Page 150 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Already? How do you know?”
“It’s downstairs.” He leaned against the wall and kicked one ankle in front of the other. “Near the entrance. Come on.”
I followed him out of the alcove of elevators. “What’s it of?”
“Not sure. It’s covered in thick canvas. We’re not supposed to remove it until the grand opening of the hotel. Look.”
He jerked his chin straight ahead. I pivoted and took in the monstrosity. The architect had gone with one-hundred-foot ceilings, which spanned the equivalent of about seven stories. Thick canvas covered something that descended from the ceiling and hit the floor.
The sheer size of it struck me, rendered me speechless, and had my eyes darting left and right to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. For the life of me, I had no clue what it could be. I wouldn't put it past Nash to mount a giant middle finger in his hotel lobby and call it a day.
The press would somehow spin it into Nash making a statement against the pervasive evils contributing to world hunger. They loved him that much.
“We’re not allowed to unveil it.” Cayden tapped the heavy canvas material. It didn’t budge. “Mr. Prescott was adamant about it.”
“Why?” I wanted to rip it off and feast my eyes. “How are we supposed to design if we don’t know what we’re designing around?”
Sometimes, I thought Nash did these things to fuck with me. Like—yeah, I’ll make this deal with you, but even when you get what you want, you’re not going to enjoy it.
“I don’t know, but it’s massive.” Cayden overextended his arms, a poorly done ballet pose. He settled for pointing from one end of the centerpiece to the other. “If anything, we need to focus on simplicity now, since the sheer size of it will take up so much attention, anything else comes off as eclectic. I’ll set up a meeting in two days to discuss. The whole not-knowing-what-it-is thing makes it a challenge, but I’m up for it. Plus, I’ve been told by Mr. Prescott that it’ll go with everything.”
I shook my head and made my way to the elevators. “I’ve got this.”
“Where are you going?” he called.
“To find Nash fucking Prescott.”
“What are you doing?” Delilah perched on a barstool, chin on her palm.
Hell if I know.
I hip-checked the fridge door closed, wondering why the hell I was doing this. Why I cared when I didn’t even cook for myself.
“Penance.”
Delilah never questioned the word, so I offered it like a Walmart rollback deal. Regularly, until its meaning dried to nothing, and still, she never said a thing.
Until today.
“Penance. Really?” She jutted her chin at the concoction on the island. “With that?”
“I’m making a fucking sandwich, Delilah.” I didn’t bother glancing at her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re putting chips into your sandwich and being awfully defensive about it.” Her nose scrunched up, two fingers absently tracing a pattern on the island counter. “That’s disgusting, by the way. You’ve lost all street cred in my mind.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stacked a slice of bread and cut it diagonally.
“Wait.” She leapt off the stool and rounded the island to my side. Rosco perked up in his bed and sprinted after her for back up. Fucking rat thought he was the fifth Ninja Turtle. Delilah nodded at the sandwich. “That’s not for you.”
I slid it into a clear sandwich bag. “Is there a point to your existence, or have you dedicated it to irritating me?”
“It’s for Emery, isn’t it?”
My eyes snapped to hers, fingers hovering over the multi-pack of chip bags the Insta Cart shopper had delivered.
She continued, “What are you doing?”
