn my tip?”

“I’ll give you a tip. A sharp one plunged into your chest,” she offered. This was not the cucumber-cool, pristine flower petal that the rest of the world saw. This was the real Emily Stanton, and I was enamored.

“You’re a little mean on your night off. I quite like it.”

“Sometimes I really, really want to punch you. Just one shot in the middle of a sentence. I fantasize about it,” she mused.

“Yes, let’s talk about fantasies,” I said, conversationally as I poured the martini into her waiting glass then slid it toward her.

She stared at it for a beat, too stubborn to taste it and tell me what a magnificent bartender I was.

I opened the fridge and dug around for a beer.

“Are you purposely tensing your ass cheeks right now?” she demanded.

“Oh, you noticed? Perhaps you’re not dead on the inside after all.”

“I’m going to go watch the sunset,” she said. “You can let yourself out. Or I can call Jane and have her stun gun you for real this time.”

I found a Belgian beer on the door. “Promises. Promises.” But she’d already left the room and was climbing the stairs in the foyer.

I followed her.

The stairs went up another tastefully decorated level before leading out onto a rooftop deck.

“Very nice,” I commented, appreciating the view of Biscayne Bay.

Emily glared at me. “Why are you here?”

“If I’m being honest,” I said. “I find you annoyingly irresistible.”

Her eyes flitted down to my groin again. “For the love of God, would you please put on a pair of pants before I get a call from Cam next door? The woman’s got a telescope.”

I glanced down in mock contemplation. “You’re certainly not saying she’d need a telescope to see this, are you?”

A beach towel hit me in the face.

“Cover up, Mr. Confidence.”

I obliged, wrapping the blue and white striped towel around my hips and taking the seat next to her. To be obnoxious, I scooted it closer to her.

“I really don’t like you right now,” she said.

“Unfortunately, that seems to do nothing to my attraction to you,” I observed.





19





Derek





Emily said nothing, sipping her martini and quietly staring off at the horizon.

“I was jealous,” I admitted finally.

“Let’s let the topic drop before one of us humiliates himself any further,” she suggested primly.

“Let’s not. What’s life without a little humiliation, a little pain? A little honesty?”

“A little honesty? Okay fine. You are under the idiotic assumption that I’m some ladylike wallflower who needs a boost of confidence,” she scoffed.

“I certainly didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your ‘let me save the day’ cape.”

I gestured at the towel. “Do you want this to be pants or a cape? Because I’m willing to do whatever makes you happy.”

“Then leave me alone on the only night that I get to be myself by myself.” She enunciated every word like it was a threat.

“No.”

She stood, and I thought for a moment that she would try to strangle me. But once again, her magnificent restraint kicked in.

“You’re a piece of work, Price.”

“You want to shock me? Then show me. Show me the real Emily,” I demanded, rising to my feet.

She spread her arms wide, vodka skimming the rim of her glass but not daring to spill.

“This is it. I’m wearing boxer shorts that I stole from an ex-boyfriend who thought he wanted to marry me until he found out that I cared about him less than starting my own business. I squeezed in a kickboxing class between here and the office because spending all day every day toning it down for the world is frustrating. I block out every Wednesday night to be alone. And you are ruining it. I’ve done every appearance you’ve scheduled. Dressed the way you asked. Smiled the way you instructed. I deserve my Wednesday.”

“Toning it down?” I repeated, purposely ignoring the rest.

“I’m not some shrinking violet or other delicate flower. I’m a badass, Price. I’m aggressive, very, very smart, and powerful. I’m intimidating. And if I don’t ‘tone it down,’ people start to whisper things like ‘bitch’ and ‘gird your loins’ when I walk past. I have things that I need to accomplish. And I can’t do them all if everyone is terrified of me or too busy cracking jokes about how I’m a Devil Wears Prada boss.”