The Price Of Scandal(83)

“Are you still angry?”

We were standing in the middle of his glass-walled office wrapped around each other in full view of Jane and the entire Alpha Group staff.

“Not exactly.”

“I know how difficult it is for you to trust,” he said quietly. “I don’t take that lightly. This was an honest mistake, and I’m sincerely sorry.”

“So I get a veto?”

His smile was lethal. “Not on your life, love. This is the whipped cream and cherry on top of a full week of positive press. I’m afraid you’re going to have to kiss your dreams of owning half my firm goodbye.”

Derek traced his fingertips down the line of my jaw.

“We’ll see about that,” I said lightly. The tide turned quickly, and who knew what an all-access interview would do? It could instigate a tsunami. “You’re awfully confident that the real me is likable.”

“You’re more than likable, darling. You’re admirable. Formidable. Fascinating. Real.”

“I’m afraid.” Admitting it out loud made some of the weight on my chest lighten.

“Of what?” he asked gently.

“Of letting someone into my life so they can judge me or hate me or use me. So they can find out I’m not perfect.”

“Perfect is boring and unlikable. You’re far from it,” he said.

I tried to take a step back, but he held me closer. My mother would argue that the illusion of perfection was the only thing that mattered.

“You’re better than perfect. You’re intimidatingly brilliant and frustratingly dedicated. This is our chance to show the real you to the world. And I’m very sorry I sprung it on you like this.”

I sighed out a breath. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

“Anything. Name it.”

“I want burgers for dinner.”

“I will get you burgers for dinner,” he promised. “Are you all right?”

Was I?

I did a scan. Mentally: Steeled. Physically: Hungry. Emotionally: A little rocky.

“I’m fine,” I decided.

“Good. Then let’s take our journalist friend out for lunch.”

“May I use your bathroom first?”





38





Derek





Lona Geiser was a formidable interviewer. I’d chosen Tia’s, a cozy Cuban cafe with bohemian flair, because of the friendly atmosphere. However, my lunch guests were squaring off, bowls of innocent fresh-baked tortilla chips and salsa between them.

I wanted some salsa, but I was afraid to reach in lest I get bitten.

“What do you see your duty as a business leader when it comes to setting an example for young girls?” Lona asked. Her digital recorder was pointed in Emily’s direction like a gun.

“Do you ask your male CEO interviewees that question?” Emily shot back.

I should have ordered tequila.

“Men aren’t often held to the same exacting standards as women in power,” Lona recited, her gaze skimming to me.

I felt unfairly judged.

“It’s not my job to explore the unfairness of existing double standards,” she continued. “It’s my job to paint an accurate picture of the woman who barely a month ago narrowly avoided arrest in connection to a drug stop.”

I leaned forward, ready to interject a defense. Lona Geiser was known to be tough but fair. However, my source at Building Fortunes had failed to mention that much more of the interview energy trended toward tough.

Emily’s very sharp stiletto met my foot under the table.

“Some may see a woman who wasn’t arrested because she had done nothing wrong,” Emily corrected smoothly. “When I get up in the morning, I’m a CEO who has hundreds of employees and their families counting on me to make good decisions. I have millions of customers worldwide who hold me accountable when it comes to the products I develop and sell. I take that very seriously. More seriously than baseless accusations and gossip-mongering. If you’re not in the arena with me, I don’t have time to listen to your criticisms. Metaphorically, of course.”

“Of course,” Lona said with what could be an approving nod.

“Lona, let’s get this out of the way,” Emily said, liberating her utensils from the napkin as two servers approached with our meals. “I don’t need you to like me.”

“I’m not required to like you,” Lona responded calmly.

She reminded me of my implacable seventh grade English teacher, a woman I’d thought hated me until the last day of school when she coolly told me I had potential if I were smart enough not to ruin it.

“You’re also not required to paint a pretty picture of me. I’m not nice. I’m not a friendly boss. I’m tough. I’m smart. I’m busy. But I am also very, very fair. And I care deeply for my employees and my customers. Not every billionaire, female or otherwise, can say that. I’ve earned my place here, and I’m not going to allow anyone to question my accomplishments.”

“Your company has certainly revolutionized wrinkle treatment,” Lona said. I detected a distinct jab. The implication was clear: Wrinkles weren’t cancer.

Emily smiled dangerously, and I debated texting Jane to be ready for a hasty departure with a shovel and a tarp.