The Price of Scandal (Bluewater Billionaires) - Lucy Score Page 0,75

my new hair. My body warmed at his touch. This all felt so new. There was an energy here. A momentum. A buzz of excitement for what was next.

The dread that had been my shadowy companion for the past few weeks was dissipating. And for the first time, I felt like I could see the sunshine at the end of a very long tunnel.

“I can’t wait,” I whispered.

“For what?” he asked, brushing indecent kisses down my exposed neck.

“To tell the girls you cut my hair. There will be swooning,” I predicted.

He laughed softly. “Do you like it?”

I shook my head. “I love it.”

I thought he’d kiss me then, but those blue eyes rivaling the saltwater behind him fixed on my face.

Slipping my arms around his neck, I tugged at the hairs that curled there. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Thank you for letting me see you.”

His lips were warm and firm as they moved over mine.

“Want to show the dolphins how it’s done?” I teased.

31

Emily

Usually in my personal outings, I opted to go incognito. Normal-sized sunglasses. A bag that didn’t scream “I’m very, very expensive.” An SUV as opposed to the Porsche or a chauffeured limo. But this was not just any outing.

This was Drag Queen Brunch.

Mordecai’s Bistro on Las Palmas Boulevard hosted a weekly brunch with the best drag queen entertainers and servers in the business. The Bluewater Billionaires—or vagillionaires, as Daisy called us—picked one Sunday a month and never missed it.

I made my entrance five minutes late in designer cut-offs, a blousy white top, and red wedge sandals. My sunglasses were enormous. My jewelry tasteful but eye-catching. My hair, short voluminous perfection.

Cam, Luna, and Daisy were huddled in one of the black leather horseshoe-shaped booths along the back wall, no doubt gossiping about my overnight guest.

“Ladies,” I said, sliding in next to Cam, who, despite the day of the week, was wearing one of her impeccable suits.

“Your hair!” Luna breathed, fluttering her hands in front of her face like she was short on oxygen. The dozen bracelets on her wrists jingled. “I can’t even.”

“You motherfucking badass,” Daisy screeched. She was wearing a silk pajama romper and what looked like six-figures’ worth of jewelry. In reality, she was the motherfucking badass.

I tucked my sunglasses into my bag, and Cam leaned into my personal space. “What’s with the smug face?” she demanded.

“I can’t be smug about a haircut?” I asked innocently.

Cam eyed me suspiciously, then sniffed. “I smell Derek Price.”

I picked up my menu, the picture of innocence. “Derek cut it for me,” I said casually. “Oh, look! They brought back the Bloody Mary bar.”

Daisy reached across the table and snatched the menu out of my hand.

“A man you are allegedly having a scorching hot affair with gave you this badass cut?” she demanded.

“It’s not so alleged anymore,” I said.

“I really, really want to hate you right now.” Cam sighed, dissolving against the booth cushion.

“You just need to stop working so much and get laid,” I said knowledgeably.

“I definitely hate you,” Daisy decided.

“What we’re all trying to say is that we’re so happy to see you finally expressing yourself sexually,” Luna said diplomatically.

“I’ve expressed myself sexually before,” I scoffed.

“Babe, you strutted in here with an orgasm count tattooed on your forehead,” Daisy said. “That’s a freakin’ first.”

“Tell us everything,” Cam insisted. “Be generous with your details.”

“I saw the pics from that gala Friday night,” Daisy said, emptying her champagne flute. “You looked divine. Everyone was too busy predicting wedding dates and pregnancy announcements to talk about that Merritt Van Bullshit garbage.”

“Your hair is so fucking fabulous I’m literally going to die.” Lady Raquel was our favorite server at Mordecai’s. She was six-feet-five in her favorite silver sparkle platforms. Today, her hair was Marilyn Monroe platinum with turquoise and purple highlights that perfectly matched the mermaid scale bodysuit and cape. She wore a three-inch thick faux diamond choker and chandelier earrings that weighed as much as barbells.

I fluffed my hair. Compliments on hair or makeup from a drag queen were serious business. “Thank you, Lady Raquel.”

“You didn’t compliment me on my pink extensions, Lady Raquel,” Daisy complained.

“Oh, honey. That’s because they looked like C-list club wear. I expect more from you,” Raquel said, flashing Daisy an imperious look from under her spider leg eyelashes. “Now, who’s ready for a round of drinks?”

We ordered and settled in for the standard catch-up. Even living in the same neighborhood on the same fallopian tube, our schedules were busy enough we sometimes got our news from