The Price Of Scandal(44)

“I know exactly how much time you’re losing. It’s my job to minimize that. We’ve paraded Good Girl Emily out and about. Regardless of the headlines, opinions are shifting. Now we’re feeding them something juicier. We’re adding another layer to you.”

“You tell me that nothing sells better than the truth,” I reminded him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. I shivered. “Who says this isn’t the truth? It’s clear we have something here.” He stroked a finger over the goose bumps that dotted my neck.

“We’re not in a relationship.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re both not contemplating the idea of it.”

“My board is going to be pissed. They hired you to shore up my reputation, not ‘fall in love and give me orgasms,’” I said, using air quotes.

“The orgasms are free of charge.”

“Don’t joke. Your business is just as important to you as mine is to me.” Which was exactly why I demanded fifty percent of it. I needed him vested in my cause. In my success.

“But the difference is, I know how easily opinion can be swayed, manipulated.”

“Hmm.” I was too tired to argue.

“Why are you poring over social media campaign data?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

Oh. So that’s what it was.

“I don’t know. Because it’s my job.” For a smart guy, sometimes he could say incredibly stupid things.

“It most certainly is not,” he scoffed. His hands abandoned my loosening knots and riffled through the stack of reports on my desk. “Why are you still doing any and all this?”

“Because it’s my company. No one else is going to work harder for it. Oprah signed every single check,” I said.

“Until she couldn’t or she’d be doing nothing but signing checks all day,” he shot back. “You leveled up years ago, but you’re still trying to hold the reins.”

“Who am I supposed to turn them over to? Lita?” I felt guilty as soon as her name escaped my mouth.

“No.” His response was abrupt.

“Wait. Why not?” He’d been to lunch with Lita twice and sat in on several meetings with her. I knew why I wouldn’t give her more responsibilities but was curious why Derek agreed.

“Because she wouldn’t take the work seriously,” he said simply.

“We started this company together,” I said, automatically jumping to Lita’s defense. And she’d witnessed the worst thing that had ever happened to me and never once let a hint of it slip to anyone.

“Yes, and you have been more than generous with her.”

“She was in that lab with me. We came up with the name together.”

“And it’s your name on the office,” he pointed out.

“I had the capital. She didn’t. And we’ve already had this conversation,” I pointed out.

“You protected what was rightfully yours,” he said, perching on the corner of my desk. “It was a smart move. You’re a smart woman. Don’t get defensive about it.”

“I wouldn’t be here without Lita,” I insisted.

“You would. But she wouldn’t be here without you.”

“We used to be best friends.” I was exhausted. That’s why the truth that I’d never spoken before escaped.

“People change, Emily.”

“I don’t need you coming in here and trying to cast doubt on one of the only people I know I can trust.” Exhaustion made my fuse microscopically short.

“I’m agreeing with you, and you’re getting defensive. I think you’re the one with the issue.”

I pushed my chair back from the desk, making him step out of the way in the process. Annoyed. Frustrated. Hungry. “Look. I need to get back to this,” I said, gesturing at the stack of folders on my desk. As if to emphasize my point, my email inbox autoloaded what looked like twenty new messages.

Damn it. I was never going to catch up. I was never going to win.

I stood quickly.

The spots were back. But they weren’t white twinkles now. They were big, black blobs that were bleeding together.

“Emily.”

Derek said my name, but he was so very far away.





21





Derek





“I’m fine.” Emily’s voice was weak but pissed off from my passenger seat.

Good. Fine. I was pissed off, too.

“When is the last time you ate a proper meal?” I asked, turning onto the causeway, leaving downtown Miami behind us. The back door to the white contractor van in front of us flew open, and a stack of empty paint-splattered cans fell out. I swerved around it and rolled the passenger window down.

“Back door,” I yelled to the other driver.

“Sorry, buddy. I’m not into that,” he shouted back.

“Freaking Miami.” Emily sighed, sitting up straighter. “Where are we going? Also, what exactly happened?”

“You fainted in your office because you’re a stubborn idiot,” I explained. “I’m taking you home.”

She’d gone ghostly pale and glassy-eyed before slumping gracefully into a dead faint. It had taken five years off my life.