The Price Of Scandal(5)

Someday, I vowed, I would take a week off on a private island with no internet access, no cell service, and only a very attractive man to entertain me.

“Wonderful. I’ll have Esme send you a picture of my gown. We want to complement each other but not match. Oh, and you’ll need to bring a date. I’m happy to find one for you,” she offered innocently.

Glancing at my blank smart watch, I feigned a wince. “Uh-oh. There’s a crisis at the office,” I lied.

Mom was nonplussed. “There’s always a crisis,” she complained. “I never get any time with you.”

We had lunch every week. A shopping excursion once a month. And dinner every other Sunday at her house.

“I need to head back. I have a date tonight,” I said, pulling my phone out of my tote and texting Jane.

“A date?” Mom perked up. I could almost see the visions of golden-haired babies in Givenchy onesies that danced in her head.

“A first date,” I said. I felt the usual low-level guilt of cutting our lunch short—again—and wanted to leave her with something that would cheer her up.

“Text me his particulars,” Mom insisted as I signaled for the check. “Do I know him? I’m sure I know him.”

“It’s Merritt Van Winston,” I said, slipping my credit card in the leather book.

“Oh! He’s friends with your brother on Instagram,” she said brightly, scrolling through her phone.

Strike one for Merritt Van Winston.

“He’s quite handsome.” My mother’s approval was an automatic strike two against a man in my book. I wasn’t shopping for a life partner right now. But if I were, my requirements would be wildly different from my mother’s.

An interest in the sciences. A sincere respect for my intense work schedule. And the ability to provide toe-curling orgasms.

I glanced at the photo she’d pulled up on her phone and kept my face neutral. Another tanned, long-haired playboy. But it was just dinner. I could survive that.

“Maybe you can bring Merritt to the gala!” She was already happily plotting an engagement party.

I kissed her goodbye and headed to the door. Jane pulled the Range Rover up at the curb just as I got there.

“How was lunch?” she asked cheekily when I slid into the passenger seat.

“Trey posted a picture with six topless women, and my mom needs me to bring a date to the gala that I don’t have time to attend in two weeks.”

Jane handed me a paper deli bag.

I peered inside.

“You are a goddess,” I told her, pulling out the half turkey and avocado on whole grain.

“I am aware,” she said, pulling into traffic.





3





Emily





The legal briefing ran late. As I’d anticipated. Put seven attorneys and their paralegals in a room together, and they would debate everything from where to get the best coffee in town to what an obscure 1950s ruling in a Mississippi courtroom meant for a business conglomerate in Dover, Delaware.

Keeping them on task and speaking in layman’s terms was an exercise in futility.

I headed briskly in the direction of the in-house graphics department on the other side of the floor with the intent to bribe a designer into showing me a preview of the “new direction” in product packaging.

This was the kind of thing Lita and I would have done over drinks at my house or hers just a few short years ago.

But circumstances changed. Schedules got busier. And friendships morphed. We found ourselves in an awkward dance with Lita insisting on veering from the Flawless vision. My vision. Just last week I’d had to put my foot down when she’d announced Flawless would be partnering with twenty-something YouTube makeup vloggers on sponsored posts featuring our wrinkle reducer. A twenty-two-year-old did not have wrinkles. Nor did she have a wrinkled audience.

My sigh was closer to a groan, and it made an assistant in a pink skirt shoot me a wide-eyed look.

It bothered me that Lita wasn’t interested in adhering to my vision. But like everything else, I’d deal with it later. We had bigger fish to fry, so to speak.

According to my legal team, the IPO was on track with the SEC. We’d been working toward this for the last two years, and the finish line was in sight. In less than eight weeks’ time, we would be offering up $1 billion in shares to the public. It was the culmination of years of effort and the beginning of a new phase of growth for Flawless.

My watch vibrated on my wrist.

Lita: Don’t forget your hot date tonight!





Shit. I had forgotten. I changed directions and headed back to my office. I could remind Lita over email how the packaging needed to reflect our brand and vision while I changed for my “date.”

This sort of thing was more common at a certain level of fame rather than plain old wealth. Unfortunately, it was a line my circumstances straddled. Being seen together was a discreet, mutually beneficial favor when attention was required. I’d taken dates I’d never met before to galas. I’d been a plus-one to strangers’ weddings and had been photographed going to dinner with gal pals I’d only known to nod to across the room.

In general, I avoided those kinds of favors on principle. I didn’t like lending myself out. My value—as I saw it—was in the office, not being seen on the arm of a man or in the company of starlets. However, Lita was right. We needed to keep the public interest up if we wanted the stock offering to meet expectations. And that meant I had to be seen… outside of the office or the lab.