Page 153 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Far fucking from it.
“I’m supposed to believe you found a centerpiece and had it delivered in under twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
“What nice centerpiece can be found, bought, and shipped in twenty-four hours?”
“One I already own.”
I’d been housing it on its side in a barn at the far end of my thirty-acre property in Eastridge like a mistress hidden in a secret apartment. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Oh.” Her head tilted, nose wrinkling.
“Yes.” I studied her shirt, conjuring some scenarios on what happened.
She ran out of ink.
The words washed off in the laundry.
I’d become selectively blind.
She left her shirt at some douche’s place after making out with me last night.
Emery blew a lock of hair from her face, eyes lighting up seconds later. “What about the placard?”
“The placard will be engraved and ordered once it’s written.”
“I can write it if you’ll tell me what the centerpiece is.”
“Cute, but no.” My eyes flicked to her shirt again.
“I put it on backward, okay?” She threw both arms in the air. “You can stop staring now, or I’ll have to assume you’re a creep.”
I stared for one more second because I loved riling her up, then tossed her the lunch bag. Emery caught it on instinct. Her brows pushed together when she realized what it was.
“It’s Turkey & Ruffles.” I set the knife and cutting board into the sink.
“Wait.” She studied the bag as if she had X-ray vision. “You ordered a rush on the kitchen today… and the first thing you made was my lunch?”
I swallowed, twice, and wondered when my throat had gotten so dry. “Technically, it’s a snack, considering midday has passed.”
“If we’re getting technical, it’s technically a sweet thing to do.”
“Just eat the fucking sandwich, Emery.”
A glint returned to her eyes. It screamed mischief. “Let us remove the cover.”
“No.”
I shouldn’t have given up that sculpture in the first place. It belonged on the corner of my farm, never to be seen again. I only did it, because Emery had been right. Ma would be at the grand opening.
Why the fuck would I disappoint her if I didn’t have to?
“Fine.” Emery slid the lunch onto the island. “I’m full. I think I’ll head to the lobby and figure out if neon pink rugs are neutral enough to compliment your canvas-covered monstrosity of a centerpiece.”
“There’s a note in the lunch sack.” I approached her side of the island. “Maybe I should toss it.”
Her hand darted out and snatched the bag. I smiled, disguising it as a taunt. She craved my words, just like I craved the ones on her shirt. I didn’t know when that had happened, but could you blame me?
