The Price of Scandal (Bluewater Billionaires) - Lucy Score Page 0,92

remembering why I’d been so furious only moments ago.

“Come to terms with what?” I asked. My heart rate sped up again, but this time it had nothing to do with temper.

“You’re my match, love. Things will never be dull or normal. But I promise you that adventure you deserve.”

“You can’t be serious, Derek. We had sex. We didn’t pledge our undying love to each other!” I felt the licks of panic in my intestinal region. “You know I don’t have time.”

“That’s not an ‘I don’t like you because you’re a hideous beast who makes me want to vomit,’” he pointed out. He brushed my hair back from my forehead.

“We already discussed the ‘we aren’t willing to make time for a relationship’ agenda item,” I reminded him, feeling breathless.

His gaze penetrated me, shooting daggers into my heart. “I will accept whatever you’re willing to give. That’s what you mean to me.”

“Are you drunk?” I demanded.

“Are you scared?” he retorted.

Yes! My intestines were tying themselves in knots, and I wasn’t keen on the idea of not having access to a private restroom.

“I’m not scared,” I lied. “I’m appalled. We had one weekend together, and you’re changing everything.”

“This weekend changed everything,” he corrected. “I’m just trying to keep up. Tell me you don’t want more. Tell me you don’t want more nights like last. Tell me you don’t want more dinners with a man who not just tolerates your drive but worships it.”

“You’re spinning me,” I accused.

He didn’t even look guilty. “I’m painting a picture. I want more of you, Emily. Let me earn you.”

My digestive system let out a mournful gurgle.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, amused.

“Not exactly,” I said evasively.

“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