Page 165 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
The latch bounced against my knees. A bag fell onto my lap. I nearly dropped it, but I caught it last minute. The phone I'd broken sat inside. A crack extended across the screen. Tiny flecks of glass peppered the inside of the baggie.
A joke sat at the tip of my tongue, but at the sight of him, I swallowed it. Genuine concern etched his features. I carefully slid the Ziploc bag back into the glove compartment and closed it with a soft click.
Silence stretched the next ten miles.
I spent it wondering what had him so on edge. The type of energy he used to radiate when he fought often.
Relief swept through me at Nash’s voice. “The phone has the last pictures I took of Dad on it.”
And I had broken it.
Guilt stabbed at my stomach, that no longer felt empty, which only added to the guilt.
“Sorry.” It felt inadequate. I wanted to give him more words, better words. My vocabulary evaded me. Sand slipping through my fingers.
“I bought the new screen, but I showed up at the repair place, and the guy looked as incompetent as fucking Chantilly.”
I traced the leather seat with the tip of my finger. “What’s your beef with Chantilly?”
“The corporate masquerade party last year—”
“Ida Marie told me about it.”
He slid his eyes to me. “Did she also tell you she grabbed my dick through my pants, pretending to be drunk?”
“Why is she still working for you?”
“Her uncle sits on my board, and unlike his niece, he's both competent and a genuinely good guy.” The entire board was. I would not have Prescott Hotels be Winthrop Textiles 2.0. “I buried it. If he found out, he’d probably be mortified and resign, and we’re about to close Singapore. Finding a good replacement takes too long.”
Chantilly had given me a speech on nepotism, yet she was related to a board member. “I knew her salary couldn’t pay for a Birkin.”
“Her family's loaded, but also the type to make her work her way through life.” He merged onto the left lane without signaling, then the shoulder to bypass traffic. “It was probably a Christmas gift.”
The wind rattled the car at this speed. I pushed back in my seat, the car’s shakes turning me into a human vibrator. We whipped past another town in silence, breakneck speeds we should have gotten pulled over for.
“I can fix it,” I offered, voice low. “I’ve broken my screen before, and I didn’t have the money for a new one, so I learned. I even made a few bucks on the side doing it for some college students. I can fix it. Do you trust me?”
He didn’t say anything. We continued to drive until the cars on the road thinned. Each mile tapered my hope.
“You can fix it,” he finally said.
“Okay.”
I spelled meraki on my thigh with my pointer finger, content in his company. Nash drove five miles in silence. We reached a long stretch of highway, empty given the holiday. Another five miles further, he pulled over onto the shoulder.
I peered at the gas level, wondering if being stranded constituted as a valid excuse to miss Virginia’s brunch and golf time. “Are we out of gas?”
“Nope.” He removed the keys from the ignition and leveled me with his full attention. “I’m asking my three questions in the middle of nowhere, so you can’t evade them. If you want to get to Eastridge, you’ll answer them. If you don’t, we can turn back now.”
“But—”
“Question #1—how do you know Brandon Vu?”
What. The. Fuck.
“How do you know Brandon Vu?” I countered, completely blindsided.
Did Brandon and Nash know each other? Was the S.E.C. angling to go after my dad through Nash? Loyalty surged within me, lighting up my veins. Uncontrollable embers flickered.
