SCANDAL ✓

Chapter 09 | In The Spirit of Friendship

Paris returned home from a very tedious meeting where he'd nearly lost his temper twice in the space of thirty minutes. He'd met with two stockbrokers who were as greedy as pigs. They were one of those people who couldn't handle a nip of power but enjoyed pretending that they did. They get a corner office and a secretary and suddenly they're the Stalin of the paper-pushing wall. He'd known just by their high-handed voice that they were willing to abandon their humanity just to get a 2% bonus.

He'd been forced to reschedule for another time after two hours of getting nowhere. Frankly, he'd rather tank the whole deal. He hated working with loan sharks.

He was also badly in need of a cup of coffee. Taking off his coat, he draped it on a hook beside the door and headed to the kitchen to make himself just that.

On his way, he saw Ms. Wood standing on top of a chair against a shelf, clearly fascinated with... something. He watched her for a minute, in her white shorts and yellow top, her hair up in a salon-perfect bun, her short legs embraced at the ankles with a pair of Nikes. Cute. Her dressing was a stark contrast to her personality. There was art in that. And maybe even deception.

As if on impulse, Shanya turned around and squealed, nearly falling off the chair.

"Son of a bitch!"

Paris rushed to her aid, but she had almost caught her balance so he held her waist instead, steadying her. The chair she was standing on made her appear slightly taller than him, but they were still on eye level. Her slender waist was warm and pleasant to the touch. He contemplated carrying her down but had a distinct feeling she would slap him if he tried. Besides, Heather didn't like being carried, and neither did Purity so he was probably out of practice.

"You cuss. How unladylike."

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she shot back when she caught her breath, shooting daggers at him with her brown eyes. It felt like falling into a pool of deep chocolate.

Paris gave her a wry smile and withdrew his hands from her waist, holding one out to her. "I'm sorry for giving you a fright."

"No, you're not," she stated, putting her hand in his, calloused and warm to the touch. There was a clever, knowing glint in her eyes he knew better than to oppose. Devious little minx.

"No, I'm not."

She flopped down from the chair—the movement made her perfect bun come slightly undone—and withdrew her hand from his grasp. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough." He peered down at her other hand, finally noticing what had caught her attention earlier.

"I see you've found my family album."

* * * *

A quick tour around his house—no, estate, it was a freaking estate—had left Shanya bubbling with so much love that she nearly forgot she was mad at him for almost causing her to fall and then having the nerve to call her unladylike.

The estate stood strong and beautiful atop a narrow landscape cradled with the prettiest lawn she'd ever seen. There were at least three gardens outside, each of which flowered a different seed; hibiscus being one of them. Glass bedecked the entire corners of his estate—mostly all entrances were literally made of glass. She'd always had a deep admiration for glasshouses. Whether it was the fact that the inhabitants were clearly not afraid of much as anyone could throw anything inside and it would be ruined in seconds, or how the sun shone through the glass beautifully, illuminating everything it touched.

There was something oddly humbling about how exposed glasshouses were, how utterly transparent. It made one feel like the owner had no secrets to hide. But of course, she knew better.