The Price Of Scandal(40)

She was finally coming into focus for me. And oh, did I like what I saw.

“If you’re such a badass, why are you letting people like me and Lita and your mother tell you where to be and what to do?”

Unexpectedly, she flopped back in the chair. “That’s the billion-dollar question. Isn’t it? What’s your theory, smart guy?”

“Oh, you won’t like my theory,” I chuckled.

“There are a lot of things about you I don’t like. What’s one more?” she said airily.

Oh, yes. If the prim and proper Emily Stanton was tantalizing, this unedited, confident version was irresistible to me. I was going to make a very big mistake, and it was likely going to be quite costly.

I’d enjoy every second of it.

“I’ve spent three weeks watching you. You’re a chameleon. Competent in front of the directors. Terrifying for your assistants. Temperamental teenager to your father. The passive-aggressive good daughter to your mother. The unreachable CEO to your colleagues. The question is, which one is the real you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Price.”

“Oh, but you do,” I said, stepping into her space. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

I could see her temper flaring just below that flawless surface.

“Your job is to make this situation go away not get inside my head,” she reminded me.

“Let’s discuss the psychology of vulnerability, shall we?” I said. We were as close as we could be without touching.

“You’ve seen my calendar. I don’t have time for a psychology class.”

“You’re in the business of selling things,” I said. “Tell me, Emily, do you lie about your products? Make outrageous claims?”

“Careful, Price,” she warned me. “Questioning my integrity is not the way to a long and healthy life.”

My smile was hard. “Or are you transparent? Authentic? Are you clear about exactly what your products are?”

“You already know the answer to that, and if this is how you earn your astronomical fee, I’m going to want a refund.”

“How am I supposed to sell you, Emily?” I asked.

“Sell me?”

“That’s what I’ve been hired to do. Sell you to the public. Make you relatable, desirable, trustworthy. Show the world that their money is safe with you. And I can’t do that with a mask. I can’t make a facade likable. If you want to win, you need to do it as you.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“And you’re hiding behind the pretty ice queen routine. If you don’t show me who you really are, then how am I supposed to sell you?”

“You can’t be serious. The entire world revolves around photo filters and airbrushing. Sound bites written by professional manipulators. Paid advertising. Nothing is real anymore,” she shot back.

I laughed without humor. “Only if you’re playing the small-time, love. And you’re not small-time.”

She huffed out a breath. “I don’t have time for a philosophical discussion. Lay your insanity out for me.”

“Happy to. When you are vulnerable and authentic, people automatically gravitate toward you. They are reprogrammed to like you because you aren’t wearing a mask. You aren’t hiding from them. You’re brave enough to be real in a world full of people too terrified to be themselves.”

“You want me to go out there in that world full of people who already openly hate me? Who would give anything to see me fail and be destroyed in the process?”

“You’ve already been torn down,” I reminded her. “Now it’s time to rebuild you. And if we rebuild you as you, you’ll be untouchable.”

“Untouchable? You’re awfully confident in your abilities.”

“Trust me, Emily,” I urged. I needed her to trust me.

She shook her head, took a sip of her drink. “Is this your approach with all your clients?”

I laughed. “God, no. Some of them are simply terrible people. Those I give shiny masks. But you? You’re playing it safe and small. Whether it’s fear or just all that you know, there’s a much bigger, brighter world out there for people like you.”

“People like me,” she repeated.

“I’m not here to kiss your ass, darling. I’m here to strip you down and make the world fall in love with you. That’s not possible with all my clients.”

“I’d rather have a mask.”

“Do you want to change the world or hide from it?” I asked.

“Why can’t I do both?”

“Because you’re Emily fucking Stanton, and you have something to say. You’re not some media mogul with two mistresses and an angry wife. You’re not some vapid starlet with a DUI and a drug problem.”

“Do you really believe you can get me out of this mess?” she asked, showing the first real hint of rawness.

“I know I can. In fact, I’ll guarantee that you’ll be in a better place than you were before you got in that idiot’s Ferarri. But in order for that to happen, you have to trust me.”

She stared out at the horizon for a long beat. “What do you see when you look at me?” she asked finally.