Page 155 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
As soon as the curator had told me the Triumphant Sisyphus was still available for sale, I’d requested for the gallery to be emptied and reserved today.
Proof Nash Prescott had become a household name in North Carolina.
“Are you lonely?”
Ida Marie’s question rocked me. She wasn't even supposed to be here. No one was, but Chantilly had turned it into a field trip once she’d overheard my call with the curator.
“What?” I swapped my view of the penis-shaped loin cloth or loin-cloth-shaped penis for Ida Marie’s doe eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“We’ve been working together for, say, two months now? I haven’t heard you talk
about anyone. No family. No friends. No boyfriend.”
“Gee, thanks.”
My attention drifted to Nash. The curator fawned over him, exhibiting an array of paintings and sculptures he clearly gave no fucks about. He wore the same scowl he usually did. The type of face you’d make if you stepped in dog shit.
Chantilly trailed after them, her mouth moving at Formula 1 speed. Two gallery employees hovered at the fringe of the ovular room, gawking over Nash.
I hated that look.
Girls used to do it because bad boys excited them.
Now they did it because his money excited them.
Maybe his attractiveness came into play, but I’d bet it was never for the part of him that mattered most, because no one understood him except himself.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Ida Marie grinned. “I just mean, the rest of us jump around from location to location. It’s part of the job. We all know how to adapt, meet new people, and live social lives in spite of it. I’m just worried you’re having trouble adapting, being new to this.”
“I’m okay.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and decided the painting depicted a loin cloth-shaped penis. “I promise I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Everyone thinks you and Nash are sleeping together,” she blurted.
I froze. As if that wasn’t a sign of guilt. “What?”
“Um, yeah…” She gazed away, pretending to focus on the painting, but I knew I had her attention.
“Did they”—and by they, I meant Chantilly—“ask you to ask me?”
“Yes, but I won’t tell them what you say to me.” Her hand touched my forearm before darting away. “Promise.”
“It’s fine, because we’re not sleeping together.”
“You’ve never slept with him?”
“Ida Marie, I can promise you that, in the past several months that you’ve known me, I have not had sex with Nash Prescott.”
See? Not a lie.
Good job, Emery.
“So… are you lonely?”
“Oh, my God.” I eyed the ceiling, wishing it were a starless night, so I could vent. “I’m not. I don't need a penis to keep me company.”
I wasn’t opposed to casual sex. I just didn’t need it. Ben kept me company at night, and lately, Nash kept me… occupied during the day.
Not sexually.
