The Price of Scandal (Bluewater Billionaires) - Lucy Score Page 0,62

Em’s so squeaky clean,” my brother said, flashing his not-found-in-nature white teeth.

“Your sister is proving to be a fascinating challenge,” Derek said, eyeing me.

Trey threw his arm around his date’s shoulders. “Yeah, right,” he laughed.

My lifestyle of working hard, working out, and then going home and working some more was as abhorrent to Trey as his lifestyle was to me. We were baffled by each other.

Even now, both dressed to the nines, our differences were as pronounced as ever. He was cabana boy tan. His bow tie was unknotted and hanging loosely against the open collar of his shirt. His hair, a sun-kissed dirty blond, was long at the collar. He had our father’s jaw and our mother’s obsession with image. As far as I knew, he had never held down a job. His paycheck came in the form of regular payouts from the trust fund that he’d already “accidentally” drained twice. He was wearing the Rolex I’d given him for his twenty-fifth birthday.

Instead of the thank you I’d expected, he’d winced. “This isn’t the one I wanted.” Every time I saw that watch on his wrist, I wanted to punch something.

“Has Mom seen you yet?” I asked.

“Nope. Surprising all of you just like those soldier homecoming vids,” he chirped. My brother really did believe him popping into the country, a big-breasted social media model on his arm, was exactly the same.

Sometimes I wondered why I loved him.

But again, I supposed it was something that had been bred into me. Trying to fight it was futile.

I made a mental note to be in the ladies room when Trey surprised my parents.

“Hey, listen, do you have a sec?” Trey asked, suddenly serious.

I knew exactly what was coming. “Sure,” I sighed. “I’ll be back shortly,” I told Derek.

“I’ll get you a drink,” he said, eyes skimming to the still-full champagne flute in my hand. “Perhaps something stronger?”

The man was good. Intuitive. Sneaky. Smart. Sexy. Would it be the worst thing in the world to let the “for the cameras” flirtation transition to behind closed doors?

Trey led me out of the ballroom and into a hallway. Here the floors were covered in thick, luxurious rugs. The paintings were hung on gold, textured walls and highlighted under brass lamps.

“I need to talk to you about a job.” The man’s resilient hope, his ability to ignore reality in favor of the pretty picture he painted himself, reminded me of a golden retriever who expected his food dish to be magically refilled every hour on the hour.

“You’re getting a job?” I asked, feigning enthusiasm.

“I want to work with you,” he said, shooting me that Instagram-worthy smile. “I’m ready to settle down and join the family business.”

I set my glass down with a hard clink on the marble sideboard under a painting of a bare-breasted woman being wooed by a man with a harp.

“The family business,” I repeated, hoping I’d misheard him.

“Yeah. Flawless. I wasn’t ready before. But I am now. I want to work with you and Dad.”

My throat burned with the need to let loose a battle cry. But I tamped it down. Like I always did.

“Trey, Flawless is mine. It’s not a family business.”

“Yeah, but Dad—”

“Is on the board of directors. Yes. But I own the company. Flawless is mine, and no family connections will guarantee anyone a job there.” I still needed to scream.

Trey smirked. “Bet Lita wouldn’t like to hear you say that.”

The thing about brothers is they always knew exactly which buttons to push.

“This isn’t about Lita. This is about you.”

“It’s about us, Ems,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. He pointed off down the hallway at some far-off vision only he could see. “Come on, the two Stanton brats working together. Making the world more beautiful one wrinkled-ass face at a time.”

Trey was buying what he was selling.

“And that right there is exactly why I’m not giving you a job,” I said, shrugging out from under his arm. “You have no idea what I do. What my company does. Go work for Dad if you’re so ready and willing to be gainfully employed.”

“Oh, come on, Ems,” he groaned. He kicked at the leg of the side table, nicking the wood with his velour loafer. “I can’t work for Dad.”

“Why not?” I had an idea exactly why not.

“Because I asked him already, and he said no. Then he got all high and mighty about earning my way and blah blah blah. What good is having a family fortune and