The Price Of Scandal(85)

Mom: Derek, if you don’t make a serious move on that woman I will be deeply disappointed in you.





Me: I’d like to point out that none of this is any of your business.





Verita: It’s adorable that Derek thinks his love life is off-limits.





Dad: Are you new here, Derek?





Berto: Back to the Porsche…





Tanya: Back to the closet…





Liz: I vote we start picking out engagement rings and texting them to Derek. #helpful





Mom: What do you all think of this one? The emerald cut is very dignified.





Will: Mom, that’s a clown GIF.





Mom: What’s a GIF?





Dad: Jesus H. Christ! You know I hate clowns!





Me: I’m disowning all of you.





Mom: Fine. But we’ve taking a family vote and we’re keeping Emily.





Berto: And her Porsche.





Dad: Good luck, Orphan Derek.





39





Emily





Mom: What have you done to your beautiful hair??? You look so aggressive.





I’d dragged both Derek and my new journalist shadow through my afternoon from one conference room to the next. One call to the next. I’d instituted thirty minutes of quiet time in my office just so all three of us could catch up on email.

Somewhere in between a manager’s passive-aggressive complaint about next week’s market update meeting and a timeline of events “should the IPO go forward,” my phone signaled a text.

Derek: She likes you.





I glanced up and found him frowning over his phone and laptop on the couch. Lona was typing away like a machine in one of the armchairs.

Me: Is this the executive equivalent of passing notes in class?





His lips quirked.

Derek: You were magnificent today.





Me: You’re not flattering me to get out of buying me burgers tonight, are you?





Derek: Darling, I’m not buying you burgers. I’m making you burgers. Jane is shopping for ingredients as we speak.





Me: I approve.





Me: Your butt looks great in those pants, by the way.





His shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Derek: It’s time to go. I’d like to see you in an inappropriately small bikini while I fire up your behemoth grill that I suspect has never been used.





Me: Not true. Cristoff grills tuna steaks.





Derek: I need to give you my oral apology, and I’d like to do so by your pool.





I dropped my phone with a clatter on the desktop.

Lona looked up and plucked her earbuds from her ears.

I still had a good hour’s worth of catch-up to play here at the office. But…

It was a beautiful day. Normal people would have left work early today. Normal people would be meeting for beers on Ocean Drive.

“I think I have the beginnings of a sinus headache,” I lied. “Let’s call it a day.”





An hour later, Lona was tucked away in one of the guest condos on the other side of the enclave with a comped dinner and a front desk ready to do her bidding. And I was lounging on my bayfront terrace between the sugar white sand and the lip of my saltwater pool while my lover grilled burgers.

Jane and the housekeeping team had been joyfully dismissed from their duties for the night. It was just me and Derek. And Brutus who had wandered over to critique Derek’s grilling.

I’d changed into a scandalously small red bikini and oversized sunglasses, then enjoyed Derek’s undivided attention when I strolled across the patio to my favorite lounge chair.

I had a sci-fi novel I’d borrowed from him open. My phone—the lifeline to my empire—was in the house somewhere. Miraculously, I wasn’t exhibiting any withdrawal symptoms yet.

Somehow, my life had taken a very drastic turn in just a few short weeks. In moments like this, it was hard to be angry with Merritt Van What’s His Name. Because had he not been an idiot, Derek Price would not be studying me over his Ray-Bans with a look that suggested I was the next course.

Of course, I only had another hour carved out for this relaxation. Then it was back to work.

“I can hear your wheels turning,” Derek said, dropping down on my lounger. He ran his hands up my bare legs.

Irresistible. The word still applied to him.

He’d stripped out of the suit and gone for swim trunks and a short-sleeved button-down in dark blue. He hadn’t bothered with the buttons.

“Just contemplating the surface tension of anti-aging cream,” I teased.

“I’m not sure you realize how attractive I find you. Not just for your born-to-wear-that-bikini body, but for the annals of your mind,” Derek said.