The Price Of Scandal(49)

“Enough with the life lessons today, Price. Get it through your thick head. I’m going to continue to work very, very hard. We Stantons don’t half-ass anything. My father and I are workaholics. My mother is a master manipulator. And my brother is fully committed to partying his life away. There is no sailing off into the sunset for a private island with a tiny house and taking up knitting for me. So let’s focus on getting me where I need to go.”

“As you wish,” he said pleasantly.





After breakfast, Derek helped himself to my shower… leaving the bathroom door wide open should I decide to wander in and catch another eyeful of his nudity.

An internal struggle ensued, and in the end, decorum won out. I ducked into my closet to find something powerful that didn’t say “collapsed from exhaustion yesterday.”

It needed to be slimming since pregnancy rumors would be spewing forth from the rumor mill. And I’d need to be photographed with alcohol—responsibly, of course—as soon as possible.

I felt a twinge of annoyance.

Why? Why did I have to use up so much of my energy, my time, trying to stay a step ahead of public opinion? I was the head of my own company. I was the one calling the shots. Why did I have to work so hard to make other people more comfortable?

“Dammit,” I whispered. The naked man in my shower had gotten to me… again.

I chose a pair of skinny black cropped pants and a fitted black sleeveless top. When in doubt, dress in head-to-toe black. I was working my way through my jewelry drawers looking for just the right bracelets when I heard Derek yelp from the bathroom.

A manly, slightly British yelp, of course.

I hurried out of the closet and into the bathroom and promptly doubled over.

The shower was polished stone on three sides with a tall glass wall separating it from the rest of the bathroom. Derek was standing under one of the shower heads, hands clutched in front of his family jewels. At the entrance of the shower was Brutus, the gigantic free-range Saint Bernard.

“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” Derek said, mustering a dry tone.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Jane strolled into the bathroom, eating one of Cristoff’s special peach tarts and immediately choked.

I slapped her on the back, and we clung to each other in hysterics.

“Does someone want to remove this hulking beast before he makes me a eunuch?” Derek demanded.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, Crumpets,” Jane quipped. “C’mere, Bruty.”

She held out a tiny bite of tart. Brutus shambled out of the shower and shook off, raining shower water in a ten-foot radius. I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with a washcloth.

Derek turned off the water and reached for a towel but not before Jane and I both got another appreciative eyeful of his full-frontal nudity.

“Don’t be scared. Brutus is just looking for someone to snuggle with,” Jane crooned.

Brutus delicately put the hand that held the remains of the tart in his mouth.

“Harmless? He just bit your hand off,” Derek said, cinching the towel low on his hips.

I was still laughing. My face hurt from it.

Jane pulled her tart-less hand free. “He’s a baked goods whore. He always knows when Cristoff is here and comes to mooch.”

“Hey, buddy,” I said, ruffling the fur on Brutus’s giant head. “Did you make a new friend?”

“He stuck his very cold nose against my very unprepared ass,” Derek complained.

I smushed the dog’s face in my hands. “Did you scare the bossy man, Brutus? Did you? That’s such a good boy!”

“How did something this size sneak into your house?” Derek asked, taking another towel and moving to the wall mounted body dryer.

“If there’s a terrace door open in Bluewater, Brutus here will find it and make himself at home,” I explained over the soft whoosh of dryer air. “His parents live across the bridge in one of the houses on Tequila Lane. They rescued him when he was two years old and tried everything they could to keep him contained. But he’s a Houdini. He’s kind of a mascot for the enclave,” I said, reaching for another towel and scrubbing the dog down.

“He showed up for bridge at Mai Ling’s condo last year. There’s security footage of him pushing buttons in the elevator,” Jane said.

Reluctantly, Derek came closer.

“You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?” I asked, surprised.

“I’m afraid of gigantic things that trespass in my shower.”

“Gee, now you know how I feel,” I said, batting my lashes.

“Solid dick joke,” Jane snorted. “Come on, Bruty. Let’s see if Mean Cristoff has any of those organic doggie quesadillas for you.”

With a salute directed at Derek’s groin, Jane ambled out of the bathroom followed by the one-hundred-and-seventy-pound Brutus, leaving me alone with nearly naked Derek.

“And here we are again,” he said, hooking his finger in the drapey neck of my shirt.

“Put some pants on, Price. I’ve got work to do now that I’m done laughing hysterically at you.” I mimicked his manly yelp.

“Darling, someday we’ll tell this story at our fiftieth wedding anniversary as the exact moment you realized you were head over heels for me,” he quipped.